“Gaaaaah!” Sen shouted. He was so disoriented he flung himself backwards, which was enough momentum to topple his chair.
Mizar grabbed the towel sitting next to the basin and threw it at Sen as the young man clambered to his feet. He looked up just in time to catch the heavy cloth right in the face. Mizar couldn't quite suppress a chuckle. “I thought I told you to sleep in your room.”
“Sorry, Master,” Sen said, dabbing the water from his eyes. “I noticed something interesting last night, and I wanted to research it further. I guess I fell asleep.”
“Yes, I heard your resounding snores from all the way down the corridor.”
Sen blushed.
“I brought the translation texts we need,” Mizar continued.
Mizar and Sen had been poring over the scrolls deemed “Forbidden Knowledge” for the past three days. Much of what they found was as Aridor said; indecipherable nonsense, meaningless scribbles from the obviously unhinged mind of Merdeen. However, some of Merdeen's musings were legible, though those were written in Ancient Elystran script, a crude set of symbols that hadn't been used in centuries and was impossible to translate without a cipher text. It took the palace archivist, Binro, two days to locate the proper volumes.
“I'll get to work on translating Merdeen's notes right away, Master.”
Mizar once again filled his cup from the basin, this time downing the contents in one gulp. “That must have been some dream you were having.”
Sen's face flushed. “I was dreaming of my father.”
“Pleasant, I hope.”
“No, not really.”
Mizar's brow furrowed. “You do not speak of your family often. Why is that?”
Sen stared into space, his shoulders stooped. “My father is a great man. A successful man. He owns one of the largest farms in Thelwyn province. He has more havsu, gurns, and billocks than any in the region.”
“… But?”
Sen resumed his seat with a heavy sigh. “He's never been the fatherly type. To me, anyway.”
Mizar sat in the chair opposite Sen. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“He sired three other sons before me, you see. Three muscle-bound idiots who could tear down a huxa tree with their bare hands. But when their mother died, Father took it hard. When my own mother came into his life, I think he was hoping to produce similar offspring. And then I was born.”
He held out his skinny arms, which probably would have been hard-pressed to even lift a longsword, much less swing one. “As you can imagine, I was the runt of the litter since before I could even walk. Even though I learned to read and write at a much earlier age than my brothers, they treated me with nothing but contempt. So did Father. No matter what I did to please him, it wasn't enough. It was never enough.”
A wisp of a tear formed at the corner of Sen's eye. “Thank Arantha for King Sardor's decree that all Daradian men must journey to Dar to be tested for Wielding abilities when they come of age. That was my salvation. All through childhood, I counted the days until my sixteenth birthday, the day I could enter Mount Calabur and stand on the Nexus of Arantha.” He sniffed. “Even had I not discovered my healing ability, I doubt I would have returned home. Anything would have been better than that.”
“Even though my family wasn't as devout as most of our neighbors, I would pray nightly to Arantha that I may find a destiny beyond the fields of Thelwyn. And I have thanked him every day since my first consultation that I am your apprentice, Master.” Finally, a smile broke through the sadness.
Mizar put a reassuring hand on Sen's arm. “As High Mage, my duties were such that I was unable to find time to marry and raise a family of my own. If I ever were to have a son, though, I do not think I could do better than you.”
Sen bowed his head. “Thank you, Master.”
“Whatever became of your mother?” Mizar asked.
“She left my father before I was born.” He scoffed. “She probably couldn't wait to get away from him. He searched all of Thelwyn, but didn't find her. Then, nearly a year later, he found me on his doorstep.”
Sen cast his eyes to the ceiling. “I constantly ask myself why, if my mother thought she was better off without my father, she felt it necessary to return just to leave me in his hands. He probably only kept me around so he could have someone to vent his bitterness and anger upon.”
A sympathetic smile came over Mizar's face. “And yet, by the grace of Arantha, two farmer's sons who never knew a mother's love now walk the halls of Castle Randar, serving their king and country in ways few Daradians have.”
“Indeed, Master.”
“My own mother died giving birth to me. It broke my father's heart. He said Areca was his one true love. He ended up never marrying.”
Sen sniffed. “At least you knew your mother's name. My father never told me. I was forbidden from the age of six to ever speak of her in our house.”
“Again, regrettable.” Mizar raised his hands, calling an end to this particular conversation. “Now, tell me what is of interest in these scrolls.”
Sen brightened, and grabbed the stack of scrolls to his left that he'd been working on the night before. As he flipped through them, searching for the right one, he asked, “Did you consult Arantha again, Master?”
Mizar nodded. “Yes, early this morning.” Anticipating Sen's next question, he continued, “It went fine. I was not overwhelmed as I was last time. I made sure to strengthen my mental defenses before the consultation began.”
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Later, Sen,” Mizar said impatiently. “First, tell me what you found.”
Sen pulled a scroll out of the stack and turned it around so Mizar could read it. “Thank Arantha for the thoroughness of Daradian record-keeping. This is a list of all in our history who have discovered Wielding abilities. There are nine total, not including you and me.”
Mizar scanned the list, which included the names of the three previous High Mages: Durkin, Jerril and Merdeen. The other names, accompanied by their dates and regions of birth, belonged to individuals who discovered they possessed minor Wielding abilities: enough to be of service to the Crown, but not enough to wear the mantle of High Mage. Nearly all the non-High Mages had been born in the last century. Were it not for King Sardor's edict, they would not have realized their potential at all. Try as he might, though, Mizar couldn't figure what had gotten his apprentice so worked up. “Whatever it is you've discovered, Sen, please enlighten me.”
Sen walked around to Mizar's side of the table, tugging another scroll from the stack and placing it next to the other one. “It would seem every single Daradian who has manifested Wielding abilities has three things in common.”
Mizar leaned forward over the documents, intrigued, trying to determine what his apprentice had deduced. After scanning them for a few moments, he said, “They were all born in the outer regions of Darad, to fathers who, while not lavishly rich, were not paupers either: farmers, ranchers, merchants, even an innkeeper.”
“Yes, Master. A great many of these Wielders' fathers were also brought to Dar to see if they, too, were Wielders. To a man, they were not.”
Mizar straightened up, his eyebrows raising. “These scrolls are not from the vault.”
“No, Master. They were in your cabinet.”
“Why were you looking in my cabinet?”
Sen nervously rubbed behind his ears. “After you retired for the night, I started thinking about this female Wielder Prince Zendak mentioned. I began to wonder just how a woman could become a Wielder in the first place. As far as we know, the Crystal Cavern is the only way that a person may unlock their abilities, and women are not permitted entry there … not even the Queen or Princess Tyah.”
“That is correct.”
“So I got to thinking: if we can figure out what we,” he gestured to himself, Mizar, and the list of names on the scroll before them, “have in common, then maybe we can discover this female Wielder's origins as well.”
>
Mizar gave Sen a hard glare. “The priests in the High Temple would state that we were chosen by Arantha himself. Do you not believe this?”
Sen shuffled his feet nervously, looking abashed. “Forgive me, Master, I do not mean to speak heresy.”
Mizar shifted his glance to the library door, making sure it was closed and no prying ears had overheard Sen's admission. After confirming this, his face relaxed. “Those priests would likely have both our heads if they knew we were speaking of this, Sen, but you've made me curious.”
Sen glanced at him in dubious wonder.
“Fear not, lad, my upbringing was much like yours: my cousins and I were taught to have faith not only in Arantha, but in ourselves as well. I have spent the last forty years wondering why I was accorded this honor and not other, more worthy men. I'm rather astonished that you have discovered a line of reasoning I had not previously contemplated.”
“You honor me, Master,” Sen said, bowing his head.
“So.” Mizar returned his attention to the scrolls. “You said all Wielders had three traits in common. They were all from the outer provinces, and all were born to successful but otherwise unremarkable fathers. What is the third?”
“All of them grew up without a mother.”
Mizar's gaze returned to Sen, his jaw hanging open in shock. “All of them?”
“Yes, Master.”
Under the weight of this revelation, Mizar was forced to sit back down at the work table, his mind awhirl. Eleven men—-including Sen and himself–all born to fathers with no Wielding abilities at all, and to mothers who either died or left under mysterious circumstances. “This … this cannot be a coincidence.”
Sen, too, resumed his seat. “What do we do now, Master?”
Mizar rose again, striding toward the door. Grabbing and donning his black High Mage cloak, he turned to face Sen again. “You are going to get some breakfast, wash, change clothes, and be back here in two hours. Then you are going to start translating Merdeen's final prophecy.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I am going to speak with the King. You and I will be journeying to Ghaldyn very soon.”
“Ghaldyn?” Sen inquired. “Your home province?”
Before Mizar could answer, there was a series of loud thumps on the door. He opened it to see a thickset guard standing just beyond the threshold, head bowed. “Sorry for the intrusion, High Mage,” he said, “but the King requires your presence in the courtyard immediately.”
Mizar fastened the clasp of his cloak around his neck. “That cannot be a coincidence either,” he said, winking at Sen before walking past the guard and down the corridor.
Chapter Eighteen
M aeve tossed and turned in her cot aboard the Talon. For the second night in a row, she was wracked by nightmares.
A giant explosion engulfed the hangar in flames. Sirens blared, and there was the muffled sizzle of energy weapons being fired. This was followed by the clang of the airlock door closing, the violent thud of the engines roaring to life, and the whoosh of air as they climbed into the sky, leaving their world and everyone they loved behind.
Their faces ricocheted around her mind: Ji-Yan, Calvin, Suri, Mahesh, Kacy, and Manny.
Gaspar.
Richard.
In the week since making planetfall, Maeve had experienced these nightmares. She wanted to scream at them to get out, to stop tormenting her. She had a job to do, and she couldn't honor their sacrifice if she was consumed with guilt and grief. Didn't they understand that?
And, just like that, the horrific images were replaced with new ones: strange, disjointed images she couldn't explain.
Somewhere in space, a supernova scattered its broken remnants in every direction.
Planets flew by her vision, too fast for her to make out any details.
And then, the cosmic kaleidoscope abruptly ceased, and one lone planet locked itself into position inside her mind.
Castelan VI.
The ground rushed up at breakneck speed, but just as it seemed she would crash into it, the image slowed down again.
She saw a sprawling, tree-covered mountain range stretching as far as the eye could see. Nestled in between several mountains was a vast lake, and branching off from that lake was a wide, crystal-clear river, winding downward across a grassy plain and through a plateau. On either side, carved into the very rock comprising the underside of the plateau, was a village. At the far end of this village was a cave, the mouth of which grew larger and larger, finally swallowing her up.
She found herself in a small room, dark except for the light seeping in through the narrow entrance. On the far side of the cave, standing before a rocky altar, was a woman. She was dressed in a simple, reddish-brown robe, and her long hair was swept up in a complex braid that dangled down her back. She appeared to be praying.
Maeve wanted to call out, to announce herself. But though Maeve made no sound, the woman seemed to have registered her presence. She turned around, and in her hands, she held a glowing stone, pulsating with warm, beatific energy.
Maeve moved closer, basking in the stone's radiance.
And then all went dark.
Jarring awake, Maeve immediately sat up and swung her legs off her cot, feeling the comfort of the cold metal of the Talon's hull beneath her bare feet. As she sat upright, her head began to throb with pain.
“Ugh,” she groaned and rose to her feet. After throwing on a clean pair of socks, work-pants and a black tank top, she moved to the bathroom. She relieved herself and ran a quick brush through her hair. She then reached into a drawer for the derma-hypo, which she loaded with an ampoule of clear liquid before jabbing it against her neck and pressing it down.
Maeve sighed with relief as the pain-blockers entered her bloodstream. She hated resorting to such measures, but none of the analgesics they'd brought provided a respite from the intense pain. The downside to the pain-blockers was that she could slash her wrist, and she'd just smile blissfully as she bled to death. But she had a mission to complete, and she couldn't do it with her skull threatening to explode.
After putting on her work boots, she walked down the exit ramp to find Davin, her pistol cradled in his lap, staring down the length of the wadi. “Morning, Dav.”
“Oh, is it morning?” he said sleepily. “Ah. Sun's out. So yeah, I guess it's morning.”
“Any more prowlers in the night?”
“Nope,” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage given how little sleep he'd gotten. “My eyes were glued to the scanners the whole time. A couple of the beasties came pretty close, but a few strobe lights and a blast of the siren sent them back into hiding. For badass predators, they seem to be pretty skittish.”
“Well, that's good news for us.”
“How'd you sleep, Mom?”
“Pretty well, I guess,” she lied. She hadn't told Davin about the nightmares, nor about her dreams of the strange woman in the cave. She dismissed the vision as being a product of her exhausted brain. “Ready for another exciting day at the Castelan VI Resort and Wildlife Park?”
“Yeah, sure.” He made a sour face.
The last few days had been frustrating as hell. In addition to their animal problem, the excavator recently developed a bug: the cooling system that kept the laser-drills from overheating was on the fritz, and they lacked the knowhow to fix it. As a result, instead of continuous drilling, they could only operate the excavator one hour before they risked blowing the thing completely, followed by two hours of cool-down time.
They'd used some of their spare time to shore up their defenses. Rather than leave the functioning sensors out on the perimeter, Maeve and Davin collected them and put them anyplace an animal attack might come from: the rim of the basin, down the far end of the wadi, and everywhere in between. The personal transporters, which worked so well earlier, were now unreliable: they only worked about thirty percent of the time. The rest of the time, nothing would happen when activated.
Once t
hat was done, they laid out everything they could use as weapons on the floor of the Talon's hold, which wasn't much. Their lookout chair at the base of the exit ramp seemed like the best place to keep watch: if the creatures attacked en masse, they could hide inside the ship. At least they'd be safe. Hopefully. But just in case, Calvin's concussion grenades and Ji-Yan's short-swords were always kept at arm's length once the sun set.
That was their routine: they ate, they slept, they dug, they swam, they kept watch. That was it. Every time it seemed like they were on the brink of discovering a lode of the energy source they'd come to find, they would drill through rock only to find … more rock. The scanners were damn near useless in this regard now, and they had no way of knowing whether they were even drilling in the right direction.
Maeve and Davin were determined not to give up, but as they plowed on, day after day, they grew increasingly desperate. They barely spoke over meals, and all the jokes they knew weren't funny anymore. They were tired and cranky, and even Davin was starting to get headaches now. But they kept going. They had no choice.
* * *
By midday, Maeve, having filled the purifiers with water from the lake, strode down the tunnel to see if the excavator's motor had cooled down enough to be used again. She'd already taken two shifts on the machine that morning, which meant that it would be Davin's turn once he woke up.
Satisfied, she walked back through the tunnel and up to the surface. As she passed through the mouth of the cave, she saw that Davin was indeed awake. He was walking toward her, and he was grinning.
Maeve smiled back, out of reflex. Whatever he'd found on this benighted planet to make him happy made her happy as well. He was beaming as he approached her, his long, curly red hair spilling over the collar of his white shirt.
“What're you smiling at?” she asked. “Not that I'm complaining.”
“Look,” he said, pointing at his face, his grin widening even further.
Maeve leaned forward, and sure enough, the tiniest wisp of stubble poked through the skin on Davin's chin and upper lip.
“Well, look at you, all grown up!” she said, beaming.
Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1) Page 12
