by R. T. Kaelin
Duchess Aleece said, “That is an odd question.”
“Indulge me,” rumbled Broedi. “And answer the question. Please.”
Nundle, the ever-flowing fount of information, spoke up almost instantly, saying, “The High Host and those that were Neither battled the Cabal atop a mountaintop. The Cabal were defeated, banished to exist without their bodies or names, and destined to walk the world in mortal bodies. The name to the divine realm was lost forever, trapping the Gods and Goddesses on Terrene.”
Broedi nodded along with the tomble’s answer and said, “All true.” He paused a moment before asking, “What else?”
The group stared at one another, blank expressions ruling them all.
Nikalys spoke first, saying, “I know nothing else. Then again, the Locking was more myth than anything in Yellow Mud. Before meeting you, I thought it merely a way to mark the passage of the years.”
“The same goes in the Boroughs,” said Nundle. “It was a nice story to tell at Leisure Day festivals.”
Both noblewomen nodded quietly, confirming the same was true for them as well. Wren had the sole, unique response.
“I need only go back a handful of generations to find an ancestor who was alive when the Locking happened. I assure you all, it is no myth.”
“Wren is correct,” rumbled Broedi. “It happened. And Nelnora shared with me details of the battle that day. Events that never made it into the legends. One of which is at the heart of our current fight.”
He paused a moment, and stared at the double doors and listened carefully, ensuring the hall was empty. Once he was confident that it was, he continued.
“According to Nelnora, after the battle was over and the Cabal were gone from the mountaintop, nine stones rested upon a chunk of white quartz. Each one made of a single type of pure, concentrated Strands. Fire, Water, Air, Stone, Charge, Life, Soul, Will, and Void. To hear Nelnora tell it, the stones’ power staggered more than a few of the Celystiela there.”
With an appropriate amount of unease, Lady Vivienne asked, “And what were they?”
Twisting around to eye the baroness, Broedi shrugged his shoulders.
“Nelnora claimed that, at the time, none of them knew.”
“And did you believe her?” asked Duchess Aleece.
“I am unsure,” rumbled Broedi. “Judging a Celystiela is like reading a book with your eyes closed.”
Nundle muttered, “One would think she would be open with us. Half-answers and more questions don’t help us.”
“Help us?” repeated Wren. With a dry chuckle, he leaned back against the wall again. “She is not helping us. The Gods and Goddesses help themselves alone. Nelnora—and the rest of them—have but one interest in mind: their own. They do and say whatever they think will get you to do their bidding. We are the means to their ends.” A deep, dark frown spread over his lips. “They are a rotten, twisted bunch. You’d be better served trusting a thief to return a dropped purse than expect an honest word from them. Veracity and the Gods are wax and water.”
Jak swiveled around to face the tijul.
“That seems a bit cynical.”
Broedi rumbled, “I agree with Wren. On the point, not the sentiment. Trusting Nelnora is dangerous, trusting any of the Celystiela is. Which is why I do not. However, much of what I share with you today I believe, but only because I have been able to verify her account elsewhere.”
Nikalys asked, “How could you verify anything from five thousand years past?”
Eyeing the young man, Broedi asked with a slight smile, “You wish me to glaze the sweet cakes before baking them?”
Nikalys dipped his chin to his chest and let out a sigh of resignation.
“Continue your story, then.”
Nodding once, Broedi rumbled, “The Celystiela stood upon the mountaintop, staring at the nine stones and discussing what had happened. A number of disagreements broke out, most of which centered on what to do with them. Those of the High Host attempted to claim the stones as their own, promising to use them for the good of all of Terrene. Nelnora—and others—strenuously objected.”
“Why?” asked Jak. “Seems like a decent enough idea.”
“Live long enough, John,” began Wren. “And you’ll find that a lot of evil is done in the name of good.”
Jak glared at Wren again.
“It’s Jak.”
After Wren gave a careless shrug of his shoulders, Broedi rumbled, “Wren is correct. Fortunately, the Neither also knew that to be true and agreed with Nelnora that the High Host could not be trusted with the stones. When a consensus could not be reached, they readied to return to their divine realm in order to continue their discussions there.”
A slight furrow appeared in Duchess Aleece’s brow as she said, “But they were trapped here.”
Broedi nodded, saying, “And that was when they realized that fact. Two dozen Celystiela stood on that mountaintop, and not one of them could recall the name. Another disagreement arose. Some of the Neither believed the stones were the cause of their predicament and wanted to destroy them. Others, thinking it all another plot by the Cabal, were afraid to touch them. And, yet again, the High Host made a case to take them for themselves.”
“I don’t understand,” said Nikalys. “How could they be of use to the High Host?”
Glancing over, Nundle said, “Much of the effort in crafting a Weave is both pulling forth the Strands and then maintaining control over them. Now, imagine having an unlimited supply of Strands that you could carry in your pocket. In the wrong hands, such power would be…bad.”
“And Nelnora recognized that,” rumbled Broedi. “When the arguments grew heated, she stepped in and crafted an accord concerning the stones. One that seemed wise at the time, even though it was not. Years later, they discovered their error but, by then, it was too late to undo their decision.”
A low, impatient groan drifted from Wren.
“You and your blasted storytelling. Get to the point.”
Broedi glanced over at the tijul but did not engage him. It was not worth it. Shaking his head, he continued, saying, “In the end, Nelnora managed to craft an agreement acceptable to all the Celystiela. They would hide the stones, and do so in such a manner than none could know of their location. The potential for misuse was too great. But before they did that, they would use the stones’ powers once in order to create a race to serve them while they remained on Terrene.”
“They used the stones to craft the divina?” asked Lady Vivienne. “Considering they did not know the stones’ nature, that seems rather reckless.”
“I said the same thing to Nelnora,” rumbled Broedi. “She said it was a concession she was forced to make to get agreement on how they would go about hiding the stones.”
“How did they do that?” asked Nundle. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like none of them would trust another with that task.”
“You are correct,” said Broedi. “Which is why the Celystiela gave the stones to a group of mortals to do so.”
Jak huffed, “That sounds like an even worse idea than the Gods holding onto them.”
Broedi shook his head.
“Not if the stones were given to a race of beings who would never be tempted by their power.”
“Power corrupts all,” scoffed Wren. “No such beings exist.”
“I assure you they do,” rumbled Broedi.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Wren stood tall and said, “I am as well traveled as you, Broedi, and thrice your age. I have never met any such race incapable of falling prey to the lure of power.”
“Correct,” said Broedi. “You have not met them. I, however, have.” He paused a moment, looked around the room, and added, “As have the rest of you.”
For a long moment, the room was silent before Lady Vivienne broke the quiet, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
“They gave they stones to the aicenai?”
Broedi nodded once.
“They di
d.”
“Hold a moment,” said Jak. “You said a group. Aicenai are rarer than a fish in a tree.”
“Not five thousand years ago. The race was dying, yes, but at the time, there were many times more aicenai alive than today. Being the Watcher of the World, Nelnora was aware of one group in particular who could be trusted with the stones: a monastic order in the peaks of what is now northern Yut. A sect based on the belief that knowledge itself was supreme, not what could be done with it. Believing them to be the answer to their problem, the remaining Celystiela—all twenty-four of them—took the stones to the aicenai order and charged them with two tasks. One, to protect the stones from those who would use them selfishly. And, two, attempt to discover their true nature.”
Duchess Aleece asked, “What prevented the High Host from returning later and taking the stones for themselves?”
“Because they were not there anymore,” rumbled Broedi.
A quiet moment passed before Nundle said, “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
Jak raised a hand.
“Me, too.”
A slight smile spread over Broedi’s lips.
“Eighty-one aicenai where chosen from the order, divided into nine groups of nine, and called the Daputa Devet. In the aicenai tongue, it means ‘the Twice Nine.’ One stone was given to each group to study and protect. Once they understood their stone’s nature and origin, they were to return to the Celystiela.”
“Return?” asked Nikalys. “Where did they go?”
“Nelnora had Gaena open nine ports throughout Terrene, one for each group and their stone. Gaena alone knew their original destinations.”
“And they trusted her with that knowledge?” asked Nikalys.
“According to Nelnora, she had been the strongest advocate for separating and hiding the stones.”
“Makes sense,” mumbled Nundle.
“How so?” asked Duchess Aleece.
The tomble shimmied about in his chair to peer around Jak and answered, “The Goddess of Magic would probably want to do whatever she could to keep the stones away from any who might abuse them.”
Nodding, the duchess said, “That does make sense.” She looked back to Broedi and asked, “So what happened to the stones?”
Broedi rose from the desk corner with a sigh and said, “They disappeared. The Daputa Devet performed their task well, remaining hidden as they studied.”
“For how long?” asked Nikalys.
“Eons,” rumbled Broedi.
Skeptical, Lady Vivienne asked, “They remained hidden for thousands of years?”
“Again—according to Nelnora—they did. Civilizations rose and fell. Nations made war and peace. All the while, the Daputa Devet remained out of sight.”
“Khin,” muttered Nikalys.
Surprised, Broedi looked to the young man and found him staring at nothing, deep in thought.
“What did you say?”
Looking up, Nikalys said, “Your conversation with Khin before we left for the Provinces had nothing to do with Kenders’ lessons did it?”
Impressed with Nikalys’ intuition, Broedi shook his head once.
“No, it did not. As I said, I had a difficult time accepting Nelnora’s tale. When I told her as much, she directed me to speak with Khin.
With raised eyebrows, Duchess Aleece asked, “And why did she do that?”
Broedi looked around the room, saying, “None of us were here when Khin arrived at the enclave. Most of you were not yet born. When Aryn, Eliza, and I joined the Manes, he was already a fixture here.” He turned his gaze to the duchess. “Yet from what your great-grandfather told me, the leadership of the Manes at the time was very concerned about his arrival. According to him, Khin simply walked into Claw one day—straight through the protective Weave—and professed his desire to aid the Manes. Yet he refused to give any explanation as to why or how he knew of the enclave.”
Lady Vivienne said, “Khin has proven his trustworthiness and loyalty many times over. No one here doubts his allegiance.”
“Not now, my Lady,” replied Broedi. “But at the time, his appearance was cause for great concern. Time might have dulled the urgency of the questions surrounding his arrival, but they did remain unanswered for a very long time.” He paused briefly before adding, “Until recently.”
A moment or two passed while he waited for someone to come to the logical conclusion. He did not have to wait long.
Crossing his arms, Nikalys said, “Khin was one of The Twice Nine, wasn’t he?” His words were more statement than question.
“Yes,” rumbled Broedi. “He was. He and eight of his brethren were given what he calls the ‘Suštinata na Kamen.’ The Essence of Stone. For nearly five thousand years, they meticulously studied the stone, trying to discover its purpose, its origin, its unique properties. As the centuries passed, his companions perished. For the last five hundred years, Khin has continued his task alone.
“Gods,” mumbled Jak. “Here I was feeling lonely after just a few weeks.”
“So, he figured it out, then,” said Nikalys. “He discovered the nature of the stone, didn’t he?”
Surprised again, Broedi eyed the young man.
“You are proving to be quite insightful.”
Ignoring the compliment, Nikalys raised an eyebrow and asked, “Am I right?”
Nodding, Broedi replied, “Nelnora had given up hope that any of the Daputa Devet would ever return. Their lives may be extraordinarily long, but aicenai are mortal. Then, on a cold Winter day just over a century ago, Khin climbs Nelnora’s temple steps and announces he has discovered the stones’ purpose.”
“And, finally,” mumbled Wren. “We arrive at the point of your tale.”
Choosing to ignore the tijul yet again, Broedi said, “Once in private with her, Khin shared with her what he believed happened during the Locking, that at the height of the battle, the Cabal recognized their defeat was imminent. Rather than be obliterated, they abandoned their bodies. Whatever comprises the soul of a Celystiela fled into the mortal world. Yet their escape was incomplete, as someone atop that mountain crafted an incredibly powerful Weave, attempting to trap the Cabal for eternity. But they were only partially successful, grasping but a piece of each and binding it within one of nine stones of pure Strands.”
“That sounds…impossible,” muttered Nundle in disbelief.
Looking around the room and seeing one dubious expression after another, a slight smile slipped over Broedi’s lips.
“I shared your skepticism. Yet Nelnora spoke with complete confidence that such a thing was plausible. Interestingly, when I spoke with Khin afterwards, he shared that she was as unconvinced as all of you are right now. She insisted no one could do such a thing and refused to believe him. Until he spoke a single word: the God of Fear’s true name.”
Sitting tall in his chair, Nundle said, “But their true names were burned from existence.”
Broedi shook his head slightly.
“Apparently not. Even though that is what people have believed for five thousand years. The Celystiela, as well. The truth is that their names have been trapped along with their essence, wrapped inside the nine Suštinata.”
“Which God or Goddess could—or would—do such a thing?” asked Duchess Aleece.
Crossing his arms, Broedi said, “Nelnora would not answer that question. For me or for Khin. And after speaking with him, he and I agree the reason she would not is simple: she does not know herself. She claimed—”
He cut off as a crackling pulse of white surged through him. Shooting a quick look towards Wren, he found the tijul tense, spear already in hand. Judging Wren not responsible for the magic, he looked to Nundle next. The tomble, like him, was staring about the room, concern in his eyes.
Catching Broedi staring at him, Nundle asked, “You feel that, yes?”
Broedi nodded once.
“Air.”
“And Void,” added Nundle. “No Charge, Will, or Life.”
&n
bsp; With his gaze shifting about, Wren said, “No Soul or Water, either.” Looking to Broedi, he mumbled, “Then again, you know that.”
“No Fire, either,” rumbled Broedi. He shot a quick look at Lady Vivienne, the only Stone mage in the room. “My Lady?”
Lady Vivienne shook her head.
“No Stone.”
“Void and Air alone, then,” said Nundle.
Wren muttered, “A port?”
Broedi turned to Nundle, hoping the tomble could recognize the feel of the pattern, and found him with his eyes closed. A moment later, he opened them and nodded.
“I think so. In the courtyard, I believe.”
Those not standing rose from their chairs and the group rushed from the room. Broedi and Nikalys led them through the dark and chilly halls with Wren a step behind. Nundle, despite his short legs, managed to keep pace with them. Glancing back, Broedi found the noblewomen lagging behind a bit as the duchess was helping the still-unsteady Jak along.
Lady Vivienne caught his eye and called out, “Avoid the mages’ hall. It is impassable!”
Noting her instruction, they cut through the armory, passing long lines of weapons racks as they did. Hearing a pair of clangs, Broedi looked back and spotted Jak with a sword in his hand. Duchess Aleece gripped a short blade as well.
Nikalys reached the door to the courtyard first, shoved it open—flooding the room with light and bitter cold—and rushed outside. Broedi emerged next, his boot crunching on the crust of old snow. The cloud-splotched sky was clear enough to allow a few stray rays of sun to filter through, temporarily blinding him. Slowing to a stop, he squinted against the dazzling whiteness that filled the yard.
Wren rushed past him, his ijulan eyes adjusting to the light change quicker than the rest of them. Through half-shut eyes, Broedi saw Wren running towards a group of soldiers standing around a dark slit in the courtyard’s center. Commander Aiden’s voice rang out, shouting orders.
“Full circle, arms drawn!”
“What is going on?” asked Nikalys, a hand shielding his eyes. “Why is it so blasted bright?!” He attempted to draw the Blade of Horum with his free hand, but faltered when he slipped on a patch of ice and nearly fell down.
