Knight's Haven (Legend of the White Sword Book 4)

by P. D. Kalnay

  Hours flew by as I filled the floor with the symbols. They had no more power than regular letters or words, since they formed only one corner of the triangle that enchantments required. A single symbol could form the structure of an enchantment, giving it meaning. Combining the symbols formed instructions and created complex results. It was more magical computer programming than I’d expected; wand waving wasn’t required. Power to enable the spell, along with the talent and desire to complete it were still needed for an actual enchantment. I was simply memorising a tiny chunk of a dictionary.

  ***

  Ivy was asleep by the time I finished my calligraphy practice. I’d spent hours memorising the thirty-five most commonly used words of the Titans’ language and fell immediately into my own dreams. That night I dreamt of the forging of the Arath. I’d had a similar dream, years before at Gran’s, but without reference, I’d thought nothing of it. This time I recognised the smithy below Knight’s Haven and the big hammer itself. I remembered few details from the dream when I woke, except that forging the hammer had been a mighty task, and I’d been a very different guy when I’d done it. The dream left me disoriented and unsettled.

  Chapter 14 – Calling, Long Distance

  Ivy was gone when I woke, and the sun was already climbing above the island’s eastern peaks. I ate on the way down the outside stairway, throwing seeds and peels off the edge as I went. Lyrian already sat on the grass, waiting. I wondered what she did with the rest of her time.

  “Good morning, Jakalain, are you ready to continue?”

  Lyrian’s voice was right next to my ear, although she hadn’t shouted and was still hundreds of feet away.

  “Yeah,” I said. I didn’t know if she could hear me.

  “Excellent, we shall begin with casting our voices upon the winds.”

  She didn’t say anything else until I made it around the ruined buildings at the foot of the stairway and stood on the grass in front of her.

  “That was cool,” I said. It had been like having a set of walkie-talkies.

  “It’s a useful and simple enchantment, with certain limitations.”

  “Like what?”

  “A voice may only be projected in a straight line, meaning that any obstacle will block its passage. Also, the distance an enchanter can project their voice will depend on their power and the strength of the winds it passes through.”

  Radio waves travelled in straight lines and things interfered with them too.

  “Sit at the edge of the grass and calm your mind.”

  I sat and tried to focus on my breathing. Then I stopped with a surprised gulp. I could feel the air I was breathing, and I’m not talking about the pressure in my lungs or how it made my nose hairs sway. My breaths caused little eddies in the surrounding air, and when I exhaled the air was damper and subtly different in other ways too.

  “I can feel the air I’m breathing,” I said.

  “You are awakening to your winathen heritage; more will no doubt follow. Focus on the air around you.”

  I went back to the slow breathing.

  “Projecting one’s voice is similar to the game we played yesterday. First, you must learn to sense the vibrations your voice causes. They’re similar to the ripples caused by a pebble landing on water. We will converse, so that you may focus on your voice.”

  “What should we talk about?”

  “It matters not. You are a curious young man. We can begin with questions if you desire.”

  I had no shortage of questions.

  “Dragons are the only people who know the entire language of creation, right?”

  “Not counting the Destroyer himself, that is true.”

  “Can they do anything? I mean, if they know all the true names for things, shouldn’t they be able to create or change anything?”

  I knew that wasn’t the case or Sirean wouldn’t need help getting Mr. Ryan back.

  “If you are asking if a dragon can create a world, then the answer is no. The worlds were formed—at least in part—from the power of the titans. As purely descended as dragons are, the mightiest is still a pale reflection of Morantal. Their close ties result in their greatest weakness.”

  Nothing about Sirean had seemed weak.

  “What’s that?”

  “They can only draw power from themselves to effect an enchantment. Like the titans, dragons cannot replenish the power they use. Magic makes up more of their existence than it does for us.”

  “They get weaker, the more they use?”

  “Yes, a dragon might hoard its power the way it hoards its gold and live forever. Using that power diminishes it. We have less inborn power and knowledge, but can restore our reserves through rest and over time. Additionally, we may draw on sources of power outside ourselves in ways that dragons cannot. They are limited to whatever is within them and only grow weaker with the passage of time. So in answer to your question, although dragon-kind are capable of complex and powerful enchantments, they rarely expend any of themselves that way. One can hardly blame them. Besides, they have physical and magical abilities superior to all other creatures in existence.”

  I had seen Sirean snack on a ship…

  “Then Sirean Silver Mantle made herself weaker over time, by making the volcano here active?”

  “Yes, to a small degree. Doing so is no more difficult for her than calling a breeze is for me. The cost to our people has been substantial, relative to that tiny expenditure of her strength. In the end, dragons will fade away as the titans did before them. Are you still focusing on your voice?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t sense the vibrations yet.”

  “Patience, Jakalain.”

  “Do you know about the World Tree?”

  “I know as much as any of our people, I suppose. I’ve made no special study of it, but have spent long years learning my trade. Part of every enchanter’s training includes a degree of general education. What do you wish to know?”

  “If the Destroyer was imprisoned on the Third World, so long ago that no life existed yet, and the next four worlds didn’t exist at all, where did the people of those worlds come from? And, if the titans formed the worlds and the World Tree, how were the next four made with only three of them left, or two, if you don’t count Hal—the Destroyer?”

  Lyrian was silent for moment and then chuckled.

  “I apologise if I implied that I knew all the secrets of creation. You ask questions few have considered, and I believe none have answered. There are theories, but they are only conjecture. I know the answer to a small part of what you asked. The peoples and creatures of every other world originally came from a lower one.”

  “So the people from the Seventh World came from here?”

  “A few might have. Most likely came from a higher world. The higher one travels, the less one becomes. Dragons aren’t the only creatures who wish to hold onto their power. The general trend is that each higher world has more sentient beings than the one below, but each is less magically powerful, individually. You’d know better than I, but it is my understanding that almost no magic exists on the Seventh World?”

  “I never noticed any,” I said. “Not until I moved to my Gran’s house. The only big magic I saw there, not counting the Gates, was Ms. Mopat.”

  “Your grandmother left this world before I was born, but her servant’s dark reputation remains.”

  “Yeah, Mopats are pretty scary.” Which was a massive understatement.

  “You crafted the florathen girl’s necklace, did you not?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve never seen a talisman as powerful. The enchantments must be of great complexity. How did you craft it on a world devoid of magic? Why give it to another?”

  I decided it’d be prudent to withhold certain details.

  “It was partly by accident,” I said truthfully.

  “By accident?”

  “Yeah, I was just trying to make her a nice present for when she got back. The enchanting part was
by accident.”

  I didn’t have Ivy’s talents for reading auras or sensing lies, but it was obvious Lyrian didn’t believe me.

  “Enchanters spend lifetimes hoping for such an accident. Your gift has taken a girl of no consequence and transformed her into a Power.”

  It was hard to hold back with her trash talking about Ivy, and it had become obvious that Lyrian was a jerk, but apparently most fae were jerks, and I needed her knowledge, so…

  “I didn’t intend that part.”

  “And that is why you gave it away,” Lyrian nodded, “because you didn’t realise the power it contained.”

  “I’d have given it to her, anyway. I just would have told her first.”

  I couldn’t read Lyrian’s flat look.

  “You’ve obviously studied some of the language of creation, to have accomplished those enchantments?”

  I had—the night before.

  “I know the basic thirty-five, and a few others.”

  The necklace, shield, butterflies, and knife had involved many words not included in the basic set. I remembered a few of them, but only had a vague notion of what they meant. Mostly, I didn’t have a clue how I’d done what I’d done. The ring I’d split in two was another matter. I didn’t know what the long endless symbol I’d inscribed meant, though I could still see most of it burned into my hands. That didn’t help, and One didn’t know what it meant either.

  “Then I shall show you something else while we talk. Continue attempting to feel your voice on the wind.”

  Being focused on the surrounding air, I felt the things Lyrian did right away. I felt a thickening in a patch of air halfway between us. She was gathering more and more air into a small, tightly packed space. That air grew much denser than when we’d been playing our game. It grew dense enough that I was sure it would feel solid to the touch. Then the ball of hard air took shape, forming a three dimensional symbol, invisible to the naked eye. It was one of the basic words: cold. A moment later the air around me cooled. It was a warm day, but suddenly, I was sitting next to an air conditioner.

  “That’s cool,” I said.

  “Indeed. Now, watch.”

  More air condensed beside the hovering symbol and another word grew from it: endure. Then the second symbol turned at right angles and slid into the first with the lines and swirls seamlessly interlocking.

  “Will that maintain the first one?”

  I was sure it would.

  “Yes. This is a simple binding to create a more pleasant temperature in this area. It will last an hour or two before dissipating.”

  “Can you make it last longer?”

  “A more efficient method is drawing colder air from high above and directing it downward. Redirecting air uses less power than removing heat from the local air. Unless one is somewhere exceptionally hot, it’s easier and more practical to simply stir a breeze around oneself.”

  “You used your own magic to power it?”

  “Yes. I have little to do here besides teaching you. There is ample time to rest and refill my reserves.”

  I studied the floating runes for a while without speaking. The written language of the Titans’ was made up of stylised pictures, and its words were more hieroglyphic symbols than letters. I’d read somewhere that Chinese was the only remaining hieroglyphic writing system in use, and that the ancient Chinese had spoken many languages, but had written with a common one. The symbols bore no resemblance to Chinese.

  The cool air was refreshing. I needed to talk if I hoped to feel my voice.

  “Is there a way to send messages if you can’t see the other person or if objects are in the way?”

  “There are several methods for sending messages over distances. Our people primarily use message moths.”

  “Message moths? Are they moths that have been trained to carry messages?”

  Lyrian had a good laugh at that.

  “No, they are letters, folded in the shape of moths or butterflies and imbued with enchantments. Those enchantments allow them to fly and seek out the intended recipient. In a crowded city of our people, the skies are often filled with moths.”

  “What if it rains or somebody grabs them as they go by? That doesn’t seem very secure.”

  “If there is danger of rain, water repelling enchantments may be added. Any fae can cloud the eyes of unintended readers.”

  I’d written messages only certain people could read, but I didn’t know how I’d done it.

  “How?”

  “All that is required is intent at the time of writing. Our language may be written for common usage or to a single reader. These gaps in your knowledge need to be addressed.”

  We talked for the rest of the morning. By the end, I hadn’t felt my voice, and the last of the cool air had disappeared. I decided it was time to make up with Ivy.

  Chapter 15 – The Way to a Heart

  The apartment was empty, and dinnertime was still hours off. I’d skipped lunch and had a snack while looking around in the kitchen and pantry. Both rooms were now full of food. I hadn’t noticed how much Ivy had done in the way of stocking-up on supplies, but the variety was impressive. A wide array of fruits and vegetables were stacked on the shelves. I recognised a few that we’d eaten before. Many boxes and sacks that had been spread across the warehouse district sat on other shelves and in cupboards. Ivy had continued scavenging the city without my noticing.

  I felt a little guilty for not helping out. That was before I saw the eight casks of triangular cakes in a one corner of the pantry. Ivy loved that nasty stuff, and I’d fully intended to go back for the rest of the casks. I’d forgotten about it once I started on my boat. The casks were as heavy as Ivy was, and I couldn’t imagine how she’d hauled them up the stairs. Then I felt very guilty. Ivy had been doing most of the work of keeping us alive while I was having fun making things and exploring. No wonder she was mad at me.

  I decided to cook dinner for Ivy. It would have been a nice gesture, minus the fact that it would be the first meal I’d prepared for her… ever. The problem was, I’d never done any cooking on Earth and didn’t know what most of the ingredients in front of me were. I did have a diminutive, silver library standing behind me, waiting to be of service.

  “One, did you ever memorise any books on cooking or food?”

  “Yes Master, I contain eighteen volumes about food preparation and one hundred and fifty-six concerning plant life, both edible and nonedible.”

  Waiting so long to ask One about himself had been a colossal error on my part. He could have been answering any number of my questions. I asked another belated and off topic question.

  “What about shipbuilding?”

  “I contain fifteen texts on methods of ship construction and design, in addition to dozens of texts related to various aspects of shipbuilding.”

  All of which only confirmed that Jack was an idiot.

  “I wish I knew what Ivy liked to eat,” I said to myself. I had a good idea regarding the human foods she liked, but…

  “Master.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mistress Ivangelain has expressed a desire for many dishes in the time she has been here.”

  That made me feel even worse because I didn’t remember. One remembered everything.

  “Do we have the ingredients to make any of them?”

  One spent a few minutes poking around the pantry, digging through cupboards, and taking inventory.

  “In combination with the herbs growing in the window boxes, there are sufficient ingredients to make eleven of the dishes she has expressed a desire for, Master.”

  “Awesome, you tell me what to do, and I’ll make them.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  For the next few hours, I did as I was told. One explained how to prepare and cook the ingredients. He also told me about the herbs in the window boxes. Those window boxes sat in windows in spare rooms that I’d never looked in again after my first day in the apartment. I recognised many of the smell
s from foods Ivy had prepared for me. That day also marked the first time I used the ovens and stove in the kitchen. They worked on simple enchantments utilising the titan word for heat and a few others that stole that heat from the volcano below. Temperature was controlled by touching symbols carved into the stone ovens, and no magic was needed to use them. One said it was so that servants could operate the magical appliances.

  By the time Ivy returned, the apartment was full of smells, and a ridiculous amount of food. I’d made three kinds of soup, two different breads with fruits and nuts inside, a mixed salad, a funky smelling paste, and a vegetable casserole type of dish. I could have gone for something with meat in it, but the food smelled delicious. I’d gotten used to most of the strange, foreign odours and tastes. The food Ivy cooked for me had been simple and hearty. In comparison, the dishes One told me how to make were more complicated, and I suspected were the equivalent of First World gourmet. The last dish came out of the oven just as Ivy got home. I didn’t hear her come in, but I felt her eyes on my back and her presence through the vine on my wrist. Her expression was one of perplexity.

  “Is that allroot soup I smell?” she asked.

  “Yeah, do you want to start with a bowl?” I looked around at the iron pots on the stovetop and stone counter. “I might have gone overboard on dinner.”

  Ivy looked torn.

  “A bowl of soup would be nice,” she finally said.

  I ladled out a bowl of the green, lump-filled soup and handed it to her.

  “I’ll bring the rest out to the balcony, if you want?”

  “Thank you.”

  Ivy took a long sniff of the soup and headed down the hallway. I dished up a portion of each of the different foods, and filled a wide silver tray, before joining her. She’d already finished the soup by the time I got there. Ivy didn’t speak as she sampled each dish, but she looked to be enjoying them. I tried all the food too. It wasn’t bad, but was vegetabley for my tastes.