Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set

by P. E. Padilla

  She unwrapped the objects and held them up for all to see. They were swords, but unlike any commonly used on Gythe. There was a main straight section, approximately as long as an average woman’s arm from shoulder to the tips of her fingers, or just slightly longer. On one end, the swords ended in spikes that split the sunlight as if it was water deflecting off of them. No more than a handspan and a half from the spike, the main shaft of the weapon was wrapped tightly in sturdy cord. Above the handle was a crescent pointing outward, attached to the straight section with two pieces of support metal. The crescents and their points were razor sharp as well. At the opposite end of the sword from the spike, the blade curved into a hook, with another sharp point at the end. All of the surfaces of the swords, except for the wrapped handguard, were sharpened and glinted wickedly in the afternoon sunlight.

  Even more outstandingly, the swords were made of steel. There was only one group of artisans on Gythe that could make weapons of steel, and they were very secretive about their art. They produced perhaps four or five weapons per year, so difficult was the process, and the prices were exorbitant. The swords that were being awarded to Nalia were worth enough to buy most villages and the farms surrounding them outright. It was a great gift, no less so because of their honorable history.

  Steel was, in fact, very difficult to work with in Gythe. Without the expertise of the Zyngim, the artisans who could work with iron and actually make steel, weapons made of iron were too soft for use, softer even than copper. Most of the weapons on Gythe were, by vast majority, made of ceramic glass, with others made from bronze. The weapons the Rusha just presented to Nalia were superior by far.

  “I thank you,” Nalia said, reverently taking the weapons from her leader. “I will endeavor to be worthy of this great gift.” She bowed deeply.

  “I know you will,” Dreya Kloos said. “You have earned them. Practice with them, make them yours, and use them to do good and honorable things.”

  Nalia bowed again, first to Rusha Kloos, then to her mother and the other Sapsyra leaders, then to the audience, and finally to her friend Regi, who had been standing there quietly during the presentation.

  Regi smiled at Nalia and winked. “Can I play with them?” she asked.

  Ylleria put her forehead to her palms again.

  Chapter 11

  The small dinner table in the Zose household seemed almost crowded. Ylleria Zose sat down next to Nalia, across from Regi.

  “Mmm,” Regi said, “Something smells good. I’m starving. What’re we having?”

  Ylleria sighed. “Reginia, why must you insist upon speaking so informally? Have we not taught you proper speech, as well as proper manners, as befits one of the Sapsyra?”

  Regi eyed her suspiciously, as if she hadn’t heard her say the exact same thing before. Thousands of times. “I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with how I speak. It’s how the rest of the world speaks. Don’t you see how much effort, not to mention breath, we can save by combining words?

  “C’mon, try it. Say ‘don’t’”

  “Do not”

  “No, no, no. ‘Don’t.’ Just say ‘don’t.’ It’s easy”

  “That is not what I meant,” Ylleria said with a sigh. “I meant do not do this again. If you would speak as an uneducated farm hand, then so be it, but do not drag me into your bad habits.”

  “Mother,” Nalia said. “She is teasing you.” Turning to her friend, she continued, “Regi, do not tease mother tonight. It has been a long day. Let us just eat and enjoy each other’s company. Let us talk about the matches today. There were some exciting bouts.”

  “There were,” Regi agreed, snatching a piece of bread from the platter and popping it in her mouth. “Tha war som gud mashes.”

  “Please do not speak when there is food in your mouth, Reginia,” Ylleria said, but her heart was not in it. “Come here.”

  Regi slowly skulked over to the older woman, head cocked to the side and hung down just enough to almost look like she was repentant—almost—but obviously designed to minimize the sting from a slap.

  Ylleria drew Regi into a hug. “You fought brilliantly today, you know,” she said as she kissed the top of her head. “You both made me so proud.”

  She looked up, considering, “Well, until you made a mockery of the entire thing by rolling around and wrestling like a child. But still, you fought well. If only you would take things more seriously, you would progress so quickly.”

  “I know,” Regi acquiesced, “I could be a mrynat like Nalia, instead of a lowly sryrnat soldier. “I just haven’t found my own place yet, that’s all. I’ll try to do better. I don’t want you or Rindu to get any more gray hairs on my account.” She laughed.

  “Where is master Rindu, anyway?” Regi continued, “Is this his time to stay at the Zouyim temple? I always lose track.”

  “Yes,” Nalia said. “I was going to go with him, but when they announced the competition, I knew I must stay. I wish he could have been here to see it, but he has responsibilities with the Zouyim, so his absence was unavoidable.”

  “He will be so—” An insistent knock on the door stopped Ylleria in mid-sentence. “—proud of you,” she finished as she went to the door and opened it. A young sister was there, looking flustered.

  “Mrymit Zose,” she said in a rush, “Rusha Kloos needs you immediately in your capacity as battle leader. There has been…some news. Mrynat Wroun,” she said, turning to Nalia, “Your presence is also required. Immediately.” The girl turned on her heels and ran back toward the Rusha’s office.

  Ylleria and Nalia looked at each other, wondering what the news could be to fluster the young sister so. “Let us go,” Ylleria said. “My apologies, Reginia. Perhaps we can have dinner another time. Feel free to eat your fill. We must go now.”

  Nalia squeezed her friend’s shoulder as she passed, running after her mother toward the Rusha’s office.

  Ylleria burst through the door to the Rusha’s office. Her stomach was roiling. She could not explain it, but she had a very bad feeling about this news. She stopped short when she saw Dreya Kloos’s face. It was pale, her jaw slack, her eyes slightly glazed.

  “Ylleria, Nalia. Please sit.” Ylleria had forgotten that Nalia was right behind her. She sat. The three were the only ones in the room.

  “We have received some news,” the Rusha said, gesturing to a small piece of paper rolled up on her desk. She pushed at the paper, moving it a few inches toward Ylleria.

  Ylleria picked up the paper. She was surprised that her hand was shaking. Unrolling it flat so that Nalia could read it at the same time she did, her eyes skimmed over the simple message: GRAY MAN ATTACKED. ZOUYIM DESTROYED. Then she noticed the smears that could only be blood on the edges of the small piece of paper.

  She looked up at Rusha Kloos, at a loss for what to say. She blinked.

  “I recognize the paper,” the Rusha said. “It is the paper made at the Zouyim temple. What’s more, the writing is Ardu Sett’s. We trade messages often. I could not mistake this.”

  Ylleria looked to her daughter and then back at the Rusha. “But,” she said, “how could this happen? Who could have the power to attack the very heart of the Zouyim? What—’”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “What of Rindu? He was on his way to the temple.”

  Dreya Kloos reached out and put her hand on Ylleria’s. “I just received this message, but as I sent a messenger to you, I had one of our sisters who keeps a rakkeban close by hurry to the temple to investigate. I have also sent three messages by bird requesting more information. We will find the answer and then decide what to do.”

  Ylleria nodded numbly. The rakkeben were large intelligent wolves. For those who were suitable for bonding—each rakkeban made its choice when a human presented herself in front of them, whether to accept a partnership with the human or not—there was no finer way to travel quickly. The wolves were much more intelligent than the large birds, manu birds, used as mounts. If the
sister hurried, she could make it to the temple in perhaps three days.

  “In the meantime,” Dreya Kloos’s voice cut into her thoughts, “we must prepare for the worst. If it is true that the Gray Man managed to attack and defeat the Zouyim, he is a bigger threat than we thought. But he has probably taxed his forces. There will be no better time to strike, to eliminate him for the good of Gythe.”

  “As Mrymit, the supreme battle commander of the Sapsyra, it is your duty to marshal our forces for this task. But if concern for your husband—”

  “No,” Ylleria said perhaps more emphatically than she had meant. “I will do my duty. In any case, I would not believe Rindu dead unless I saw his lifeless body in front of me, and perhaps not then. He is not so easily killed as that. Regardless, it is my responsibility to lead our warriors. I will have them ready. If the news comes back that the Zouyim are in fact no more, we will leave that moment and do as should have been done already. We will wipe the Gray Man from existence.”

  “Very well,” the Rusha said kindly. “For now, however, go and spend time in contemplation with your daughter. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin preparations. The hardest part will be waiting for confirmation of the attack.”

  Ylleria and Nalia walked slowly back to their small house. When they got there, they found that Regi had already left. Turning to her daughter, the older woman swept her into an embrace and softly sobbed onto her masked head. If the news was true, the Gray Man would pay. No matter the cost, his account would be settled.

  Chapter 12

  The slender path through the forested area was quiet, soothing. Rindu Zose walked along the familiar trail, heading toward Kokitura. Because his wife Ylleria held such responsibility, being the Mrymit of the Sapsyra forces, she had to live in Marybador. His position as one of the masters of the Zouyim temple allowed him a little more freedom, so he lived part of the time with Ylleria and Nalia in Marybador and part of the time in the Zouyim temple. It was demanding traveling back and forth every few months, but it was necessary and it was an honorable thing to do.

  He was traveling slightly more slowly than he normally would, taking care to avoid any of the ambushes that had been perpetrated against his brothers of late. Moving in such a way, he was able to enjoy the natural world as he passed through each area. He could feel the rohw calling to him, strong because of the life surrounding him.

  He smiled and thought of how much he had liked traveling when he was younger. Traveling now, it seemed, was something that was necessary but not altogether pleasurable. It was a pity. He would try to regain the wonder and excitement he had felt years ago. It was important to enjoy oneself in one’s work. After all, it was said, “If there is no joy in the work, the soul will be damaged.” Or something like that.

  A thought occurred to him then. He could perhaps delay his arrival by a day or two and travel the path closer to the coast. His home village of Ikalau was there, very near the path he would take to Kokitura Mountain, and he had not seen his brothers or his parents for many years. It was too bad that Nalia had stayed at Marybador to take part in the tournament. His family would have been delighted to see her.

  Whistling a tune he had heard one of his Zouyim brothers playing on his kinar, a stringed musical instrument, not a week past, he continued on his way, steps lighter in anticipation of his side trip.

  Zouyim did not typically visit their blood relatives, casting such relationships aside when they entered the temple, assimilating into their new family. Rindu had visited his family a few times, though. He normally went straight to his parents’ house on the outskirts of Ikalau, without going through the village proper, but he made a point of going through the center of activity this time, feeling nostalgic.

  Ikalau had not changed in the thirty-five years since he had left. In fact, he was fairly certain that old Tin Roos’s boat that was pulling into the small dock as he passed was the same he had been using back then. Narrowing his eyes and seeing the oddly shaped stain on the front of the boat, he nodded his head. Yes, it was the same boat. As ageless as Master Roos. He waved to the old man, looking even more like a piece of driftwood than he had when Rindu was a boy.

  It struck him how small things looked here now. Perhaps he remembered them as bigger because he was a child when he spent all his days here. It was as the young marmot who moved from the family den and went out to see the world. When he returned, he found himself too large to enter. Rindu chuckled. The marmot probably had grown fat, that is all.

  As he passed by some of the villagers working in their own fields and others bringing in their nets, a crowd started to form. Young children ran in circles in front of him, laughing and pushing at each other. He remembered himself at that age, though he did not remember playing such foolish games. Not him. Of course not.

  The older villagers smiled and bowed reverently to Rindu. The close proximity of the village to the Zouyim temple at Kokitura Mountain instilled in them a deep respect for the monks. Rindu smiled back, waved, and returned all their bows.

  He made his way to his family’s farm. It also looked exactly the same, except that the rocks looked to have shrunk since he was here last. It must be the constant wind, wearing the stone relentlessly.

  The children soon grew bored of waiting for him to perform some miracle and scampered off to find other things to do. When Rindu arrived alone at the door to his family’s farm house, he knocked firmly and waited.

  He heard a scrabbling on the wood floor of the house, and a tap-tap-tap of a cane coming closer. The door swung open and a wrinkled old woman squinted up at him.

  “Rindu?” she said, “Is that you, my son?”

  “It is, honorable mother. Are you well?”

  The old woman shuffled toward him and threw her scrawny arms around him. “Oh, I am well, now that you are here. It has been years since I have seen you. Come and greet your father.” She kissed him on his cheek, swung her cane around, and started hobbling back into the house. Rindu closed the door and followed her.

  As he passed through the house, fond memories of his childhood caressed his mind. He was happy here before the two traveling Zouyim found him and noticed his affinity for using the rohw. He was happy at the temple, too, and felt as close to his brothers and sisters there as he did to his family here, but it was good to visit where he had spent the first eight years of his life.

  He went through the doorway to the main family area just as a small child ran headlong into him. He put his hand on the child’s head and gently guided him in a circle around him, allowing his momentum to be spent, before slowing him to a stop.

  He looked down at the child.

  The child looked up at him.

  There was silence.

  Then the child blushed furiously and dropped his eyes to the ground, kicking one of his little feet at some imaginary spot there. “Sorry, Mr. Honorable Monk sir,” he stammered.

  “That is quite all right, young man,” Rindu said kindly. “Might you be Pattam Wroun?”

  The child’s eyes lit up as he looked up at Rindu. “Yes, but everyone just calls me Pat. How do you know me?”

  “Because you’re a notorious criminal,” a voice said as a man walked into the room. He went to Rindu and clapped him on the shoulder. “Rindu, brother,” he said, “it’s good to see you. I see you have met my son Pat.”

  Rindu put one hand on his brother’s shoulder and the other on Pat’s head. “I have, Tonn. I do not believe he was around when last I visited.”

  “You…” Pat stammered, “You’re my uncle Rindu?” His wide eyes danced in the sunlight filtering through the windows.

  “I am,” Rindu said. “And I have brought something for you.”

  Rindu reached into the pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a wood carving of a pantor, the large predatory cats of Gythe. “I carved this for you during my travels. Do you know the story of the pantor and the magic stone?”

  “Yes!” the child squealed. “It’s my favorite. Thank you Uncle Rin
du.” He carefully took the proffered figurine. “Daddy, can I go show this to my friends? They’re going to be so jealous.”

  His father laughed. “Sure, but be back before dinner time.”

  The boy took off running, but then slid to a stop before reaching the door. He bowed awkwardly to Rindu, put his small hands together in front of him, one fist holding the pantor cupped by his other empty hand, and saluted the monk. “Thank you, Uncle Master Rindu. It’s wonderful.” Eyeing his father for acceptance, he saw the man nod once and then he took off running again.

  Rindu couldn’t help but to think of Nalia when she was small. There was something powerful about the way a child saw the world. Putting his arm around his brother, he went in to greet his father.

  He spent a full day with his family, getting to know them again and talking about his childhood. After staying the night and passing all morning visiting with his family, old friends, and others in the village who remembered him, he went on his way.

  Looking back for the final time before being swallowed up by the forest surrounding the path, he smiled, warmed by his visit, promising himself to visit again soon, this time with Nalia and Ylleria. If the children went goggle-eyed at a lone Zouy, how much more so for not one but two Sapsyra?

  Chapter 13

  Ylleria stood next to her daughter in the Rusha’s office listening to the sister who had ridden her rakkeban hard to the Zouyim temple and then back to Marybador She had made the trip in less than six days, an amazing feat.

  “Bodies are everywhere. The scavengers abound, even though not many live at that height on the mountain,” the tired-looking Sapsyr said. “There are no living persons there.”

  Mother looked to daughter, fear blossoming in the pit of her stomach, working its way up into her chest. “Did you…could you recognize any of them?”