Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3

by James Barclay

  ‘I don’t want this to end,’ she managed eventually. ‘I should have died here.’

  ‘Yniss blessed you with long life. So this is not an ending; it’s another step on the journey for you, and for Katura.’

  Nerille composed herself, taking her time to wipe the tears from her face and stand unsupported again with her skirt smoothed and her shirt arranged properly about her shoulders.

  ‘You talk such rubbish sometimes, Auum,’ she said. ‘Still, at least you stopped my whimpering. Let’s go.’

  ‘It’s a long way,’ agreed Ulysan. ‘Best not waste time.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it,’ said Nerille, recovered and beginning to feel mischievous like she was a child once more. ‘I fear staying here might lead to more pomposity from the Arch, and no one deserves having to put up with that.’

  Chapter 2

  All that I see is my gift to the elves, yet still I am reviled. Such is my eternal punishment.

  Takaar, Father of the Il-Aryn

  Takaar looked down from the top of Crier’s Mound and found his sense of satisfaction and achievement undiminished by the passage of time. Indeed it had probably grown, intensified by the progress of all those he surveyed today and those further away, working with all he had taught them.

  Laughter rose on a light breeze, dissipating into a clear blue sky.

  ‘And to think this was all my gift.’

  That is an interesting interpretation of history.

  ‘I brought them to this place and look what they have achieved.’

  No, Auum exiled you here with all your dribbling sycophants.

  Takaar began to walk down the slope of the mound. The sun blessed the ground of the Ornouth Archipelago this morning. The sands sparkled, the channels between the islands shone and here on Herendeneth, the largest of the islands, the sounds of joyous life filled the air.

  ‘We needed a secluded place in which to do our work for the benefit of all elves. I was already considering this place.’

  I might be mistaken, but I thought the last time you spoke to Auum he said you and the Il-Aryn would never have a place in the lives of elves and that the best thing you could do was draw a hurricane down on yourselves to rid the world of your dangerous meddling. I paraphrase, obviously. Expletives are so distasteful, aren’t they?

  ‘And I can’t believe that after seven hundred years you still think you can get a rise out of me with all this.’

  You’re right, it’s a waste. All I have to do is quote the names Auum and Drech, don’t I?

  Takaar said nothing but could not stop his jaw tensing. Instead of replying he focused on the extraordinary school he had created. What had begun as a simple wood and thatch house was now a sprawling mansion of stone and slate, robust enough to withstand all that the Sea of Gyaam could throw at them when the storm season came.

  Over the centuries a large settlement had grown up around the mansion and at its height more than a thousand adepts and teachers had lived here. That number was currently a little over seven hundred because of the deal Takaar had brokered with the college city of Julatsa on Balaia. He expected the benefits of it would be felt over the coming decades as elven magical power and understanding grew exponentially.

  Only you could believe that. Everyone else knows they are just cheap fodder when the humans go to war again.

  ‘That is a laughable accusation. Even for you it sounds desperate.’

  Takaar walked past groups of students gathered in the open spaces laid out for range and area castings. Lectures were ongoing in the amphitheatre built into the southern face of the Crier’s Mound, and Takaar knew that under the domed roof at the centre of the mansion new adepts were taking their very first steps into the world of the Il-Aryn. It was their most dangerous time, and the sanatorium was ever busy with those unfortunates whose minds could not cope.

  Takaar took comfort every day from the sheer energy he felt from each of those lucky enough to study here. It was an intellectual paradise, and those Gyalans and Ixii who tested themselves, then learned how to harness and to use their power, were unendingly grateful to him. Meanwhile he walked the paths of Herendeneth seeking new inspiration and moved among his people to better disseminate that wisdom.

  Your people?

  ‘It is how I am viewed. I am the father of the Il-Aryn.’

  Oh yes, the mystical leader. . Why not go the whole way and deify yourself? Then you can wander among your flock, blessing the chosen with knowledge, power and the pure joy your presence brings them.

  Takaar felt a shiver of anger but forced a smile onto his face. His passage down the slope and into the midst of his students was drawing the usual attention, and he was always serene when in the company of the Il-Aryn.

  Of course you do find it difficult to remain in their company for all that long, don’t you?

  ‘We all need our solitude,’ muttered Takaar. ‘Places where we can think and be inspired to learn.’

  Those outbursts of yours against Drech have nothing to do with it, then?

  ‘Those will always be a matter of regret.’

  Much as is your jealousy.

  ‘Be silent,’ hissed Takaar. ‘I have places to be and I do not need your insidious comments.’

  He was nearing the grand main doors of the mansion, which were intricately carved hardwood set in a stone frame decorated with the symbols of elven magic. They were pulled open from within as he approached and a trio of his most promising adepts raced out, shrieking his name. They were iads, bright with excitement, and they crowded around him all speaking at once.

  Takaar’s first thought was to step back, but the first faint laughter was already on his tormentor’s lips so he stood his ground and held up his hands.

  ‘Please, my children, songs of my mind. . Cleress, Aviana, Myriell. . one at a time.’ Whatever the excitement was, it was infectious, and Takaar felt his heart beginning to race. ‘To where must I come, and why?’

  ‘We’ve got one!’ said Cleress, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the doors. ‘Just now. Ephy is keeping him in the air!’

  ‘Slow down, slow down,’ said Takaar. ‘One what, my child? Aviana, take a breath and start from the beginning.’

  Cleress and Myriell looked to Aviana, the eldest of them by all of three years and ever the most eloquent. She was the most beautiful too, though none of them lacked attention. Their innocence had to be protected until they had reached the maturity of their powers, and the more persistent ulas had been warned as much. A heightened emotional state in combination with the volatile nature of their abilities would be a terribly dangerous mix.

  Aviana bowed her head and placed the tips of her fingers to her forehead.

  Why does she do that?

  ‘That is not necessary, Aviana,’ said Takaar, lifting her chin with his left hand. ‘We are friends, are we not? Now.’

  ‘We, well Ephemere mainly, were working on your Ixil transfer theory with Drech, trying to sustain one of his castings as he withdrew from it. She heard a call through the energy lines and, as she already had her focus, she switched to him. He’s a long way away and he’s almost spent, but she’s keeping him in the air and bringing him here. She needs help, though. Will you help us?’

  Takaar felt the thrill of righteousness. Just one more thing Drech didn’t believe was possible and had only researched under protest.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Aviana. ‘But he’s a human, he’s injured and probably unconscious by now, and he’s still days out to sea. He’s coming from Balaia.’

  Takaar smiled. ‘Perfect. Show me the way. We must not fail.’

  Congratulations.

  Takaar almost tripped over his own feet in surprise.

  The quartet of black orbs, each the size of a catapult stone, wove through the air and smashed into the stern mast in quick succession. The magical fire consumed the sail canvas in the space of a breath, the blaze shedding wisps of ash to fall like feath
ers across the ship. A fifth orb struck. Flame roared down the mast and a wall of heat slammed into Stein, picking him up and hurling him back.

  Stein raised his hands to protect his face and felt the skin blister on his palms and forearms. His hair was scorched from his head and his heavy leather coat smouldered and blackened as he flew through the air. He landed on his backside and slid hard into the port rail. He ignored the pain across his body and gathered his legs under him, staring back at the aft deck.

  The captain and helmsman were gone, both taken by fire. A black stump was all that remained of the wheel, and the deck was awash with dark flames grabbing voraciously for new fuel and growing in intensity.

  ‘Where was the shield?’ Stein asked of any who might listen.

  But precious few were left. A handful of sailors were heading aft with buckets in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire. Survivors of the mage teams hurled flame and ice at the trio of enemy ships closing on them and a small knot of defensive casters raised a new shield over the main deck.

  The ship yawed, rudderless now and prey to the fifteen-foot swell. She swung broadside on and wallowed, shattering the concentration of the casting mages. Stein grabbed the rail with his burned hands. The vessel steadied momentarily and he pushed himself off, wincing at the pain.

  Across the shortening distance to the nearest enemy, he could see shamen readying again and the ranks of Wesmen crowding the rails, eager for their chance to taste blood. He knelt by the knot of defensive mages and joined their casting, seeing the mana shape flicker before it steadied and deepened, widening to encompass the mid-mast and the deck on which their entire surviving mage strength was now gathered.

  ‘Brace yourselves,’ said Stein. ‘Here they come.’

  Orbs of dark fire raced across the sky. Stein could sense their force through the mana spectrum as they flew for the shield.

  ‘Steady,’ he whispered.

  The orbs struck the shield with the force of a cavalry charge. The shield shivered and every mage was driven back across the deck. Black tendrils of shaman magic searched the invisible barrier, seeking weakness. The shield held.

  ‘Well done,’ breathed Stein. ‘Let’s keep it strong.’

  Stein took a breath and looked aft. The fire was raging over a third of the ship now. Sailors still tried to beat out the flames but it was a hopeless task. Clouds of smoke billowed across the deck and out over the ocean. The ship would sink. The only question was whether or not they could cover an escape.

  ‘Incoming!’

  The ship wallowed again, affording Stein a view of another enemy ship horribly close to their stern. Spells spiralled from her bow, slamming into the unprotected aft deck and burning mast. Stein felt every blow through his feet. He heard the cracking of timber and the sharp whip of lines torn from their stays. .

  . . as the aft mast fell along the length of the ship, colliding with the mainmast, bringing down rigging, pulleys, spars and sail on the defensive mage group.

  ‘Break!’ roared Stein, scrambling away. Others weren’t so quick and were able only to cover their heads as the avalanche of heavy rigging fell on them. ‘Dammit!’

  Stein and a handful of crew ran back to try and pull the mages clear, but all three enemy vessels were on them now, their shamen preparing to cast the killing spells and the Wesmen ready to mop up any survivors. Stein felt a hand on his shoulder and spun to face the first mate.

  ‘You have to go.’

  ‘No,’ said Stein. ‘We can’t leave anyone. They’ll offer no mercy.’

  ‘Casting inbound!’ yelled a voice.

  Spears of black fire tore into the ship, ripping up timber, throwing deadly splinters into the air to bury themselves in the bodies of the mages still at the rails, trying to fight back. More dark orbs crashed into the mainmast and landed nearer the bow. The ship shuddered and Stein fell. The mate dragged him back to his feet.

  ‘It’s too late for the rest of us. Go. Now. Someone has to take the message south.’

  ‘I-’

  ‘Stein! We knew what we were facing. I am proud to die for my college and my country.’

  Stein stared into the first mate’s eyes and saw belief shining through fear. Stein nodded, bit down on his guilt and began to cast. ‘The council will hear of your courage.’

  Another volley of spells crashed into the ship, and water burst through already shattered deck timbers. The first mate turned from Stein, took a single pace forward and was struck by a tongue of flame. His burning body was flung clear over the port rail, his screams lost in the tumult of the dying ship.

  Stein cast his Wings of Shade and shot straight up into the air. Fingers of black fire chased him, ripping into his boot and up his left leg. He screamed and barely clung on to the casting, feeling the wings gutter on his back and his stomach lurch as he lost altitude, plunging back towards the deck.

  Black smoke billowed across the ship. He could just make out some of his mages trying to cast, but the shamen were too close and the dark fire was all-consuming. Stein focused, strengthened the spell and climbed once more, orbs still chasing him into the heavens but unable to reach him before they fell back to the ocean.

  Below him the wreckage of his ship was sinking fast while the three enemy vessels circled like sharks contemplating their kill. Stein banked and flew south. They had been six days’ sail from Calaius — an enormous distance for a fit mage, and Stein was far from fit. His head and arms were burned and raw and his left leg was a throbbing agony. The spells he had cast had depleted his stamina and he felt a gnawing shock at the ease with which the enemy had caught and destroyed them.

  Stein focused on managing his stamina, trying hard not to think about the futility of his escape attempt. He tried even harder to stop making bets with himself about how long it would be before his wings flickered out and he plunged into the southern ocean. Instead he concentrated on the feeling of the air across his face and the chill in his hands, using it to remind himself he was still alive.

  Stein lost track of time fairly quickly once he’d been through one night. The endless ocean below him had started to look like the most comfortable of blankets beneath which to sleep.

  Stein welcomed the pain of his injuries because it kept him awake. His left leg was a particular torment, constantly prey to the buffeting of the wind. The cloth of his trousers was burned into his flesh, and his boot had contracted around his foot to create a hideous throbbing that sent pain all the way up to his hip.

  His face and arms were raw and blistered. The rain that whipped into him periodically made him cry out, begging for it to stop. But at least it meant he was still alive, still flying, even though he knew it could not last. It was a shock when he noticed how close he was to the waves. His speed was barely above a trotting run and the shape of his spell had become so ragged that his wings were holed and torn in sympathy with his concentration.

  Stein had absolutely no idea how far Calaius was and he found no satisfaction in the knowledge that he had tried to deliver his message. He had failed and he would drown; the elves would never know of their peril in time. The thought made Stein angry, and he shouted with both voice and mind even though none would hear him barring the gulls following him.

  ‘Congratulations, Ephemere. Note that following my teaching produces wonder, excitement and progress simultaneously.’

  Stein gasped and almost dropped into the ocean. He was sure it was his mind playing tricks but it sounded so real. . so close.

  ‘We’ve got him. I don’t believe it, we’ve got him.’

  ‘There was never any doubt in my mind that this would work.’

  (Laughter)

  ‘It’s amazing. Is he still conscious?’

  ‘Barely, but it doesn’t matter. We can sustain the casting for two reasons: it is a very basic construct, and we can feed the necessary strength through the energy lines I always told you were there.’

  ‘I wonder why he’s coming here?’

  ‘I don’t car
e. This is purely an experiment in energy transfer. And it is one that will succeed. It really doesn’t matter whether he lives or dies.’

  ‘You have no heart.’

  ‘There is no room for heart. You’ve felt the sickness in the north. We have to be ready, and that means we have to understand our craft more keenly than they do theirs.’

  ‘Then we need him to live, don’t we? He might have critical information about why our voices in the north can no longer be heard.’

  ‘I already know why.’

  ‘You know the answer to absolutely everything, don’t you?’

  ‘Almost.’

  The voices stopped after that, and Stein’s consciousness slipped away.

  Stein had an itch. Actually his whole body itched but his face was the worst. He put his hands to his cheeks then pulled them away with a start. Strange. Stein opened his eyes, blinking against the light and waiting while they dragged themselves into focus. He was bandaged from fingertips to elbows. This was not death as he had imagined it.

  Stein closed his eyes. He was lying down. He’d got the impression of a small room filled with a drumming noise and possibly with two or three people staring down at him. It felt hot and humid too. He opened his eyes again and found he was right on all counts.

  He was in a small room with wooden walls. Curtains billowed before an open window beyond which he could see rain falling in sheets. The odd drip was coming through the thatched roof above him. He was lying in a bed and there were three people gathered about him. One of them had a wild and unkempt aspect and his eyes would not stay still. Nor would his mouth, as if he was in constant conversation though there were no words.

  There was another man there — no not a man, an elf, a male elf. Male elves were called ulas, weren’t they? Whatever, he was a stern-looking individual, and whenever he looked at the unkempt one, which he seemed to do a lot, he scowled. The third was a female, an iad. She was young and bright and excited, and when she spoke to the stern one and he answered, he realised he’d heard their voices before.