The details are irrelevant, she said, shaking her image of a head. That was centuries ago. She sounded irritated. I found that strangely amusing.
The details are always relevant.
Suffice it to say that the power thus demonstrated was frightening and wondrous to my folk. The capacity for what your scholars have called the collective unconscious is unique to humani. It is the community desire made manifest by magic.
It took me a moment to work through that. Wait, we created the gods? I asked, my head spinning. That seemed to amuse her.
Essentially, yes, she agreed. As similar as we are in many ways, the minds of our two peoples function very differently. Among the Alka Alon, we can all sing -- practice magic, as you see it. Among humans, only a few out of a thousand have the rajira strong enough to manipulate reality. But where you humani lack magical skill, you more than make up for in emotion. Even non-Talented human contribute their fears and desires, their wishes and hopes into the collective pool of subconsciousness.
The Otherworld, I supplied.
Yes, as you know it, Ithalia nodded. While the Alka Alon can enter the Otherworld at will, their minds dwelling awake in both places at once, most humans only do so in their sleep. Magi being the exception. Through their presence and shared community in the Otherworld, your race’s feelings find consensus with each other. Common hopes and desires find strength in numbers or fervor. Once those complex feelings are given form . . . they are as real and as potent as elementals. Only far, far more self-aware, for they are imbued with the collective desires and personalities of their thousands of constituent worshippers. And when their self-awareness and self-identification reach a certain point, they become self-perpetuating. Once a god forms . . . there is very little that can be done to un-form it.
You speak of them as if they were a menace, I observed a little warily.
Some of them are, she agreed. The dregs of your humani subconscious are filled with horrors, Minalan. Not yours, personally, she amended, when she realized what it sounded like she said. I held up my hand to stop her.
Actually, yes, some of mine personally, I agreed. I’m certain I’ve contributed my share of desires in the Otherworld. Perhaps I know of what you speak more than you might think. So the gods are like big elementals?
Elementals who are self-perpetuating. They have been given form over the years by the vision of your people. They have gained strength and potency as they have gained believers. They are compelled by those feelings, often as complex and contradictory as the humans from whose minds they sprang. And they are unbound, answering to no one but themselves. Ironically, she was sounding like a reproving nun when she was discussing my divinities. That made me grin.
That is fascinating, I said, as a thousand questions about the gods I’d borne since childhood were answered . . . and twice as many took their place. So if I really believed fervently enough in Briga, I could convince her to manifest?
With the proper spells and magical architecture, she agreed. The wisdom of such a working would be in doubt, however. The gods can rarely be controlled, Minalan.
Aww, I’m not worried, I dismissed. Briga loves bakers’ sons.
The Bright One is often more helpful than destructive, historically, she agreed, a little reluctantly. But her mythological brother-in-law, Duin the Destroyer, is another matter. When he manifested at Faralon, when your ancestors attacked the Imperial garrison at Vastan Cor, he slew thousands . . . and kept slaying until thousands more civilians were dead as well.
I swallowed. Duin the Destroyer was not known for his gentlemanly restraint. I could just imagine his manifestation, complete with his magical axe, hewing through Imperial infantry like wheat. According to legend, that was the first time he aided my ancestors in battle directly. It was a great victory, and one that, a generation later, led to the wholesale conquest of Vore and upper Merwyn.
All right, I conceded, I can see where having a sudden, materially personified, arcanely powered expression of human subconscious desires might be . . . awkward, I said, diplomatically. But is it really a cause for concern?
She looked tolerantly amused. Minalan, they do not merely manifest, they do so with great power. And thanks to the quirks of the humani subconscious, they dissipate only when their self-declared mission is done, and their worshippers do not need them anymore. Some never completely discorporate, others appear and disappear with regularity. Some are rare to manifest. Others do so with regularity. At first my people were fascinated by this novel manifestation of magic. But when these deities began taking part in your affairs, and ultimately in ours, the effects were dire.
I take it they were doing more than collecting alms for their temples?
We have learned to respect the humani capacity for this unique magic but . . . we rightly fear it, too. A particular manifestation of a deity may or may not recall a bargain struck by a previous manifestation. Some are primal in nature, like your Duin--
He’s not my Duin, I said, automatically. I know what you mean but . . . the Destroyer doesn’t call to me. And, to be frank, the men he does call to scare the piss out of me. I’d met plenty of warbrothers and fervent disciples of Duin, Gobarba and the other bellicose gods. They just didn’t appeal to me. If I want protection in the theoretical afterlife, I don’t want to do so over a pile of bodies. I’m not that bloodthirsty or desperate.
I tried to ignore the fact that I had, indeed, piled up quite a few bodies in my life. And I was just getting started.
I hoped.
So what do the nature of the gods and such have to do with this . . . examiner? This scholar of humanity?
Ithalia sighed. It is a long, complicated story, and one which I know only a piece of. It is not one of the prouder moments of my kindred, or the other Alka Alon. But this scholar I wish to examine you once assisted your gods in fighting against certain factions who desired to see humanity diminished, even destroyed. And while she was able to help protect your people, she was forever exiled by our people for her role in those affairs.
So you are you saying the humani owe her a debt?
I don’t think she would see it thus. She did what she did for her own reasons. But she is isolated, now, condemned to low estate, passively studying a few uninteresting local specimens. There are those among the kindreds who would see her dead or worse to this day, and she is ever watched. But when my people turned our backs on her selfless heroism, your gods at least took pity on her.
They did? How so?
To reward her for her service to the humani they cast a veil of magic over her refuge. There she has absolute power, absolute security. Not even the greatest of our songmasters can challenge the working, she said, in reluctant admiration. It protects her still, after centuries. But she cannot leave.
So she can’t come to me, I reasoned. We have to go to her. That’s going to be hard to convince my pregnant wife. On our honeymoon.
If we are to gain the benefit of her wisdom, then she must examine you. And your bride, she added.
And you believe this is absolutely necessary?
She studied me. Yes, Minalan. It is in your best interest. Please trust me.
It was a heartfelt request, sincerely delivered. I had a hard time saying no to it, on the basis of its beauty alone. But I had other obligations, and one in particular I had just committed to sleeping next to every night for the rest of my life. If I wanted that arrangement to be the toasty domestic bliss I was craving, I would have to handle this delicately.
So what do I tell Alya? That we have to go see some crazy old Tree Folk lady in the middle of nowhere domain? I’m going to need a better explanation
There is within her domain a hot spring, Ithalia decided. It is near to the ruins of an ancient Alka Alon settlement. She dwells now behind the veil in the last habitable part, alone save for a few servants. If you explain to your bride that the spring was blessed by the gods and would be beneficial to your child, would she not see that as desirable?
&nb
sp; I scratched my chin and tried to answer that. My wife is not an ignorant savage, Ithalia, I said at last, as gently as I could. She’s a grown woman. I don’t need to lie to her.
Ithalia smiled. You needn’t. I know for certain that your gods have blessed the site, in person. Ishi herself bathed in that pool. You may ask the scholar herself.
I looked at her skeptically. I’m not an ignorant savage either, Ithalia. You don’t need to promise me theological goodies to motivate me. If you think this is what needs to be done . . . well, I have no reason to doubt you. I would hope that we could call each other friends, after that pleasant afternoon rescuing you from the trolls.
I do consider us friends, Minalan. And I hope this is the beginning of a new era of friendship and renewed acquaintance between our peoples. But it must begin with this. You must see this scholar and consent to be examined, so that we can ensure you and your family are not suffering from the irionite. She will examine you and she will make recommendations. I would advise you to listen to her.
So what do we call her? Surely she has a name? Apart from ‘the scholar’?
Of course. Her name is Lilastien. She is known to my folk most often as Elre, which means Rebel. In her youth she was known by L’lasail. Your people know her as a legend, and call her the Sorceress of Sartha Wood. But that’s not what I call her.
The Sorceress of Sartha Wood was, indeed, a figure of legend. I wasn’t sure where in the Riverlands Sartha Wood was located, but the magical figure associated with that name was also associated with a lot of unlikely tales, some of which were pre-Conquest in origin. I wasn’t certain of the details - legends are like that - but in essence the Sorceress held forth in an enchanted forest which was at the center of a perfectly ordinary forest.
Knights, heroes, magi, demigods, and brave-but-stupid peasants would stumble across her territory, or (more rarely) seek her out. She wasn’t known to be terribly forthcoming with assistance, being more of a trickster divinity. But I had never heard the legend of the Sorceress associated with the Alka Alon.
So what do you call her? I asked, my head swimming again. Ithalia wanted me to be examined by a legendary sorceress or rebellious Alka Alon or academic authority on my species or divine ally . . . on my honeymoon. Things could not get stranger than this, I told myself.
Grandmother, Ithalia said, smugly.
See, I spoke too soon, my mind reproved.
“A bottle sipped for harmony, the equilibrium of desire,”
We dined that night on river fish fried in nut-flavored oils, served over rice with baked yams. The old crone might have been unsightly, but Ylita knew her craft. We finished the second bottle of mead over dinner, toasting each other’s health..
“Only five more to go,” she said, wistfully. “This was really lovely, Min. This was a nice town. So what are our plans, now?” she asked, expectantly.
“I’ve a side excursion in mind,” I said, pleasantly, as Palia cleared away our plates. “There are some Alka Alon ruins I’d like to see.”
“Ruins?” she asked, skeptically. “Why?”
“They’re supposed to be pretty,” I explained. “It’s only a day or so off the river, and we can see some new country along the way. The leaves are supposed to be breathtaking. And there’s a hot spring,” I added as incentive. She wasn’t looking enthusiastic.
“Min . . .: she said, patiently.
“I’ll hire a proper carriage,” I promised. “You won’t have to walk far. And I’ll do my best to keep you amused.”
She studied me, and for a moment I thought we were going to have our first married fight. But she sighed and relented. “I can see it’s important to you,” she said, picking at the last of her fish. “If you’re willing to put up with me complaining the whole way, then we can see whatever pile of rocks you want. This is your honeymoon, too.”
“It will be worth it,” I assured her.
She looked at me funny. “You . . . there’s something else going on.”
Not married a week, and she was already seeing through my deceits. That didn’t bode well. I swallowed and tried to be casual.
“With magi, there usually is,” I said, cryptically. “Trust me.”
She sighed again. “I guess that is part of my job, now. Just . . . if you’re planning on seducing me in a picturesque ruin, remember to bring a blanket or something.”
I hadn’t considered that element . . . and suddenly this excursion took on new dimensions. “I will ensure there will be a sufficiency of blankets.”
“But that’s not really why we’re going, is it? This is . . . wizard’s business?”
“Only in part,” I promised. “Nothing that will interfere in our holiday, my wife.” I could tell I was pushing the boundaries of her patience.
She looked at me thoughtfully. “Please do me the courtesy of the truth on my honeymoon, my husband,” she said, carefully.
It was time for the raw truth. “Very well. We’re going to an enchanted forest to meet an ancient Alka Alon sorceress who is going to do a magical examination of us to ensure we’re faring well under the effects of irionite,” I explained calmly.
“Oh,” she said, belching politely behind her hand. “When did that happen?”
“At dawn this morning. One of the Alka Alon has been communicating with me through the sphere, and they’re worried that something might be amiss with you and the baby.”
“Oh,” she repeated. She considered. “All right.”
I blinked. “All right? I ask you to interrupt your honeymoon and take a sudden detour to find some crazy old Tree Folk enchantress to put you and our unborn child under unknown magical scrutiny, and you’re . . . you’re all right with that?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot and rolled her eyes. “Minalan, will you please stop expecting me to burst into hysterics over every little thing? Yes, I’m moody as three hells and I can’t seem to get comfortable any more, but apart from that I’m enjoying our honeymoon tremendously.”
“Even if it includes Tree Folk?”
“I knew you were eccentric when I married you,” she pointed out. “We had our first date after I clubbed a goblin to death in your presence, if you recall.”
“It made an impression,” I agreed, absently. “But . . . I figured any woman would be in hysterics over something like this. The magic of the honeymoon is usually only second in a maid’s mind to her wedding day.”
“It’s been years since I was a maid, and I’ve already had my first honeymoon, remember? It was . . . well, magical, in the mundane sort of way. But this honeymoon is magical in the authentic manner, and to be honest . . . and I cannot believe I’m admitted this aloud . . . I think I might love you more than I loved my first husband.” She looked wracked with guilt over saying it.
I blinked. I was not expecting that. I had no idea how to respond. Good? How dare you? Of course? Have you no shame? Apparently my confusion was easy enough to read on my face, so Alya came to my rescue.
“I’m only telling you that,” she said, quietly as she bit her lip, “so that you understand that I am being truthful when I tell you that I will embrace with joy whatever insanity follows you. Or that you follow. My first husband was a wonderful man, Min, but I only knew him a few weeks before we wed. You . . . I’ve been thinking of you constantly for months, now. I know your mother, your father, your sisters, your apprentices, the village you grew up in, I know more about you than I knew about most of my neighbors in Boval. I know you have new duties and responsibilities, and I know that I’m going to have to share you with . . . with your trade. That’s no less than any wife must do”
“Yes, but we’re not talking about me just heading to the fields, or to the forge, or running a cart or fishing for the day, Alya,” I sighed. “I’m not even a real spellmonger anymore. I’m a noble. And . . . well, whatever you call it when you have one of these,” I said, nodding toward my green amber sphere where lay on a pillow nearby. “I don’t know what lies ahead of us, except t
hat it will be inconvenient, expensive, and fraught with danger. I could be gone for weeks or months at a time, and I might . . . I might die in battle. Or be assassinated. Or blow myself up with a futzed spell. Not much of a good husband, I’m afraid,” I said, suddenly having doubts about the wisdom of her marrying me. “You’d probably have a happier marriage with a villein.”
“In which case I would have to worry about him being gone from sunup to sundown or longer, exhausted every night, being worked to death for the reeve while our children went hungry, going to the stocks for fighting, getting drunk as often as he can to dull his pain, constantly paying fines or working off his debts for the privilege of continuing to live, getting conscripted for some stupid war anyway and likely leaving me a widow before I’m thirty,” she said, ticking off her points on her fingers.
“That’s a compelling argument,” I conceded. “I suppose married life is a trial no matter what social strata you live in. But the risk to you and the baby-”
“--is what you are addressing with this excursion, is it not?” she asked, pointedly.
“Well, yes. But--”
The Spellmonger's Honeymoon: A Spellmonger Novella (The Spellmonger Series) Page 5
