by Kel Kade
“They would have power over us regardless,” said the bearded man. “The Council of Magi prevents them from exercising it in a meaningful way.”
“Meaningful, ha!” said the blond. “You mean enslaving us.”
The brunette woman turned to her escort. “Now, now. I hold little love for the magi, but that seems a bit extreme. I may not like them, but I enjoy the amenities they provide.”
“Which is precisely what they want. Mark my words,” said the blond with raised finger, “a war is coming, and those magi will destroy us all.”
“Is that so?” said an older man with a deep, gruff voice.
Aaslo glanced up from where he had been resting his eyes on the table. A thin man stood at the entrance to the common room, near where the group was seated. He wore a long black coat with gold buttons and a golden amulet in the shape of an inverted raindrop. The ensemble identified him as a magus healer. The man’s pale grey gaze was sharp beneath bushy grey eyebrows. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and bowed to the ladies. He turned to the blond man and said, “Since you feel so strongly about our intentions, I expect you will not be requiring the services of me or my brethren at any time.”
The brunette lurched to her feet, forcing the men to follow by custom. She said, “Please, Magus, you must excuse my husband. I am afraid he has consumed too much wine and has spoken out of turn.”
The healer said, “I believe the problem is not that he has spoken out of turn but that he has spoken from his heart, and his heart is filled with contempt for my people. I hope you consider that the world would be much harder without us, just as we recognize that it would be harder without seculars.”
“Yes, of course,” said the brunette, glancing at her husband, whose jaw was set in stubborn defiance. The woman said, “I find no fault in your logic,” and with a clenched smile and a nudge for her husband, added, “I am sure my husband agrees.”
When the man said nothing, the healer shook his head, then turned toward the stairs. Aaslo followed after him, ignoring the mutterings of the people who retook their seats in the corner. He knew that some people resented the magi, but to think that those with magic would wage war on seculars was ridiculous. The Council of Magi was the oldest governing body in the world. If they had not organized a hostile takeover already, he doubted they ever would. The man was right, though. A war was coming—just not against the magi.
Aaslo arrived at the room just as Mistress Nova was greeting the healer. Both turned to him. He said, “Greetings, Magus. I am Aaslo. May your path be blessed with thick boughs and deep roots.”
The old healer and the mistress both stared at him in confusion. Then the healer said, “Yes, ah, greetings to you as well. I’m Mage Soter. I’ve lived a long time and never heard such a greeting.”
“He’s a bit of a strange one,” said Mistress Nova, narrowing her eyes at Aaslo, “and he still owes me some answers, but the girl is the priority at the moment.”
Aaslo and Mage Soter followed Mistress Nova into the room to find Teza snuggled under a pile of blankets in the bed farthest from the window. Her face was flushed, with sweat beading on her brow. She coughed a few times but appeared to be unconscious. Without warning, the pile of dirty laundry by the door slid across the floor. Then a small pillow from the other bed flew at Aaslo’s head, only to collide with the ceiling when he ducked.
The frown Mistress Nova offered Aaslo was filled with rebuke. “You didn’t tell me she’s a magus. It nearly gave me a heart attack when things started flying around the room on their own.”
Aaslo held his hands up and kept a roving eye on the loose objects in the room as he replied, “I’m truly sorry, Mistress Nova. I didn’t realize that would happen. I’ve never seen her perform magic.” He glanced at the healer and said, “She’s been banned from using it.”
The healer’s brow stretched toward the ceiling. “Why is that?”
“She said she was expelled from the academy for cheating.”
Soter stroked his dry lips as he looked more closely at Teza. “I see. I remember the story from not so long ago.”
“You heard of it?”
With a nod, Soter said, “Expulsion is rare and even more so for a future healer. That is the kind of news that gets around. A shame, really. The whole event was blown out of proportion, but the girl was too stubborn to make amends.”
Aaslo looked at him in surprise. “You mean she could have returned?”
“Of course. The magus academy wouldn’t destroy the life of a hopeful young healer for such a minor infraction. Suspension, extra duties, repetition of the school year—those are the usual punishments in such cases. I think this one, though, would not relent.”
Aaslo glanced at the unconscious Teza and nodded slowly. Suddenly, he was struck in the back of the head by one of his extra boots. He rubbed the sore spot and said, “Yes, I can see that. Even when she’s unconscious she’s difficult.”
The healer chuckled, then pulled a chair over beside Teza’s bed.
Aaslo turned to Mistress Nova. “I thought you were sending for an apothecary.”
Soter said, “He was out on a call, so I came in his stead. It’s a good thing, too. A secular could not have dealt with this problem. It looks like she’s stricken with a case of selkesh fever.”
“Selkesh fever? I’ve not heard of it,” said Aaslo.
“Is it contagious?” said Mistress Nova.
“Nothing to worry over for the two of you. It only affects magi. I’ll need to inoculate myself as well, now that I have been exposed. Still, it is unlikely the apothecary would have recognized it, and he could not have treated her even if he had.”
“What are the symptoms?” said Aaslo. “How do you recognize it?”
“Well, it looks as you see, much like a cold or flu.” He pointed to some faint, barely visible purple lines that stretched like branches up Teza’s neck and around her hairline. “We call these marks dowdry branches. Their presence is indicative of selkesh fever.”
“I didn’t see them before,” said Aaslo.
“You wouldn’t have,” said Soter. “The lines only appear when the subject is using magic. They would have been evident long before the illness progressed this far but for her ban.”
As the healer ministered to Teza, Mistress Nova turned to Aaslo. “I had a bad feeling about those two foreigners that came in earlier. You seemed to know something about them.”
Aaslo considered how much he should tell the woman. If the purpose of his quest was to save people, it would best be served by warning them of the dangers.
“That’s not a good idea. They’ll panic. The kingdoms will fall into chaos.”
“I won’t tell them that part,” Aaslo mumbled.
Mistress Nova crossed her arms. “Tell us what?”
Aaslo sighed. “Those people are dangerous. I believe they’re slowly invading the kingdom. I came from the north. The first night away from home, my companions and I were attacked by people like them. They killed my best friend.”
Mistress Nova looked sincere as she said, “I’m very sorry to hear about your friend. I know the pain of loss. But what makes you think they’re all enemies? Maybe you just happened to run across a few bad ones.”
Aaslo glanced toward Mage Soter, who had turned to listen. “I was with the high sorceress at the time. Although I cannot discuss the details, she confirmed the threat.”
“The high sorceress?” said Mistress Nova.
Soter stood and walked closer. “Describe her,” he said.
“Why?” Aaslo said with a groan.
“Because I’m not convinced you know her.”
Aaslo said, “I appreciate your help with Teza, and I’ll pay you for your services, but I don’t care if you believe me.”
Mage Soter said, “The Citadel of Magi was recently attacked by a group of foreigners. Word of it came through the fifth evergate days ago. The news was … disturbing. It wasn’t something I wanted to believe.”
“I
hadn’t heard that, but it’s not surprising,” said Aaslo. He nodded toward Teza. “She’s my guide to the citadel.”
“I see,” said the old man as he returned to his chair. He appeared dejected and deflated. He said, “I’ve known Mistress Nova for a while, and you already seem to know more than you’re saying. I will tell you something I probably shouldn’t.” He nodded toward Teza. “For her sake. The magi have been recalled.”
“What do you mean?” said Mistress Nova.
Soter looked at her with aged grey eyes. “We have received orders to report to the citadel—all of us. I thought my place was here, helping the people. If what you say is true, young man, a war is brewing, and it seems this is where we’d be needed—amongst the people. I don’t understand why they’d send us elsewhere—unless it’s already worse there.”
Aaslo tried to consider all the reasons Magdelay might recall the magi. “Perhaps she wants to put up a unified defense. The threat is dire. Spread out as you are, you are weaker.”
Soter nodded. “Perhaps, but it leaves the people defenseless.”
Aaslo couldn’t imagine that the situation had already reached the point where they would sacrifice the masses for the defense of a central stronghold. He had heard of no attacks besides the one they had endured on the road outside Goldenwood.
“Where is the army?” said Mistress Nova. Her eyes were wide as she busily wrung her apron in her hands. “If the magi are abandoning us, the army should be stepping in, but I have four young men staying in another room claiming they’ve been granted leave.” She looked to Aaslo. “They wouldn’t grant leave if we’re under attack, would they?” Her expression firmed, and she shook her head as she dropped her apron. “No. No, they wouldn’t. There’s been a mistake. We’re misinterpreting the events. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation, and all will be put back to normal soon.”
She straightened primly and turned to Aaslo. “Breakfast will be served at dawn. I’ll take your laundry now, and we’ll see how your young lady is feeling in the morning.” She gathered the laundry in her arms and left the room, her head held high, content in her denial.
Mage Soter stood and crossed to the door. “I’ve done what I can for now. I’ll return tomorrow to check on her. There’s a bottle on the nightstand. Have her drink it when she wakes in the morning. In a few days, once the contagion has passed, I’ll take her through the evergate to the citadel.”
“But she’s my guide!” said Aaslo. “If you take her, I won’t be able to find it.”
Mage Soter shook his head. “The long way will take a few weeks. By then it will probably be too late.”
“Too late for what?” said Aaslo.
The man shook his head sadly, his gaze filled with regret, then left without another word.
Aaslo sat in the chair and stared at Teza. She was sleeping peacefully, and the feverish appearance had dissipated. He was also relieved that the objects in the room were staying in their places.
“You should take her.”
“What are you talking about?” he mumbled.
“Leave before the old man steals her away.”
“I think that’s her decision, don’t you?”
“It’s a war, Aaslo. The world needs you, and you need her right now. You’re going to the citadel anyway.”
“Yes, but the mage said it’ll be too late by the time we get there. We don’t know what he was talking about. What if she misses something important?”
“What could be more important than saving the world?”
Aaslo hung his head and ran his hands through his hair. In the forest, he would never have considered doing something so deceitful. Mathias was the golden boy, though. He was the savior. His choices would have led to victory. Aaslo said, “Would you take her?” When Mathias didn’t answer, he asked again. “Mathias, what should I do? What would you do?” Mathias was again silent, and Aaslo growled in frustration. Mathias had suggested taking her, but Mathias was dead. Was it his own insanity talking? Would Mathias really have absconded with an innocent woman to save the world?
“She’s the one who refused to tell you how to get there.”
“I should give her a choice.”
“You’ll place the fate of all life on the decision of an ignorant, stubborn young woman?”
“I could find someone else.”
“Who? They’ve all been recalled.”
Aaslo snuffed the candle and stretched out on the other bed.
“How can you sleep?”
“There’s nothing to be done for it tonight. Difficult decisions should be made by a rested mind.”
CHAPTER 15
Myropa could see the war raging behind Aaslo’s disturbed gaze, but she could do nothing to assist. Even if she could, she wasn’t sure she should. The gods had plans, and Aaslo was likely to get in the way. She abruptly felt a churning sensation swirl through her mind. With it came heat, blessed heat. The momentary warmth was worth the dizziness, and it seeded her with an uncontrollable desire for more. She released the breath of life and stepped across the veil into a hall so vast she couldn’t see the farthest wall. The black ceiling that soared far, far above was dotted with stars swimming in a milky soup, and the floor beneath her feet felt soft, like walking across layer upon layer of blankets. As she walked with her arms out for balance, her feet sank, as if into sand.
She startled when she looked up from her feet. Windows lined the hall, but beyond them was not the luscious greenery of a garden or frothy waves of an ocean. Instead, creatures stood in display cases, as if preserved through taxidermy. Animals she had never before seen, strange things, things that made no sense, looked at her from behind crystalline glass. Some of them appeared more like people than animals. Their empty gazes looked as if they had once held intelligence. Her frozen heart leapt into her throat when she came across one that looked like her—not in coloration, body shape, or height, but as in human. Myropa’s feet were rooted to the soft ground as she stared at the lifeless form that could have easily been her sister or mother or friend. It was soulless, empty, and alone.
A presence of strength and resilience pressed at her from behind. The power radiated through her, melting her frosty blood as it shifted to stand beside her. “W-why?” she said, and she thought she might have produced a tear if they had not been frozen.
“This is my gallery,” said Arayallen. “Isn’t it exquisite?”
“But they’re all dead,” Myropa said. “Why would you want to look at such things?”
Arayallen’s laugh was lovely, like bells on a warm, sunny day. “Oh, they’re not dead.” She laughed again upon seeing Myropa’s horrified expression. “They’re not alive, either. They never were. They’re just shells—prototypes, you could say. They were never blessed with a soul.”
Myropa shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “They’re disturbing.”
Arayallen tilted her head as if trying to see them from another perspective. “I suppose they could be if you think of them as equals. They’re not, though. They’re just raw material, formed by yours truly into something beautiful.” She grinned impishly. “Or grotesque. Whatever suits my mood.”
Myropa stared at the young woman who was never really a woman. “Did you really design me?”
“Of course,” said Arayallen. “Well, not you, specifically. I do occasionally dabble with an individual, but for the most part, I let my creations proliferate how they may.” She reached out and stroked Myropa’s hair with a look of admiration and self-satisfaction. “You came out lovely.” Her pleasant smile fell away. “It’s a shame you didn’t appreciate my hard work.”
Myropa shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I looked okay.” Upon seeing Arayallen’s disgruntled look, she said, “No, better than okay. I mean, I was happy with my appearance. It was everything else I couldn’t abide.”
Arayallen raised an eyebrow. “Everything?” Myropa swallowed but didn’t get a chance to respond as Arayallen began walking. “Come alon
g. I don’t have all day. Well, I do, but not to spend on you.”
Myropa held up her skirt as she struggled to keep up with the towering goddess while sinking into the floor. They passed through an archway and were once again on solid ground. It was jarring. After walking so far on a squishy cloud, it felt as if the hard stones were striking back at her feet. In the center of a round courtyard was the biggest statue Myropa had ever seen, and it was a depiction of Trostili—naked—and proud. Myropa averted her gaze from his superb form and nearly bumped into Arayallen, who had stopped to admire it.
“I know.” The goddess sighed. “It gets me every time. He doesn’t know it, but I designed him. He is everything I wanted him to be.”
Myropa couldn’t help but glance up at the statue again. “You are older than Trostili?”
Arayallen sighed again, this time with feigned patience. “Life had to exist before it could start fighting with itself. I was rather upset when I found out he was the God of War. It was so unfair that the one I chose for myself would be brother to Axus.”
“He’s Axus’s brother?”
“Yes, but at least Disevy’s strength keeps them in line. I can’t imagine how destructive they would have been in anyone else’s pantheon.”
“So Disevy is Trostili and Axus’s superior? But he’s so kind.”
Arayallen glanced toward her in surprise. “You’ve met him?” She nodded without waiting for a response. “Yes, he can be—if he likes you. You must have made an impression on him.”
Myropa shifted uncomfortably. “I think it was you who made the impression. He seems to appreciate your work.”
Arayallen smiled. “Was that it? Yes, that makes sense. He likes to visit my gallery. I keep waiting for him to ask for a design, but he never does.”
“A design?” said Myropa.
“For a partner,” replied the goddess as she began walking again. “He’s very old, older than I am, and he has never chosen a partner—at least, not for any length of time.” Arayallen walked through another doorway into a small chamber that looked like an empty tomb. The walls were white marble, the floor was white marble, and the ceiling was white marble. Arayallen turned to look at Myropa, and the door suddenly shut behind her. It, too, was white marble. Nothing else was in the room.
