by P. D. Kalnay
I took Ivy’s hand and pulled her back down the council chamber. Anger and disappointment washed over me. I don’t know why I expected the members of the Order to be good guys like Mr. Ryan, but I had. The reality was disheartening.
***
“Jack, slow down, you’re hurting my wrist,” Ivy pulled me to a stop a few blocks away.
“Sorry,” I said as she rubbed her wrist, “Can you believe those jerks. And after all the work you’ve done on this place too. Talk about ungrateful bas–”
“Jack,” Ivy cut me off. “What did you expect?”
I considered that for a moment.
“I expected guys like Mr. Ryan, or Sir Andriel—the old, nicer Sir Andriel. You know, brave and noble warriors. Heroes…”
“Janik was a great hero, feared or respected across the First World, and he raised the Order to a new standard for the centuries he led them, but the Order itself has never been loved or admired. They were historically harsh, and rigid in their behaviour. Those with privilege, wealth, and power, often see only their own concerns.”
“I pictured them more as warrior priests, like Jedi Knights.”
It sounded silly when I said it out loud. I’d been hoping for Knights of the Round Table and had ended up with Knights Templar. Ivy pointed at the ruins of the vast manor house we stood in front of. All that remained was a jagged foundation.
“This was the estate of a ranking officer of the Order,” she said. “It would have been a beautiful home, filled with servants and luxury.”
I’d known that, but hadn’t given it any thought.
“Few fought the Order’s expulsion from Knight’s Haven after Janik was gone,” Ivy said. “They were fair in trade, but widely disliked. The greater dislike of our people has led folk to forget their heavy-handedness.”
“I’m not letting them into the workshop,” I said.
“I hope not. That would be a terrible idea.”
“Do you think we’ll have problems with them?”
“No, they are sufficiently afraid of us. I sensed it. Don’t judge Sir Andriel too harshly. He’s an old man and the only one in the room who was against asking.”
“You could tell all that?”
“It’s what I do.”
“Can you sense what I’m thinking?”
“Not with my abilities. You’re too powerful.” Ivy smiled. “I don’t need them, anyway.”
She started down the road again.
“Why not?”
“Because, you’re also an idiot.”
I chased after Ivy. It seemed like we were good again, and I took her hand. She smiled and my hopes soared.
“I’ll go get my hammer, and tell One to come home,” I said.
“It would be wise to keep One, Two, and Three secret.”
I thought of their precious hearts and how doushey the knights were.
“Yeah, I’ll tell them. I need to bring my tools up from the warehouse too.”
“How will you secure your boat?” Ivy asked.
“I guess someone can tow it away, but I don’t think anybody else can start the pump. Without the magic motor, it’s just a small boat. I can make a lock and chain it up later on.”
We’d almost made it back to the bottom of the stairs leading to the workshop when Ivy’s hand clenched mine painfully. Lyrian was sitting on the bottom step beneath the wide stone archway.
She stood as we approached. Lyrian was almost as tall as me. Her hair was so blond it bordered on white, and her skin looked like she’d spent an hour applying a bucket of powder, everywhere. In her short, billowy blue dress, Lyrian would have stolen the show at a Victoria Secret event, and she came with her own set of wings. Ivy’s tightening grip told me I’d been staring.
“Greetings, Prince Jakalain, I have come to discuss your training.”
She added a smile, which looking back was more predatory than friendly, but I didn’t notice it at the time. I was too excited about learning how my magic worked.
“That’d be great!” I said.
Ivy shook off my hand and started up the stairs. Neither woman acknowledged the other with as much as a glance.
“When do you wish to begin?” Lyrian asked.
“Can we start tomorrow morning?” I had to grab my hammer and One from the tower and collect my tools before somebody walked off with them. The days of leaving things lying around were in the past.
“Very well, where shall we meet?”
“Here?”
“I will expect you at dawn.”
And that was that.
***
One seemed relieved to return, and I briefly wondered if he’d been lonely up in the tower, but I figured he’d had Two to talk to, and they’d kicked around Knight’s Haven for centuries with nothing to do. I told Ivy about my lessons in the morning which got me a shrug. Then I told her she had nothing to be jealous of, which got me an evening of hanging out in the workshop. I didn’t trust or distrust Lyrian. I didn’t know her at all. What I knew was that she had information I needed, and I’d have taken it from anybody. I wasn’t sure why Ivy didn’t understand that.
I’d assigned Three to work with Ivy, months back, and they’d become inseparable. Two couldn’t get enough of Mistress Ivangelain, and she was with them in the apartment. Which left One and me hanging out in the workshop. I sat back on the seat of a half-finished flying machine that broke every law of aerodynamics and sulked. One stood off to the side, waiting patiently. I kicked the machine, and then spent the next while cradling my foot in a state of pain-filled regret.
“Is something wrong, Master?” One asked tentatively. “Might I assist you?”
“Do you understand girls?”
“No, Master.”
“Do you know how to end Janik’s banishment?”
“No, Master.”
One didn’t look to be of much use.
“What about the Order. Do you know what they actually do or anything about them?”
“Not specifically, Master. They left the island forty-three years after my creation. You forbade me to go outside or to show myself for that time. This limited my ability to observe.”
That figured. I kicked the machine again, forgetting what a bad idea it was.
“Crap! Do you know how this thing works?”
“Yes, Master.”
I was rubbing my toes again, so it took a second for me to hear his reply. Then I forgot my foot pain.
“You do?”
“Of course, Master. It’s the purpose for which you made me.”
With the growing suspicion that I might be every world’s biggest moron, I asked my next question—a few months late.
“What exactly did I make you for?”
“I am One, the first volume of the Library of Marielain Fireborn Talantial. I contain the contents of the original library and the additional works added after my creation, Master.”
“The original library?”
“Yes, Master, before my creation a traditional library containing books, scrolls, and other documents existed.”
“What happened to it?”
“I was instructed to memorise and destroy each piece until I became the Library, Master. My function is to provide you with access to that information wherever you might be working. The workshop is a poor environment for paper and the smithy quite hazardous.”
I’d assumed my former self had made One, Two, and Three as novelties or for companionship. Ivy was right: I was an idiot.
“So, Two and Three are…”
“Volumes Two and Three, Master.”
“If you hold the entire library, what information do they contain?”
“Two contains the same information I do, Master. All I learn is passed on to her.”
She’s the backup.
“And Three?”
“Unknown, Master. He can only articulate simple thoughts without speech.”
“Can any of you write?”
“We can write and draw with prec
ision, Master.”
“Why didn’t he ever just write you guys a more complicated message?”
“We can only reveal the contents of the library with your express permission and a direct command, Master. Without permission we are limited in the extent of our… personal initiative.”
Basically slaves, I thought.
My old self had made little, self-aware people and kept them as his slaves. One had a definite personality, if a quirky one. So did the others. I couldn’t lie to myself and pretend that they were just magic robots or computers. I wasn’t willing to feel guilt for something another me had done over a thousand years before, but I could fix it. Although I needed the information One, Two, and Three contained, desperately, I needed my self-respect more.
“I give you your freedom,” I said.
“Master?”
“I can do that, can’t I?”
“You can do anything, Master.”
“Then, if it’s up to me—you are now a free person. You can do whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Master. If the choice is mine—I wish to stay here and serve you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Thank you. How does this thing work?”
I waved an arm at the bizarre wood and canvas contraption surrounding me.
“It doesn’t, Master. This machine never worked. Do you want me to recite the build log?”
“Please.”
One recited a detailed history of Marielain’s attempts to make the machine I sat in fly. I didn’t understand most the technical details concerning the magical parts, but that didn’t worry me. I now had access to the books that would no doubt explain them. I’d have preferred actual books. One was like the audio version of a set of textbooks, and I was a visual learner. Still, it was a lot better than nothing. What I learned from listening, was that Marielain had attempted to use his magic to overcome the lack of aerodynamics his machine displayed. Part of me wondered if I could do a better job of it. I had built a model plane that flew…
***
Ivy had gone to bed by the time I returned to the apartment. I told Two and Three that they were also free to live their miniature lives how they wished. Both followed One’s lead, saying verbally and though obscure sign language that they wanted to remain members of Team Jack. It was nice to get the friendly support.
Chapter 12 – Back to School
Ivy was gone by the time I woke. It was easy to sleep late in my cave-like room. Following a quick breakfast, I left the apartment to go in search of Lyrian, eager to begin my lessons. I’d done all right, stumbling around with magic, but it was time to get serious. Lyrian was easy to locate. She sat on the bottom step.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” I said.
“Patience is a trait any hopeful enchanter would be wise to learn,” she said.
I wasn’t sure if that was a yes, a no, or a reprimand, so I said nothing.
“Are you prepared to begin your instruction?”
“Definitely,” I said.
“Very well, the weather is pleasant, shall we move over there?”
She pointed to a rare patch of green grass on the nearest estate down the boulevard. It stood out like a bit of park amid the burnt. I followed her to the grass, and, as we walked, I examined her wings. They were like and not like mine, in the same way that different people’s ears are similar, but unique. Lyrian’s wings were thin, to the point of being translucent in places, and vaguely insect-like in aspect, although I’d seen no bug’s wings that were exactly the same shape. Her wings had a shimmer to them that mine didn’t. It was pronounced in the morning sunshine.
“They may fall off if you stare at them so, Jakalain,” Lyrian said, without turning.
She said it as though she’d caught me staring at something less appropriate. I flushed as I realised that maybe staring at a winathen’s wings was inappropriate. I’d been curious, since I could only examine my wings in a mirror.
“Sorry, I’ve never gotten a good look at winathen wings before.”
“Ah, your interest is academic then?”
“Yeah.”
“I see. I must keep in mind that you have spent little time among our people.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time around Ivy,” I said.
“Of course. Still, she is florathen, and unusual even for one of them.”
“You don’t like florathen?”
Her tone made it sound that way.
“I neither like nor dislike them. I find them distasteful, but they aren’t without their uses.”
It sounded as if racism was alive and well on the First World.
“We’re the same species though, right? I mean, the differences are mainly cosmetic, aren’t they?”
Lyrian chuckled. We’d reached the grass, and she gracefully sat cross-legged near the middle.
“What a novel idea,” she said. “I can see that there is much for you to learn. In the most basic sense we are the same. All fae are descended of common ancestors from the depths of time, but are we now truly of the same race? That has long been a matter for debate, and a question of how race is determined.”
I thought back to science class.
“My understanding is that if two people or animals can produce viable offspring, then they’re the same species.”
“A notion from the Seventh World?” Lyrian asked. I nodded. “Perhaps it is more applicable there. If the ability to breed is your only criteria, then all fae are of the same race. Your very existence proves it beyond question. I’ve made little study of the higher worlds, but here, many dissimilar peoples can in theory produce offspring. Some races are the descendants of such unusual parings.”
“Like Sir Balar?” I asked. He looked like a combination of man and dog.
“No.” Lyrian sounded surprised. “Why would you think so?”
“He looks sort of half man and half dog. You know human on the bottom, dog on top.”
“Humans don’t exist on this world and never have. What is a dog?”
I explained dogs.
“Similar creatures exist here. They are likely unrelated to the dogs you know.”
“What about Sir Balar then?”
“His people are among the purest decedents of original titans, the progenitors of all thinking creatures alive today. Unlike the Fae who have evolved along diverse branches of the same tree, the Anubean are little different now than their ancestors from early times. Few have remained as pure. Only dragons can claim unsullied continuity of their blood.”
Lyrian knew things I wanted to know about.
“So dragons haven’t evolved?”
“They grow weaker with each generation,” Lyrian said. “However, they rarely breed, and though few in number they are little changed from Morantal. Have you heard the name?”
I had.
“He was the first dragon,” I said, “and he worked with Delanor to imprison Hal–” I stopped myself from saying the name, “the Destroyer above the Third World. Oh, and he was black. That’s all I know, though.”
Lyrian was silent for a minute.
“You know more than most,” she finally said. “Few know more than his name and that he was a dragon. Those well learned in history might know of his role in binding the Destroyer. How do you know the colour of his scales?”
I’d learned that from Mr. Ryan.
“His claw was black… before it became the White Sword,” I said.
“I suspect you will prove a most interesting student.”
Lyrian studied my face carefully. The same way you’d study a weird looking bug you’d found at the bottom of your salad.
“Returning to my original point, the differences between the branches of our family tree are significant. Beyond the physical differences, each type of fae has different talents and needs. Our customs are diverse. Only the Accords, first instituted by the Three Houses create a common ground from which agreements may be reached. Aeons of b
loody conflict preceded those agreements. Today the greater fae work together in ways our ancestors couldn’t have imagined. ”
“The greater fae? How many kinds are there?”
“Only three that matter. Winathen are the purest, though fewest in number of the greater fae. The petrathen follow in power, but surpass us in number. Florathen are more populous than winathen and petrathen combined, but they rarely produce enchanters of significance. As I said, they are useful. Someone has to grow the food and muck about in the fields. Most of the lesser fae are incapable of more than simple everyday enchanting and serve greater fae in some capacity.”
That was the first time I’d heard of the lesser fae. I’d have to ask Ivy about them later. Lyrian obviously had significant bias in favour of her own people.
“Today, it will be enough to assess your aptitude for enchantment,” Lyrian said. She was all business again. “Every individual is different. As a half-breed there’s no knowing what you may have inherited. Your kind are rare, and I know of none who were significant enchanters. However, you are also a mix of two of the most powerful bloodlines, so there is reason to hope.”
Lyrian was equally informative and insulting.
“What do we do first?” I asked.
“We shall begin by reading the winds. If you can’t sense the winds, you cannot hope to control them.”
I’d been sensing wind since I’d grown wings, so I was hopeful.
“I will tell you first that I am not a teacher, nor have I ever trained anyone in the art of enchantment. I am an accomplished enchanter and have supported myself with my abilities since I was your age. Unlike you, I was not born into wealth.”
“What kinds of jobs did you do?” I was curious about what regular people did for a living.
“As many young winathen do, I spent one hundred seasons as a wind weaver aboard the ships of our merchant fleet. Later, as I specialised, I became a binder, and have done so since.”
“What’s a binder?”
“A winathen enchanter who binds the winds to a place for a time, or permanently. More effort and cost is involved in a permanent binding.”
