Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  Unless of course, it suddenly occurred to him, Great Uncle Mortimer remembered somewhere in that twisted morass of memories that was his mind, him doing that. That was the problem with seers, he realised. They were probably all now desperately trying to navigate a course in life that kept them alive and with something of a future ahead of them, while changing as little as possible.

  The soft glint of burnished metal coming from the corner of the room unexpectedly attracted his attention. Focusing on it he discovered it was his staff was leaning against the wall. The sight made him smile. But then it confused him. How could his staff be here? He understood that Great Uncle Mortimer could have somehow escaped in the confusion on the rooftop, but how had he had time to go down to the basement and grab his staff?

  Instinctively he called for it – only to remember a heartbeat later that his magic had been blocked. It was a surprise therefore when it flew toward his hand. What had happened? He remembered distinctly the moment they'd placed his brand on him and how he had suddenly felt a barrier appear between him and his magic.

  Could his aunt have removed the brand? It was the only explanation he could think of.

  “You're finally up!” Aunt Millie announced as she walked into the room. She had a smile on her face, but not the look of someone who belonged in an elegant house. Or for that matter someone who was capable with a healing spell. She was currently wearing a short mouldy looking jacket, and the rat he had seen earlier was sitting on her shoulder.

  “Aunt Millie.” He greeted her. “I guess I have you to thank for my life?”

  “And him.” She indicated his great uncle with a casual flick of her thumb as he walked into the room just behind her. “He's the fool who let this happen.”

  “I told you, I didn't know it would be this bad,” he defended himself. “That the fool boy would break his fall with his face!”

  “But you knew he would fall!” Baen's aunt turned on him. “You should never have let that woman get anywhere near him!”

  “I didn't know that either! I didn't know anything! But it had to be risked. I've told you that!” Then he looked over his shoulder at the wall. “And you be quiet too!”

  “Piffle!” Aunt Millie was unimpressed. “He's family. You never place family at risk! Not for anything!”

  “You've been feeding him fungus! It's a wonder he isn't dead!”

  “Curatives!” She corrected him. “I told you that – but you were probably too busy talking to yourself again!”

  “You don't understand.” He sighed. “No one understands.”

  “But I might,” Baen interrupted. “If you would just talk to me.” He needed to hear it despite the fact that he was already growing tired of sitting there, listening to the two of them bicker. “You knew this would happen?”

  “Yes and no,” his great uncle admitted. “But not really. Everything has been in chaos for months, and growing worse. Much worse. Most of us seers are suffering. All our memories are constantly changing. And not just little bits of them. Whole pieces of our lives are being replaced and we can't work out what's real anymore. Because what was real is gone and none of what's replacing it is real.”

  “But the woman had to be exposed,” his great uncle continued. “Her people had to know that Sia Oran was working with the Duke. If they didn't her war would have begun and the world would have fallen into blood and death.”

  “And now it won't?”

  “Not as it would have been. My memories of that war were terrible. Of running and fighting and our family dying one by one, year after year as the world turned to ashes. Those memories are fading now. They don't talk to me so much any more. But the new ones aren't all roses and wine. And they aren't solid either. They change with every hour that passes. There are simply so many seers with their lives hanging in the balance and all trying to save not just their lives but their minds. And every change leads to others.”

  “I did what I had to do – though I truly am sorry for what happened to you.”

  “What exactly did you do?” Baen asked.

  “I set a trap. I had to save as many of us as I could, and that meant she had to be exposed. So I had J'bel's people place a spell that allowed what she said to be heard by others. Now the High Priestess has been shown to be a creature of the darkness and her plans are in pieces. But J'bel's people were supposed to be there to stop hers. They weren't. Something's happened in the Mission.”

  Strangely Baen understood that. And he understood the pain in his great uncle's voice. He was desperately trying to arrange things so they came out right, but he couldn't. He could know what went wrong if he didn't change things. But he'd had to guess at what the changes he made to stop that happening would do. He couldn't actually know what would happen until the changes had been made. And then, it had been too late. In essence he was throwing dice and praying to the Lady that they landed the way he wanted.

  “So where are things now?”

  “Metea, Estor and Barnly are in the wind. Their plans are in ruins and I have memories of them doing a thousand different things. None of those memories are solid and all of them conflict with one another. Our problem is that two of the three are seers while the third is an alchemist who can provide them with a potion to dampen the madness that springs forth when they change their futures. They can do almost anything and no one can predict what.”

  “The High Priestess has been stopped, and she will be tried. A different trial to the one I remembered a few days ago, but sooner. Her armies as far as I can tell are still awaiting her orders, but most of my memories now say they will never come. With all her machinations exposed, her lies revealed, the people will not support her war. Even her own soldiers, the temple guards and a few others, doubt her.”

  “She gambled everything on the war. On turning us humans into monsters so terrible that we had to be destroyed. Monsters who would attack her people, grind them into potions, play with death magic, and answer their overtures of friendship by destroying their Trading Missions. Her gamble has failed. Now they know that she's the monster.”

  And there it was, Baen realised. The entirety of the plan. The High Priestess wanted to start a war thinking she would win and his people would be wiped out. Baen didn't know why she hated humans, but it didn't matter. And the Duke helped her. Even directed her through her seer. Let her believe she would win. Because he expected to win the war and claim the throne. And of course everyone had lost – or would have. But had they truly escaped that fate? He didn't know.

  “The ancient spells she unearthed will be resealed in time. The favoured souls she had locked away will be released, and the border remains secure.”

  “But the world still hangs in balance. This misbegotten war has half begun. Barnly is still a handful of seeds of pure chaos waiting to be sewn. He's lost his ally – or puppet as the High Priestess truly was – but he can still see and change the future as none of the rest of us can. Things were so much simpler before he went mad.”

  Mad. That was one word for him, Baen thought. But Evil was a better one. Most of all though, the man was determined. He wanted the throne. He had always wanted the throne. And for that goal he would do anything. Sacrifice anything. Even his own sanity. And he would drag anyone else into his quest that he could. Any way he could. And he would bend them to his ends.

  But that was a matter for another time. For the moment he had other things to ponder. And one above all else.

  “The local Mission?”

  “No one knows.” Moritmer shrugged. “They're not letting anyone in.”

  Of course they weren't. Baen sighed. But those soldiers had come from it, so he guessed that some of the High Priestess' people were there still – unless they were in his home. But what had happened to his friends in the Mission? To J'bel and Dariya? And most of all to Nyri?

  He needed to know. But he couldn't even get out of bed. And even if he could have, they wouldn't have let him in let alone answered his questions.

  Baen
sighed again for good measure. He had never felt so helpless.

  “Aunt Millie, thank you for your help. And for getting rid of that brand. I didn't know you were a healer.”

  “Healer? I'm not! I just helped you rest a little, tied a few bandages – and got rid of that awful root blight you were covered with.”

  “Well thank you anyway. I'm very grateful.” Which he was. Though he was a little worried by the way she described the brand that had been placed on him as a root blight. He didn't have roots – hopefully. He quickly checked.

  “It was nothing. Trees, people, roots, feet – they're all the same.” She smiled at him while her rat made itself comfortable on her shoulder. “But you're welcome Dear.”

  Baen didn't quite know what to say about that, but then he watched a wild boar trot past the open door and decided not to say anything. There was a razorback boar in her home, treating it as if it was its own, and she didn't seem to notice!

  “I should probably get up!”

  “When you're up to it Dear.” She bent down and gave him a peck on the forehead as if he was a young child. “But I don't think you will be doing anything for a while. You had a sword right through your chest. Leaked a hell of a lot of sap.”

  Then she straightened up, turned and headed for the door. “I'll get a nice stew on. That'll make you feel much better in no time. Bind that sap.”

  “Worm and toadstool?!” his great uncle asked as he turned to follow her out. “With a sprinkling of mould for flavour?!”

  “Huh! How dare you criticise my cooking! You ungrateful wretch!”

  “I am grateful!” he protested. “For surviving three days of your cooking!”

  Baen watched them leave, idly wondering which of them was the craziest. And more importantly, just what his aunt did have in mind for her stew! And then he watched as the razorback boar headed past his door again, following his aunt down the hallway, snuffling all the way. Was there any hope he could go home now, he wondered?! Before dinner was ready?! Because he suddenly found he’d lost his appetite!

  But he knew there wasn't. Not when the bandage around his shoulder and over his back was slowly turning red. He was going to be trapped here with his crazy relatives for a while longer.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  It was good to be back in Cedar Heights, Dariya thought. Even if the city was once more in a state of chaos.

  But she saw little of that, sitting on a bench on one of the balconies in the Mission, looking out over the yard where a pack of riding wolves were playing like young pups. Pups with really big teeth but still just pups. She quite liked the creatures. Meanwhile high above on the roof of the Mission, the eagles squawked and called to one another. They were busy nesting, and though the Fae had said it would be fine for her to go up to the roof to view the great birds as they sat on their eggs, she hadn’t wanted to. It might be safe for them; she was not so sure it would be safe for her.

  For the moment she had a seat in the sun, a good book, a cup of tea and a view of the playful squabbles of the pups to keep her occupied. She had a place to eat and another to lay her head on at night. It was all very peaceful.

  It was just a pity that the peace was driving her to distraction. She needed to do something. Anything! But for the moment this was where she had to remain. Quiet and out of sight.

  The Fae didn't even want her inside the Mission where she could be spotted by their customers – now that they had customers again. Or worse, where she might strike up a conversation with some of them. They feared she would reveal herself to them. It didn't matter that none of them had the slightest interest in her. They had other things to talk about. Mostly about magical roads.

  For some reason no one could stop talking about the silvery road that ran from the roof of the Mission to Baen's book store. It was fairly impressive she had to admit. Though the wizard probably hated it. After all it completely undid his spells of protection. Now, though people might still not be able to find his book store by following the streets, they could simply find his store by following the silver road above their heads. It also wouldn't matter if the front door was warded against those wishing him ill. People could simply walk down from his roof.

  Baen was not going to be happy about that she suspected. If he still lived. Nobody seemed to know if he did, and though they refused to tell her anything, she saw the worry in their faces. Or if so where he was. Wherever he was though, she was certain he was creating trouble. It seemed to be his way.

  She just wished someone would tell her what was happening. Even what had happened. But they wouldn't and she had to try and work it out from what she'd seen and overheard.

  The High Priestess Sia Oran had sent her soldiers to take over the Mission and as part of that they had built the silvery road to Baen's book store. They'd driven him out of his home – why, she didn’t know although now she knew that the High Priestess had been in league with her uncle. That did not bode well for the wizard.

  But at least the soldiers had gone and the High Priestess had been arrested – or was in the wind, she wasn't completely sure. The soldiers had never said what had happened to Baen. Not to her. She still didn’t know what their instructions had been in taking over the Mission in the first place. They'd just come, a day after her return to the city, and then left a few days later with their heads hanging in shame. She would have said they'd fled except that no one as far as she knew was chasing them. The only information anyone had, had come from riders flying between the Realms. But at least they had started flying once again. That had to be something, she supposed.

  Of course maybe the riders had said more than that to their own people. Being a human guest forced to accept their hospitality while her uncle and cousin waged war with one another, she supposed meant that they had to severely restrict what she was told. Thinking about that Dariya suddenly missed Baen. He was mad. His family were crazier still. But at least he told her what he knew.

  The sound of footsteps behind her made her look up to see J'bel walking towards her. Dariya smiled when she saw him. A smile that soon faded when she saw the sombre look on his face. He looked like a man about to attend a funeral.

  “J'bel?”

  “It is bad news I'm afraid.” He stopped a couple of paces from her. “Baen Walkerton is dead. Murdered.”

  “Shite!” She cursed fate under her breath. “How did it happen this time?” Because despite the look on his face she had to believe there was hope. He had been supposedly dead once before. He was tough. And he had magic. He could survive things that others couldn't.

  “The High Priestess bound him with a spell so that he could not escape. Then her soldiers grabbed him and branded him with an enchanted iron. One that burnt him through to the bone. He was nearly killed by that alone, but then she gave orders to take his head. There was a struggle and I understand that they weren’t successful in beheading him. Instead they ran him through with a sword and threw his body off the roof.”

  “I have people presently searching for his remains, but it has been many days and the forest around his home is thick. There are wild dogs around.” J’bel dropped his gaze to the ground.

  “Damn!” Dariya took the news like a physical blow. It weakened her somehow. And for a moment she couldn't think of anything to say. Finally a question came.

  “Why?”

  “Duke Barnly wanted him dead.” J'bel kept his eyes on the ground between them. “Sia Oran was happy to grant him his wish. In the end he was human and she hates your kind.”

  Dariya nodded. She understood that. There were always people who hated others that were not like them. Some who hated people of different skin colours and who came from different lands. Why should the Fae be any different? In the end it didn't even matter why the High Priestess had learned to hate her people. It only mattered that she had been stopped from starting this war she had so badly wanted.

  From what Dariya had been told, her dream had been to start a war and then wipe humans from the wo
rld. Turn their cities to ashes. Root out every human in G'lorenvale. Murder all those with gifts. And she believed in doing so she was serving her Goddess. It was as simple as that. But she had been stopped. Her conversation with Baen had been heard. Baen's great uncle had made sure that a spell was in place to allow her words to be heard by those in the Missions. And from the moment she had admitted that she was working with her uncle, the High Priestess' fate had been sealed. Now she was somewhere in the Hallows, either fleeing or awaiting her trial.

  “Does Baen's family know? His Great Uncle Mortimer and his Aunt Millie?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to wait until we found his body. They have been through this once already. I did not want to put them through this pain a second time before we were absolutely certain.”