“I will take the last question first,” Haustis smiled. “I am not the Haustis of the west, for I watch over only the Eifen and the lands east of the Great Lake. However, the spirits have shown me walking toward the setting sun, and I have done so, entering lands new to me, and finding Wae Relin, and you. As to your other questions, I came to Ilsit as I must for every chief, and though I said nothing, he knew, and therefore I confided in him. In doing so, I broke a trust with those who came before me. But I made him swear an oath that he would not tell his father, and I know that oath bears heavily upon him. Even today his expression is dour and perhaps that has cost him much happiness, but I would not have Drae Ghern know the truth for it would torment him and I believe he would have died many years ago had he known.”
“The Grey,” Lydria said to Kimi. “She has done a terrible thing in the name of doing something good. That is what Wae Relin refers to.”
Before Kimi could answer, Haustis looked from Haidrea toward Lydria, sensing in her face the connections she was making. “Yes, child, that is the Grey at its most common form. For a brief time, even those who sit at the bottom of the circle content to let the balancing hand of fate work with joy and misery, even they can journey up to the Grey. It is those who stay within the space who are in grievous peril. But that is a story we will save for the daylight. For now, let me tell you what else I know.
“The magic Lydria wields is a new and powerful magic, but it is not the only type of magic. The word magic has existed within the spirit world for ages upon ages, and some knowledge of it has helped the Haustis watch over the people for many seasons. The magic of the spirits is not tangible, and not really magic as Lydria knows it, but there is no more clear way for me to express the power of the Haustis.
“I cannot start a fire, but I have a window to a wider knowledge, that is perhaps useful. My body, despite its age, maintains a youthful and vigorous constitution, and I can use the spirits to help me feel Eigrae, and to help it heal its wounds.
“As Haustis, or more correctly, The Haustis, I am one of many in a long line. When the time comes, there will be another who follows me – one who shows an ability to interact with Eigrae through the spirits.”
“How do you find the next?” asked Lydria.
“The new Haustis finds the old and in when she does, she knows her time is short. That is my quest – to find the new Haustis and train her, though she may be among the last. With the coming of this new magic, the spirits show a day where they will no longer be heard.”
The tears of joy that had enveloped the lodge earlier, turned to sadness as Haidrea and Lydria turned to the older woman and asked why she would give up her role as the guardian of the Eifen.
“To live alone and grow old, watching the people you love grow old and die, is not an experience one enjoys,” she said. “When I became Haustis, I asked only that the spirits give me a new face so that should I ever see my love again, he would not despair. But now, Ghern is preparing for his final journey into the spirit world, and I would join him soon, for he has been ever faithful to me and his love has never faltered. I am also tired and do not think I will hold up over the trials that are to pass in the coming seasons. The spirits have shown me many things, and few are good. But there is always hope.
“Lydria, please hand me the stone you keep.”
Lydria untied her bag, the stub of her finger tingling as she kept it held upward to not interfere with the work of her more capable fingers. She held out the stone, clean and bright as if a light shown from within and pass it over the prone form of Kimi toward Haustis.
Haustis looked at the stone for a time and back to Lydria, but she did not reach out to touch it.
“The stone is whole?” she asked, with a look toward Lydria.
“Yes. There were two in the crater, this which I touched first, and a second that Wynter possesses. After I touched it, the stone shed a small piece of itself and then reformed, and I was left with this,” Lydria indicated the collar on her neck and a similar blue band on Kimi.
“I am aware of Wynter,” Haustis said. “I have met him and sensed his power. We will discuss him soon. The spirits tell me the stone’s power is pure and that whether it is good, or evil depends upon the soul of those who wield. Like all power, it can empower or corrupt. And yet, I find myself often at odds with the spirits of late. The stone in one piece, in the possession of a single person, presents the potential for ruin unlike anything we could dream, for even a pure heart may wreak unspeakable ill even if she thinks she is doing unimaginable good. A stone in many pieces, in many hands, may more likely offer a balance.
“It is late, and we are all tired. Tomorrow we will speak again and prepare for the bitter seasons that await. Your training, Lydria, begins in earnest with the new sun.”
NINETEEN
The cold came soon. Summer in the far north was fleeting, but Wynter and Nethyal had made good use of their time. The people here were hardy, and profoundly superstitious. They moved about their daily chores with little thought for anything beyond what was in their sight. They were strong and looked to be made of leather themselves, with heavily creased faces browned by exposure to an unrelenting summer sun. They all had dark eyes and thick bodies, with extra weight that few in Wesolk carried. In the summer, they favored thin tunics or no tunic at all, and trousers made from the skin of deer, elk, or the large sea creatures they also used for food and fuel. Wynter didn’t, however, believe they were simple. He admired their ability to remain doggedly focused on important issues such as food and survival. In fact, he counted on it.
The first day in town, Wynter made a point of moving through the village and meeting people. He found a family with a boy in great pain from an accident with a small harpoon and leaned over him to see if he could set his broken leg. Using his power, he healed the boy and walked away so the family couldn’t see the way his left hand bent inward, his fingers pinned to his armpit. Nethyal stayed behind and made sure the family was aware of Wynter’s name, and that he had the power of magic, a new form of power that had chosen this village as center of a new age of Eigrae.
Wynter and Nethyal spent several days helping people in ways that defied all they had ever known, so that when the village shaman came to see him he was prepared. The shaman tried to call out Wynter as a charlatan and a crowd of people gathered to see the rare sight.
“You, old man, what have you done for these people,” Wynter began smoothly when the shaman had finished. “Have you healed injuries, or brought in nets from the lake? Have you done the work of days in moments? You have done none of these things.”
While Wynter spoke Nethyal gathered people to go and listen and soon every member of the village had gathered in a circle around the two men who stood in front of a large fire pit in the middle of the town that during the winter months was always kept lit to fend off the near-constant darkness.
The shaman was trying to respond when Wynter raised his hands and several pieces of wood floated from a pile near the pit and settled into the middle of the stone circle. Lifting his hands higher and then lowering them toward the pit, Wynter caused the wood to smolder and then burst into flame.
“Are the theatrics entirely necessary? Wynter’s wife asked. He had brought his hands back to his side, fighting the urge to hold his stomach which felt as though it had been hit by a log.
“For the common people, the theatrics make it real and show where the power comes from. If not for the show, the old shaman could take credit.”
Wynter gathered himself as the people backed away from the fire and the shaman looked as though a demon had been dropped at his feet. “This man,” Wynter pointed at the shaman, “is not a fit leader for you. I am willing to lead you and bring great prosperity to you. Will you have a leader, or will you stand for a miserable old man who cannot give you anything of what you need?”
The people spoke quietly amongst themselves for a moment before several men dragged the shaman away. “You may call me Lor
d Wynter and my companion the Lord Nethyal.” The crowd looked at Wynter and for the most part walked away, content to know their new ruler’s name.
Within a week he had the full allegiance of the community, for Wynter didn’t just demand, he provided.
Meat appeared, rocks were hauled from the earth, and tasks the villagers thought impossible were completed easily. Magic, as Wynter found, could make him as stealthy as a woodland cat or as strong as an ox, but as he had surmised after he had killed the rabbit, killing a person would almost certainly kill him.
“What will you do, then, if you can’t kill with this new power?”
“I will do what all kings and tyrants do – I will use my power to build an army to kill for me.”
Wynter had been in the village for several months, and the weather was starting to turn toward fall when Nethyal approached him.
“Are you strong enough?”
Wynter turned to Nethyal with a smirk. The question was an honest one, and one he had asked himself for several days. His new kingdom was in its infancy and its people still needed constant reminding of his power. Word of Wynter, Lord of the North, had started to travel and people were beginning to arrive from nearby villages, looking for a fresh start for their families, to escape their old lives, or to share in the power said to be building in the frozen north. It was this last group of people Wynter was most keen to develop. They would become his army, his spies, his assassins, his sword to the throat of the south. But he needed to continue to show his power, and his latest scheme would cement his legend and buy him the time he needed to more fully develop his abilities.
“It could kill you.”
Yes, Wynter nodded to his ally, it very well could. “But a Lord needs a fortress, don’t you think, Nethyal? Something that will be visible for miles around and serve as a challenge to others. If we are going to invite war, my friend, we need to send a big invitation.”
The invitation he had in mind would not go un-noticed. If he died and his attempt were successful, his name would live on for generations. If he lived and was successful, his name would never die, and people would flock to him.
“Your concern is touching, but you needn’t worry,” Wynter told his cautious aid. “I’ve been practicing.” Wynter opened a door at the back of his home, a large wooden structure built for him soon after he took leadership of the town. While modest, it featured a walled courtyard in the rear. The labor required to fashion such a structure should have taken months, at best. The harvesting and transport of the wood should have taken weeks with scores of workers. Wynter provided the material in days and the men worked quickly to please their Lord.
Opening the door to the courtyard, Wynter proudly displayed a veritable forest of ice. Thick, tall blocks filled the space, some measuring a span that would require three men linking hands to encircle. “It’s easier than you might think, actually,” Wynter smiled at Nethyal. “Water forms into ice naturally, so I’m just shaping it to my purposes. These larger ones,” he walked to a massive column, and touched it gently with an open palm. “These are the latest, and they came up smoothly yesterday morning. I was able to feed myself breakfast and do a full day’s work afterward.” Wynter smiled as he remembered the sensation of the monolith breaking the surface and realizing the cost to his well-being was minimal. He continued to smile as his tongue sought out the fresh hole in his gums where a tooth used to be. A little blood, a slight discomfort, but nothing damaging.
“How long do you expect it will take then?” Nethyal sounded more hopeful about the project, his voice expectant that a week or so would see the task completed without incident.
Wynter turned slowly and smiled again, the black hole visible in his lower jaw at the back of his grin. “I hope to have it finished before noon.”
Nethyal quickly hid his surprise and countered in his emotionless rhythm, “I will see to it that hot food is prepared, your chamber is ready, and no one disturbs you.”
“That’s fine,” Wynter said. He was aware of the nature of Nethyal, to follow through in a pragmatic fashion in any situation, but he was also aware of his warrior-friends’ inability to grasp how things were seen by those who were not Eifen. What Wynter was about to do couldn’t be done alone like what he’d done in his courtyard. It needed to be done in front of an audience and be a statement – something that would be talked about and turned into legend. “If this is to be the symbol it is required to be, I will not be coming back here,” Wynter said.
“There are those within the village who still doubt me, are there not?” It was more a statement than question. Both men knew there was a certain group that had arrived with a large contingent from the south, who questioned Wynter’s magic when their tongues were loosened with drink. The leader of the group, a burly man named Kelmenth, was allowed to speak freely, but Wynter and Nethyal made sure he was watched closely and what he said always made its way back to them.
Kelmenth was a fit man who laughed at the head of a small group of simple-minded followers, young men and women who were all fit – perfectly fit, Wynter knew, for his purposes.
Before Nethyal left, Wynter told him that Kelmenth and his followers would be needed to move the contents of his home to the flat rise overlooking the lake where he would build his fortress. “I have cleared spaces for fourteen of them. Have them move the belongings to the center of the clearing and then stand on marked spaces facing south. They shall be the first to witness the birth of a new day.”
Nethyal waited to see if there were more instructions, but Wynter turned away, walking among his ice pillars. Nethyal turned to find Kelmenth and his followers.
The next day was brisk, with a prickling frost tinge in the air. The sun had not yet risen, but the town had gathered at a respectful distance from the rise by the lake, to witness something, but what it was they had not been told. The night before Nethyal had given Kelmenth his task, and bade him say nothing to the town, for their Lord was to reveal an astonishment the next day. Knowing the man would spend his night in the small tavern that served the growing population, he was sure word would spread and the entire town would be on hand. He was not disappointed.
As the horizon glowed orange before the late rising of the sun, the townspeople could see Wynter, in silhouette against the lightening horizon. Kelmenth and thirteen of his fellows, both men and women were moving objects on the rise, but when Wynter approached them they stopped what they were doing and gathered to listen to their Lord. As the crowd watched, Wynter finished and fourteen silhouettes could be seen moving along the flat rise before stopping and turning to face the south. Wynter raised his arms briefly and then moved to one of the fourteen where he stood for several seconds before making his way toward the village.
The distance between the people and the flat was no more than several hundred paces, but Wynter approached to within a few dozen paces and welcomed those who had come.
Sliding easily into his charismatic voice, Wynter wished the crowd a good morning and began a speech.
“This village has stood through your strong efforts, for many generations. It has withstood the most vicious of enemies – nature itself – and grown and prospered. You people, are the strength and foundation of this land, and on this rise before you, stand fourteen – seven men and seven women - who represent the strength, the hardiness, the cunning, … the nobility… of your people.”
The fourteen of whom Wynter spoke had not moved an inch since Wynter had left them, but the townspeople didn’t notice. Wynter’s words fueled every prideful emotion and feeling of superiority they had over the soft men of the south. “Today, we start anew; today, we build a new kingdom to be known as Solwyn.”
Without delay, Wynter turned and walked back to the edge of the rise. He heard murmurs from the village behind him. Most trying out the new name, and a brave few speaking to each other about kingdoms.
When he reached the edge of the rise, he quickly took note of his preparations. The fourteen were rooted to their
spots, ice clamped above their ankles, their arms pinned to their sides, and their mouths frozen shut. Their eyes, however, were wide. Wynter made it a point to move directly in front of them, so he could watch their eyes, and so their eyes could watch him build an empire.
Holding his arms out wide for dramatic effect, Wynter began his silent incantation. The motions he had used early on to call forth fire, or throw arrows, or any task, were unnecessary he realized. Magic, he knew, rested solely in the mind. Only through pure will could he harness the power he needed. For weeks he had been preparing the ground beneath him. Bringing water up through the ground and imagining how it would need to be formed when called forth.
As the first rays of the sun touched what would be his front gate, he shuddered and bent his will toward the ground.
The ice rose quickly at first, in fourteen enormous columns that made the ice pillars in his courtyard look like twigs. Larger than any tree, the columns rose as crystal-clear ice encasing the men and women who lent their strength to the structure. Wynter avoided looking at their perfectly reflected faces buried beneath feet of ice. He would stop to enjoy that sight after he had finished.
When the columns stopped growing, he bent his will to the walls which rose evenly in every direction, glittering blue-green opaque walls shining in the sun like the ocean made solid. The structure left Wynter standing in a magnificently sized arched gateway that would serve as the grand entrance.
As the castle took shape, the rising ice slowed. Wynter’s feet were numb and his body racked with pain. It took effort just to keep his arms lifted. He brought opaque towers up from the ground on the eastern and western sides of the building; and to the south, a small tower rose from above the arched gateway.
Amidst gasps of astonishment, the townspeople cheered as Wynter made his way out of the castle to walk around its western side, fully in their view to stand at the northern face of the structure. He had not stopped his incantation fearing that to do so would cause him to collapse, so he raised his hands again, the pain causing them to shake and his blue collar glowing faintly in the dawn, it’s light visible in his peripheral vision. Finally, Wynter called forth the northern tower, which would be his home.
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