Thumbing through its pages, Sheridan remembered how she would ask Kaedman to read her this tale every night after her father had died during the first years of the war. He would tease her about being the only person who took comfort in hearing the legend of the destruction of Gialdanis. Regardless of his protests, he would always read her to sleep every night, until the nightmares passed. Brushing her fingertips across the chapter heading “The Banishment of the Light Mages,” she sighed. She snapped the book shut and shelved it.
The next section she explored caught her attention. “Well, what have we here,” she said as she tugged off a volume entitled Separating Truth from Tale: Nikelan Oracles and folded onto the floor with her legs crossed. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she rested her chin into her palm and opened the book.
The first page read: One of the most enigmatic Orders remains the Nikelan Order of blue magic. Few outside of the Scions have ever encountered a practitioner of blue magic or seen any form of this magic used. While tradition claims that they are the oracles of the Light, its channels, and the living embodiment of His divine will, the empirical evidence to support this claim is insubstantial. Tradition relies upon conjecture at best and legend at worst. All Scions declined to comment or assist in the research of this work, though all claim familiarity with the Nikelan Scion and trust her prophecies. Their unwillingness to discuss the methods of the Nikelans raises many questions, which this work will endeavor to answer.
Sheridan flipped forward several chapters, until she found one called “Explanations for Alleged Prophecies.” Skimming down several paragraphs she read: The eyewitness accounts, regarding the prophecies for which the reclusive Nikelans are famous, seem to describe an event similar to a disease of the mind caused by pressure in the brain, which compels the victim to speak in nonsensical patterns and then have no recollection of these episodes later. Another plausible explanation for this phenomenon could be the ingestion of certain fungi, which produce fantastic visions in the subject, which others present are unable to see.
“Well if nothing else, he was definitely an academic,” she said as she skimmed the rest of the speculative work on blue magic. While she read, the light had receded from the room with the sun's descent toward night. With a regretful noise, she returned the tome to where she had discovered it.
Scanning the shelves on the adjacent wall, she saw practical instruction guides for the different schools of color, theories on the subjective manifestation of color abilities, copies of the charters of each Order and nation. She even found a treatise on why the breeding programs of the sixth century had failed.
With a heavy sigh, she sat on the bed and surveyed the square room and its furniture placement with the wardrobe next to the bed, the desk under the window, and the bookshelves filling any open space in between. Reclining back on her elbows, Sheridan dropped her head between her shoulders.
“C'mon, Gareth. With as conscientious and intellectual as you seem to have been, you had to keep something, some record.”
Sheridan's head snapped up and her gaze swept the room again. Her eyes shimmered indigo.
“It's square.”
Levering herself into a standing position, she ran to the hallway and into the adjoining room. Its width exceeded its depth by ten feet or more. She ducked out of the room and passed Gareth's room to check the one on its left. The dimensions were the same.
“One more,” she said as she swung her head around the doorjamb of the room across the hall to find the identical rectangular construction — the same construction of all quarters in a Daniyelan temple.
Excited, Sheridan returned to Gareth’s room. To the casual observer, the furniture pressed against the walls gave the room a cramped feel and hid the fact that eight feet of the room had vanished.
“Clever.” Sheridan grinned. “Now this is more like it.”
Using her limited purple ability for time folding over the last week had stretched and exhausted her. But this, the use of purple spatial folding, this is where Sheridan shined.
Placing her palm flat on the wall over the headboard of the bed, her eyes glowed indigo and a matching light pulsed like waves over her hand. A gap existed between the walls. With a flash of indigo, Sheridan disappeared from where she knelt on the bed and appeared in the same posture on the floor of a small cell.
A small slit of a window near the ceiling kept the room in shadow. Snapping her left fingers, a soft orange flame appeared in her hand. It illuminated the room in an instant, driving all the shadows from the corners. With a flick of her wrist, the light floated suspended in the air and followed her as she inspected the room. The walls had no doors, no seams to indicate a passageway. Gareth, who had never demonstrated any ability for purple magic, could have kept this secret indefinitely.
Unlike the quarters she had just left, this room was in disarray. Books were cantilevered in a precarious stack on a sturdy, compact worktable. Intermixed with polished, stone bowls, papers sprawled across its charred tabletop, covering sooty black grooves. Sheridan picked up the top book from the pile. It bore no title, but it had a black binding. She knew this book. Every child learned of this book as part of their final weeks as a seeker in any of the Orders as a warning. These were the writings of the heretic, Simon Nightfall. This was black, the magic of darkness. The magic, according to the legends, that sundered light magic into its separate colors.
Given what she had witnessed in the cellar, it didn’t surprise her to find his philosophies here, but it did provide her with further evidence exonerating Kaedman. Slipping the book back onto the table, she riffled through the letters strewn there. She shuffled the letters from front to back, skimming their contents. They were letters from the Brethren, many of which mentioned Kaedman.
“This can't be right.”
Sheridan’s brow knit together as she checked and rechecked what she had read. The earliest letter mentioning Kaedman dated back to the war. Thrusting her hand out, she leaned against the wall for support. The Brethren had begun watching Kaedman while they had still been training together. They had maneuvered his early admittance into his journeymen post during the final year of the war. As she continued reading, her face blanched.
“Blessed Light, the Brethren control the Daniyelan Order.”
At that moment, she felt a harsh, fast tug at her heart that drove the breath from her lungs. Her eyes widened in shock.
“Eve, stop!” Sheridan cried out to her sister, hundreds of leagues away.
Fixing the image of her sister's face twisted with fury firmly in her mind, she reached for Eve and folded their locations together so they overlapped. A crushing pressure descended around Sheridan. The indigo light from her eyes engulfed her body. With a pop, she was gone.
Caleb drew off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. The entry hall of the Nikelan temple glimmered where the sunlight fell across the white marble. Soaring four stories above where Caleb and Talise stood, the ceiling arched as though it bore none of the weight of its marble structure. Breathless at the grandeur of the hall, Talise's hand covered her mouth as she spun on the ball of her foot to soak in the beauty of the architecture.
As Caleb approached a large bowl recessed into the floor, he heard the delicate trickle of running water echo up into the hall's vaulted ceilings. Gazing into the pool of water, chips of mother of pearl and glass of varied hues of blue lined its bottom where a mosaic formed concentric circles moving inward. Beneath the water, the lines seemed to swirl, pulling the observer toward the center.
Talise joined Caleb, slipping her hand around his waist. Instinctively, Caleb drew his arm across her shoulder. Before looking into the pool, Talise traced the lines of his disfigured, yet rugged face with her eyes and smiled to herself.
As she admired the reflecting pool’s beauty, the circles seemed to pulse and the bottom of the bowl appeared to deepen, drawing her with it. Her eyes flashed azure and she heard a nightingale singing behind her. She turned to find the bird and
the temple was gone.
A fire burned in a large hearth and crumpled on the ground before it lay Faela. Her body unmoving, the stones around her glistened dark and wet. The nightingale's song stopped. The vision changed and she saw a small boy of the Tribes sitting alone in a meadow. He was crying. A man in uniform picked up the boy and walked away from her. She tried to catch him, but with every step she took, they moved further away.
Talise blinked and the images dissolved around her. She still stood, with her arm encircling Caleb's torso, gazing at the glittering mosaic of the pool. He inclined his head toward her to speak when the sounds of footsteps signaled that they were no longer alone. At the intrusion of the sounds, Talise’s vision receded in her memory, the details fading into a haze.
A familiar voice carried across the hall. “I see you have found Nikela's Mirror. It was built by the hands of the first blue mage, my Order's first Scion. Nikela was quite the artist before the Shattering of magic. You are not the first to be drawn by its power, Caleb Durante Murphy and Talise Murphy of the Lightwind Tribe.”
Turning to face the voice they had heard at the Boundary, Caleb and Talise saw a slight woman with silver hair that cascaded past the small of her back. She wore a simple blue cotton dress belted with a wide swath of sea green brocade. Her beauty seemed ageless, but laugh lines deepened at her sapphire eyes and smiling mouth. Behind her stood a man with a watchful gaze and deep black hair, streaked with silver, swept into a long braid.
Caleb's eyebrows rose. “Mage? But there are no more mages, not since the Shattering.”
“A decision made by the first color mages, including Nikela. To avoid the arrogance that caused the destruction of this city, they established the Orders and we became known as Brothers and Sisters. Whether you call a spade a chicken or a spade does not change what it is. Those blessed with the ability to see and control the colors of life are mages. I call a thing what it is, not what we wish it to be. But where are my manners, I am Rivka, the Scion of the Nikelan Order and its temples and this is Vaughn, my Grier.”
Caleb's mouth quirked up. “I guess it would be foolish to ask how you know who we are.”
Rivka's eyes crinkled as her smile widened. “We were aware of you long before you came to our Boundary, Caleb.” Stepping toward Talise, she held out her hand, which Talise took in her own. “It is always good for the children of Vamorines to come home, my child.”
Unblinking, Talise stared at the Scion and spoke in a whisper. “I had heard you still served, Rivka Peacemaker, but I never thought I would ever see you myself, jha’na.”
Rivka squeezed her hand. “It has been a very long time since anyone has called me that.”
“Oh, come now, Rivka,” Vaughn said from the chair he lounged in, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “Didn't I call you that last night at dinner? When I asked you to pass the Vinfirth red, I believe.”
Rivka smiled, but otherwise ignored her spouse. “You've come a long way to speak with us. You have made some grave accusations, Caleb Murphy.”
Fetching Kade's logbook from the bag slung across his back, he gripped its edges with both hands and spoke the ritual words. “I believe that Tomas Segar, Scion of the Daniyelan Order, is a member of the Brethren. I bring evidence of his corruption and seek the discernment of the Scion of the Nikelans. I seek judgment by the Light itself from the only one vested to remove a Scion. He is no child of the Light.”
Rivka nodded. “I shall hear this evidence. Continue.”
“I served in the Daniyelan temples for many years before my banishment,” Caleb began. “I completed my journeyman year before Nabos began testing the borders of Isfaridesh and Mergoria. Shortly after I was assigned my first circuit, Nabos began claiming their border towns as part of Nabos' historical territories. It wasn't long after that the Nabosian council and king executed the Daniyelan mediators. The rulers of Nabos had clearly betrayed their people and I had sworn an oath as a Brother of the Daniyelan Order to uphold justice.
“It was my duty to serve the people and I fought. The conscripted soldiers from the other nations all had a Daniyelan commanding officer.” Caleb curled his fingers around the logbook more tightly. “I was a very successful officer. After the assassination of the Phaidrian Scion in Lanvirdis, Indolbergan joined the war though they were safe from the Nabosian’s expansionist measures. It was clear that the king of Nabos and his followers had to be removed. I fought. I led. And unlike most, I lived as did many of the men under my command.”
Caleb drew in a slow breath as he listened to the clear trickle of the water. “I was a good soldier. Because of this, seven years into the war I was removed from my post and given a new command. This new command was comprised entirely of Daniyelans. Tomas was my immediate superior; I reported directly to him. Tomas served as Benjamin's head of intelligence back then. Before Benjamin died in battle and Tomas became the new Daniyelan Scion. We were sent on many missions. Missions, which I’m now certain, Benjamin never ordered.”
Rivka's face remained impassive as she noted the rigidity with which Caleb held himself as though he recounted these events to a superior officer. His formality tried to mask the pain these events held for him and it would have worked on someone with less experience than the woman standing before him.
“You knew the man, jha’na,” Caleb said as he laughed, his eyes downcast with remorse and nostalgic longing. “Benjamin was a man who inspired loyalty and devotion. Tomas said the orders came from Benjamin, so I followed. We assassinated key figures in the Nabosian regime. My men, my men died. They sacrificed to retrieve information on supply routes, fortifications, battle plans. We ambushed supply trains, poisoned waterways, blighted farmlands, kidnapped–” Caleb broke off, then cleared his throat.
“I had begun to suspect the origin of our orders, when a seventeen-year-old boy was assigned to my command. The men I led were all seasoned veterans as Daniyelans and in the war. This boy had yet to finish his journeyman year.
“But this boy,” Caleb said, his eyes glinting with a weary pride, “this boy was extraordinary. His name was Kaedman Hawthorn. Kade learned fast, not to just survive, but to thrive. He never hesitated and was wickedly lethal. They say that Daniyelans are the living weapons of the Light. In this boy, it was true. Kade was a weapon. They sent him to me to sharpen, but how they intended to wield him I never discovered. We were sent on a simple retrieval mission after we had completed a several-month guerrilla campaign.”
The muscles in Caleb's throat constricted before he regained his composure. “The war was coming to a close and Tomas' information led me to believe it would be clean and easy. My team went in to extract a contact from a small coastal town in the north of Nabos, Stantreath. Easy, he had said.”
Caleb raised his gaze and long suffering rage simmered in his eyes. Guilt and loss were plain in the set of his jaw. “They were slaughtered. They were waiting for us with who I thought at the time were renegades from the Orders using black magic. Kade and I were the only two to survive. When we returned, I began investigating Tomas and my unit's orders. I found nothing conclusive enough to publicly accuse the new Scion of my Order, but I did discover that Benjamin had known nothing of our existence.
“When Tomas asked me to lead this team, he told me that Benjamin had formed it and chosen me. He had lied to us and my men were dead. Apparently, my investigation ruffled some feathers, because after the treaty was signed at Kilrood and the war ended, I was blamed for the catastrophe at Stantreath, stripped of my command, and banished from the Orders.
“In the nine years since Stantreath, I have collected information on Tomas and his cohorts. I now know that the men at Stantreath were members of the Brethren and this,” he held up Kade's tattered logbook, “is Kaedman Hawthorn's Daniyelan logbook on the council at Montdell. It chronicles the influence of members of the Brethren within the Daniyelan Order and how they have been manipulating the legislation of the councils to give increasing civil authority to the Orders. Kade's
observations are disturbing and recent events in Montdell implicate Tomas' involvement. Gareth Burke, the other Daniyelan attached to Montdell, openly spoke of the Brethren with Kade on many occasions. Gareth Burke was also Tomas' second cousin. Gareth tried to recruit Kade for the Brethren and failed.”
Caleb strode to Rivka and placed the logbook in her hands. “Jha’na, if Tomas succeeds, every country will hand over their sovereignty to the Daniyelan Order. As we rode in, I saw the ruins of Gialdanis battered beneath the waves. A place I dismissed as a legend. But if the legends are true, the last time mages ruled our society was nearly destroyed and magic itself shattered. I have seen and done horrific things, I would not dream of denying that. But I will not stand by and watch our world burn a second time to the same folly that threw this city into the sea. Read this and decide.”
Rivka pulled the logbook to her chest, her thoughts heavy in her blue eyes. “You are a good man, Caleb Murphy. I will investigate this further, but there is a weighty price I must ask of you.”
“I am yours to command, jha’na.” Caleb's voice was soft, but firm.
“I do not think it a coincidence that you are Rafaela's brother. Just as she was chosen by Lior, I believe you too were chosen.”
“My sister?” Caleb's eyes darkened dangerously at her mention, but what shocked him more was her invocation of the tri-fold deity of his wife’s people, the Deoraghan. “What does Ella have to do with this?”
“Your sister is a key. If the Brethren knew the significance and potential of her gifts, this world would enter a time of darkness deeper than the Shattering, deeper than the Cleansings of the Deoraghan. If you want to protect this world, you must protect that which is precious to Lior. You are a guardian, Caleb. That is your mission now. I will deal with Tomas should your allegations prove true.
Shatter (The Children of Man) Page 20
