Magic's Genesis- The Grey

by Rosaire Bushey

  The tower came out of the ground as clear as the pillars inside, and the sunlight shone across it like a diamond, dazzling all of those who marveled at its creation. It grew higher than the walls, and higher than the roof of the building, continuing half again as high as the castle itself. As the tower reached its full height, Wynter took his stone and leaned into the fresh ice, its solid surface helping him stay upright, and he felt along its perfectly smooth facade until he reached the base of the tower. Thinking of what he wanted to achieve, Wynter held the stone cupped in the palm of his hand and resting on the tower wall, and he watched a piece of the stone drift through the ice and bury itself in the center of the tower’s frozen floor. Within seconds, roots of blue reached out from the middle of the floor and worked their way up the walls like cobalt ivy wending its way through the essence of the ice. In moments the northern tower was a beacon of blue luminescence. Wynter pulled away from the wall and looked down, watching his stone reshape itself into a slightly smaller sphere once again.

  It was as magnificent as the stone had shown him it would be. The tower would draw people and an army toward it like mosquitoes drawn to blood. Even as he admired the shimmering cobalt, Wynter could feel himself giving way, succumbing to his efforts, but he had more to do. This would be his last use of magic for proving his power, so he moved slowly back to the south and went inside the building bending his will to creating floors, torches, candle holders, carpets, rugs, tapestries – everything that made a castle splendid – and it began to appear as if weaved by thought and ice.

  As Wynter felt himself on the verge of collapse, energy surged through his body and he stood tall and awake.

  “You cannot be serious with those rugs.”

  As if watching his work rearranged by someone else, the interior of the space took form, telling touches from his home in Thrushton aggrandized to fit the larger space.

  “I thought you were gone.” Wynter wanted his voice to sound aggrieved, but it wasn’t. He was grateful for the help and he no longer felt like crumpling to the floor.

  “I told you, as you exist, I exist. You’ve made it difficult for me though,” his wife’s voice was tempered, as though she realized how much it grated on him to hear it. “Your defenses stifle your abilities. By keeping me down, you limit yourself. We can work together. With me, you have access to such power … well, look and see.”

  Wynter raised his head and sucked in a breath of surprise, even he did not expect the magnitude of the creation in front of him. It was beyond grand and should have taken an army of workmen decades, and a mountain of gold, to produce the stunning structure around him. His lips turned up slowly at the corners of his mouth in a smile, not of joy, but of triumph.

  The sun was now high, and he walked slowly from his castle and turned to the crowd who had gone silent as they watched the miracle Wynter had pulled from the ground. In moments, he heard their chant begin, and it grew louder until it rang across the north. “Hail King Wynter, hail Solwyn.”

  Wynter stood up straight, facing the crowd and holding out his arms again, as if daring them not to look at what he had accomplished. Soon, the chanting stopped, and as one, the people of Solwyn kneeled to their king.

  TWENTY

  Haustis was impressed by Lydria’s magic but concerned over the woman’s lack of proficiency at wielding her power as a weapon – as Wynter most surely would. Still, as Haustis convened with spirits over the course of the long summer, she began to accept that Lydria’s unwillingness to use magic solely as a weapon signaled a strength that was perhaps more desirous in a wielder than physical power.

  “Haustis, you know there is harmony in nature,” Kimi spoke to Haustis as Lydria slept, regaining her strength from her exertions of the morning. “Would you prefer wielders who think of nothing but power and conquest, or would you prefer those who heal and build?”

  The cat was correct, Haustis knew, but while good often prevailed over evil, it often did so at the feet of destruction and a pile of bodies. A strong wielder with good intent would be preferable. Haustis smiled at the motionless bobcat who didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “You are remarkably perceptive for a creature who spends most of his day asleep,” she chided.

  “I’m not sleeping, merely conserving energy.”

  Later that day Lydria and Haidrea were in the woods with Wae Relin and Branch, learning about each other and from each other. Weaver had gone back to Steven’s Folly early in the season to oversee continuing construction at the fort in Branch’s stead.

  “Would that more men could come and spend time with you to truly understand the ways of your people, we would all sleep easier at night,” Branch said.

  Wae Relin smiled. “I agree, but it is not within the nature of man to do so, nor is it within the desire of the Eifen. We live apart from men, even as we live among them. Like men we argue and like men we sometimes make war upon each other, although it is very rare.”

  When not in the woods, the group responded to Haustis’ efforts to train Lydria by protecting her from falls and tending to her when she exhausted herself using magic. Haustis recognized that Lydria rarely engaged in harmful magic, instead focusing on the practical and beneficial, farming, construction, water collection … things that would make a community prosper in years instead of generations; and she encouraged them to provide Lydria tasks that would prepare her for war, or at the very least, preparing to defend against what might come.

  In late summer, Weaver arrived back in the camp, looking leaner, stronger, and more confident. He wasted no time in finding and speaking to Branch, and later that evening, he spoke to everyone, happy to be amongst friends and delighting in the admiring looks his improved physique received, especially from Haidrea.

  “When in the spring, I made my way back to the Folly,” he began. “Work there had slowed to a crawl without the captain’s influence, and so I spent some time getting the men back to their tasks. Several days after I arrived, a rider from Bayside came looking for the captain.” Weaver glanced quickly at Branch who, out of habit, nodded for him to continue. “Explaining the captain was on a sensitive diplomatic mission, I was ordered back to Bayside in his place where I expected to meet the commander of the guards. Instead, I was escorted to the castle and brought before his lordship Krieger.”

  At this point, Branch interrupted. “Krieger,” Branch began, “is an advisor and confidant of King Ahlric. He is a good man. Honest, loyal, and not averse to ignoring court politics if it means getting important work done. It’s fair to say, however, that Krieger is rumored to be a spy, which I believe; and to have been an assassin in his youth, which I may not guess at. This reputation has allowed him to roll the slow wheels of politics more swiftly than they might otherwise move. Still, if he ever did, it is unlikely he has engaged in the latter work for many years, but he makes no pains to dispel rumors, which he thinks are more useful than harmful. Krieger is also the person to whom the king’s spies report; and being called in by him usually does not bode well.”

  Branch stopped and looked to Weaver to pick up his story again but looks shared between Haustis and others stayed the man from continuing.

  “Can Krieger be trusted?” Haustis asked.

  Branch paused before responding to the old woman. “Krieger was ambitious once, willing to use any methods to achieve his ends. The rumors say that if he showed up at your door you were grateful. It was when you couldn’t see him that you had to be worried. No one can deny Krieger’s youth was largely ill-used, but he is now considered a calming influence in Wesolk’s affairs, and his voice is well heard and respected by the king and the lords who serve him. We would dismiss Krieger at our own peril, and we would be diminished if we did not listen to the rest of what Weaver has to say.”

  Knowing Branch knew the rest of the message whereas she did not, Haustis nodded and raised her hand to Weaver. “Continue, then Weaver, and tell us what this man has to say.”

  Krieger’s spies, which operated in every dir
ection, among other kingdoms and people of the north, were among the very best. Krieger knew intelligence was more useful than poison and he went to great lengths to learn information that would be useful in settling disagreements politically, rather than with force.

  “There are stories coming from the North, and they tell of a tiny village of subsistence fishermen where great things are occurring.”

  “And what are these great things?” It was Wae Relin, leaning forward and eager to hear the tale in full as his desire was to continue north to fulfil his orders.

  “Krieger did something highly unusual,” Branch broke in again, signaling to Weaver that it was alright that he spoke of information the younger man had thought was not to be shared. “For some months there have been mutterings to the north; bandits, robbers, strange sights in the night skies, and of two men walking slowly through the tundra. Sometimes one man would carry the other and they did not travel as men who had a destination in mind. They went slowly and stopped often.” Branch paused for effect and Weaver nodded slowly as if to confirm his captain’s words.

  “Krieger sent men to the north to investigate. His primary agent was a man named Kelmenth, who was part of a detachment that included several others posing as young families. Kelmenth sent word that a man named Wynter had taken up residence in the small town, and with him a tall Eifen called Nethyal.”

  Kimi, Haidrea, and Lydria all straightened at the mention of the name and looked at each other. “Did he say Nethyal?” Kimi asked. Not bothering to answer silently, Lydria said, “Yes, Kimi, he said Nethyal. What is this, Weaver? Branch? Are we supposed to believe these spies?” Despite herself she practically spit the word at Weaver.

  Haidrea was staring hard at Weaver and Branch, her muscles taut and poised to spring to her feet. Wae Relin put his hand on her shoulder as he would any other warrior preparing to make an ill-advised move. “My brother Nethyal? How can that be? He was sent with men to find Wynter and return him to my father.”

  “Your brother was sent to kill Wynter,” Weaver said. He was sorry to be the one to bring the news but seeing Haidrea so upset had caused him to want to tell her anything to be calm once again. More than anything, however, he didn’t want the woman angry with him.

  Weaver continued. “Krieger has it on good authority that Wae Ilsit bade his son to kill the rogue. And there’s more. Wynter is known to Krieger. It appears the two were … in the same line of work at one time.” Not wanting to say more, Weaver looked back to Branch who nimbly picked up the story.

  “The barracks stories are that Krieger and Wynter were assassins on good terms with each other but in competition for …work. Eventually, Wynter, though the younger of the two, fell out and disappeared from that world. He went to live on an island and start a family, taking up a shop as a bowyer and fletcher. Some say he’s gone mad. Krieger’s spies reported he could be seen talking to himself from time to time.”

  “That fits,” said Lydria, who recounted her story of how the party she was with when they met Wynter had pieced together that the arrow that killed Josen, likely came from Wynter. She also mentioned the body dragged from the water the day before her father and the rest of her party were killed and the contents of the boys’ clothes.

  When Lydria finished, the men and women said nothing until Branch broke the silence again. “The last word Krieger heard from his man was in mid-summer. The town was growing daily with men and families arriving from east, west, and south, and Wynter providing near-daily miracles. There was talk of kingdoms and lordships and of people who disagreed with Wynter disappearing.

  “And then, there was nothing. Kelmenth, nor any of the others, have been heard from since. Krieger discusses the matter with King Ahlric even now, whether or not to march north before the snows come.”

  “Does the king or this Krieger, know anything of magic and Wynter’s abilities?” Haustis who said nothing during the telling of the story, did not look up as she rubbed her hands together, and she did not wait for an answer. “I have met Wynter, and when I did, he was not sure what abilities he could command. I think, if he has learned to harness any of his power, part of that blame rests with me.” It was Wae Relin who put out his hand to calm the shaking in Haustis’ clenched fist.

  “There is no reason to think so,” answered Branch, looking to Weaver for confirmation that came quickly. “If Krieger knows of Wynter’s magic, it is unlikely he would tell anyone. That kind of information is a currency all its own.”

  “Would he not even tell the king?” asked Haustis

  “He would especially not tell the king!” Branch nearly laughed at the thought. “Krieger has spent years trying to use his influence to bring peace. He understands that a peaceful kingdom is a prosperous kingdom and it is his desire is to live to an old age with a warm house and plenty of food, and women who don’t care how many wrinkles are in his skin. If King Ahlric, or any king for that matter, knew of the power wielded by Lydria, they would have their armies marching here now.”

  “To kill her,” declared Wae Relin.

  “To capture me,” whispered Lydria.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The council lasted deep into the night. Soon after sunrise provisions were being packed and Wae Relin, Lydria, Haidrea, and Kimi were ready to head for Eifynar to discuss what they had learned with Wae Ilsit and Drae Ghern. Branch and Weaver would head back to Steven’s Folly before turning for Bayside to speak with the king.

  The remaining members of the camp would embark upon the perilous journey back to Eigraenal in the west to report that they had discovered the lost Eifen and to discuss sending a larger force back east to fight Wynter if need be. Given the season it was likely that if Wynter did make war upon the south, he would wait until spring. That might give Wae Relin’s men enough time to return to their home and bring back a significant force.

  “We will meet you in Eifynar after we have spoken with the king,” Branch said. “Until then, let us hope that we prepare for storms that do not land on these shores.” Branch and Weaver said their farewells and headed north.

  “We should go too,” Haustis said to Lydria. “We need to speak to Wae Ilsit and prepare the Eifen. It is Eifynar that stands between Ahlric and Wynter.” Haustis’ expression, however, revealed her true concern: what news of the betrayal of Nethyal would do to the village and its leader.

  The group loaded food and gear onto horses Weaver had brought from the Folly. Considering going to war against Wynter, Lydria shuddered involuntarily, thinking of his cold gaze at the crater; how his eyes seemed to penetrate through her and find weakness where she hadn’t thought any existed. She thought of how he so cruelly killed her father, and how he had promised to find her one day and kill her.

  “’Kill you all’, that’s what he said,” Lydria spoke to no one in particular.

  “What’s that?” said Haustis, fastening a bag on a horse. She wasn’t used to riding horses.

  “Wynter said he would come back and find me. It was like he was talking to someone else only he could hear – like I can with Kimi – but he said, ‘I can’t kill you yet. But I’ll find you. You can’t hide your eyes. I’ll find you – I’ve given my word and I will find you and I will kill you all.’ But I was the only one there.”

  “You had both suffered greatly when the forest was destroyed,” countered Haidrea.

  Lydria smiled at her friend, appreciative of her concern. Had it been anyone else, she might have let it go as the mad ramblings of a man who was wounded, tired, and alone. But Wynter was different. Lydria didn’t think he would ever say something that wasn’t calculated to be exactly the thing he wanted to say – and mean.

  Before she returned to her horse, Haidrea heard Lydria say, perhaps out loud to Kimi, “He has the power and he intends to use it; why would he not use it against me?”

  “He knows you have power too,” Kimi spoke. The cat was keeping his distance from the long, strong legs of the horses and for their part they seemed to have ignored his presenc
e.

  “If Nethyal is with him, we must believe he has told Wynter of your gift and what you can – and cannot – do. It is likely that Nethyal is helping him in the same way we help you.”

  After letting Haustis know Kimi’s concern, the old woman echoed his sentiment. “I have thought for some time that you should focus your power in ways that will be useful should Wynter make good on his promise,” the woman said. “Your gifts for healing and your kindness of spirit are what made you so valuable to your father and his men in the field. You have compassion, but you need to find the steel within yourself. You have never been a flower, Lydria. You are more than capable in a fight and with a bow or blade. You must now unlock your ability to strike first and decisively. A hard blow struck first may save many more painful blows down the road.”

  Lydria looked at her friends and could see they agreed with Haustis. “I will try,” she said.

  TWENTY-TWO

  As they made their way east, Lydria attempted forceful magic and was met with wracking pain and discomfort. When she made plants grow quickly, she found herself unable to move from the waist up, and unable to control her mouth. Haidrea rode alongside her as Lydria controlled her horse with her knees, all the while drooling in her own lap, her lip hanging loosely on her chin.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been listening from the trees …” Kimi stopped and looked up at his friend who was trying to look away and made a hissing sound at the back of his throat that the others quickly understood to be the cat’s laugh.