by Ron Root
Gresham pointed to their greeters. “Doesn’t anything about these people strike you as odd?”
Rayna looked again. “Well, they look enough alike to be kin. Why?”
How could she not notice the obvious? “Rayna, they look like you.”
Her jaw dropped.
A gray-haired man bowed to her. “Fáilte abhaile seeker.”
She tipped her head in kind. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you.” She turned to Hagley. “Hey magic-man, you speak several tongues. Do you know what he’s saying?”
Hagley shook his head. “No, but I think he just greeted us.”
The man’s gaze took in the rest of them. “Cén fáth ar thug tú Outlanders chuig A’ryth? He waited for a response. When it became apparent he wasn’t being understood, he barked an order at a nearby lad. The boy ran off. The rest of their greeters stood silent, watching. Waiting. For what, Gresham had no clue.
The boy returned, accompanied by a woman with flaming red hair. Her eyes widened when she saw them. She came down to their raft. “Welcome back, seeker,” she said to Rayna in highly accented Common.
Rayna stood there, looking confused. “Thank you, Lady.”
The woman said something in her native tongue and several greeters scurried down the dock, grabbed gear, and helped the arrivals off the barge. One threw a grapple at the golem’s head. He set its hooks, and while he held the rope taut, a second man shinnied up the line and extracted Rayna’s key from its forehead. He returned and gave it to her.
Freeing his grapple, the first man yelled, “Tarraing siar.” The golem animated again. Making a wide turn, it headed back up the tunnel, raft in tow. Another golem stood motionless beside a second boat.
“I am Caitlyn,” the redhead offered. Once introductions had been made, she beckoned them to follow. “Come with me,” she said, leading them away. “Please do not be offended by the stares of my people. You are the first Outlanders most have seen.”
She led them up a ramp and through a stone archway. Hagley tripped over his robes again. Gresham finally realized why he’d suddenly become so ungainly. All their trudging had trimmed his girth, making his robes hang too low.
Gresham was so intent studying Hagley’s clothes that when the man stopped, he nearly ran into him. The others had halted too. All were staring. Once Gresham slipped past them, he understood why. A’ryth was the most astounding place he’d ever seen.
Fate Learned
A gentle shake awakened the napping Jarek. It was Goodricke. “Milord, Bardán has come for us. The Elders beckon. He says they’ve made their decision.”
The walk to the council area felt like a trip to the gallows. They arrived to find the seven stern-faced Elders awaiting them. This time no seats were offered, which didn’t bode well.
Bardán bowed and spoke something in A’rythian. Odhran nodded and answered. Bardán turned back around, his expression hard to read. “Your lives are to be spared.” An audible sigh escaped Jarek. “However, you have been banished from our city. Return here, or tell others of our existence, and that decision is rescinded. You will be hunted down and killed.”
A long silence followed the pronouncement as the Elders let the gravity of their verdict sink in. “Agree to those terms and I will take you back to the place you entered our city where you’ll be free to go.”
As grateful as he was to have his life spared, Jarek could not agree to those terms. The Nexus was imminent, and Lavan’s life was at stake. “My companion agrees to your terms, but I do not.”
He wasn’t sure who his response surprised more, Goodricke or Bardán.
“Milord, you cannot…” Goodricke began, but Odhran’s shout of “tost!” silenced him.
“Translate my words for him, Bardán,” Jarek demanded.
“Magus,” Bardán pleaded, “do not say such a thing. Please reconsider.”
“I cannot. I must be present at your Ama de Cumhacht or my friend’s life is forfeit. Did your granddaughter not deliver my message? Did she not warn them that a great evil comes that must be confronted?”
His mention of Ama de Cumhacht had the Elders’ murmuring, and Bardán’s translation spurred an even more boisterous exchange. Just then Caitlyn arrived, begging an audience.
Odhran beckoned her forward, and she whispered something. He jumped to his feet with a shout, clearly angered by what he’d been told. He repeated her message to the other Elders, spawning other equally stunned expressions. Their gazes wandering from her, to Goodricke, to Jarek, and …to four arriving people.
Jarek’s jaw dropped. “Gresham? Hagley?” With them was an A’rythian woman and her child.
Gresham rushed over and the two embraced. “Uncle! I found you!”
Jarek stepped back, looking him over. “How in the gods’ names did you manage to follow me?”
Before Gresham could respond, a loud slap on the council table demanded their attention. Odhran was standing, his face a beet red. He shouted something at Bardán.
“The Elders demand to know why you dare bring other Outlanders here.”
Jarek spread his arms. “I did not. I’m as puzzled by their arrival as he is.”
“But you clearly know them, at least this one,” he said, nodding at Gresham.
“Yes. His name is Gresham. He’s my nephew. But how he got here is as much a mystery to me as it is you. I also know the stout fellow. He’s a magus in training. But I’m as puzzled by his presence as I am Gresham’s.”
Bardán’s translation did little to quell Odhran’s anger, but did give him pause. His ire shifted to Caitlyn, questioning her no less as harshly.
Gesturing to the new arrivals, she answered at great length, sounding apologetic.
“What did she tell him?” Jarek asked of Bardán.
“That a seeker returned through the travelways bringing her child and two Outlanders with her.”
“Seeker?” Gresham whispered. “That’s what the golem called Rayna.”
“You must not speak unbidden,” Bardán hushed. “Your life and that of your friends are in great peril.”
Wide-eyed, Gresham said no more.
Shouting broke out amongst the Elders. Their bitter exchange involved a lot of pointing and accusing gestures, most directed at Lore Master Dalbhach, as if the Outlander’s presence here was somehow his fault. Shouts were also directed Caitlyn or Bardán’s way. No translation was offered. Finally, Odhran motioned the A’rythian woman forward, making demands of her too.
The woman simply stood there looking confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand you,” she said in upper class Common.
Confused, Jarek turned to his nephew. “Who are this woman and her child?”
“Her name is Rayna. She came with Hagley and me. The boy’s name is Sully, and he’s not her son.”
Bardán was close enough to overhear. “Young man, for the child’s sake, it would be wise to not repeat what you just said.”
Caitlyn translated Rayna’s words, which fostered even more puzzled looks. Odhran motioned Rayna forward, looking her over, then said something.
“He wants you to explain,” Caitlyn said. “I will interpret.”
From the moment Rayna showed them her mother’s key, she felt under attack. She told her story, a long, slow process with all the translation involved. When she was asked how she knew of the travelways, she pulled out her map and handed it and her key to Caitlyn.
It was hard to hear with both Bardán and Caitlyn firing questions her way. Many concerned something called draíocht. Whatever it was, it apparently held great sway here. She did her best to provide answers, repeating the story of her mother’s letter a second time.
She soon grew weary of it all. She had pressing questions of her own. “Caitlyn, may I ask something of them?”
Caitlyn’s translation quieted the Elders. Odhran nodded. “What is your question, Lady?”
“My name is Rayna. I’m here to find
my mother. Her name is Akaisha. Could someone please tell her that her daughter has come to see her?”
A silence fell over the group at the mention of her mother’s name that gave way to a whispered discussion. As they talked, each of the old men glanced her way at least once, making her feel conspicuous. She heard her mother’s name bandied about a few more times, then all grew quiet.
Caitlyn turned to her; her expression grim “I am sorry Lady. The Elders say your mother is not among us. She was what we call a seeker, one who goes among your people to learn your ways. She left many years ago. As is true of many seekers, she never returned.”
Rayna felt as if her stomach had been struck. “No! That cannot be. Look!” She pulled a parchment from her purse and handed it to Caitlyn. “She wrote this. It says she was returning home. It was she who gave me map and key and asked me to come find her.” Tears blurred her vision. “She must be here.” She sank to her knees. “She must.” How could the gods be this cruel?
Although Caitlyn spoke Common, she apparently didn’t know its written form, so handed it to Bardán. A long silence followed his translation, after which Caitlyn was called to the Elder’s table. After a few quiet murmurs she returned Rayna’s letter to her. “I am very sorry for you, Lady.”
Rayna tried to respond, but her voice failed. She inhaled, composing herself. The Elders were clearly men of importance and she was keeping them waiting. She stood. “Please thank the Elders for this audience,” she offered, her voice cracking, “but with their permission, I would like to be alone now.”
After more conversing Caitlyn asked, “Would it please you to have someone show you where your mother lived.”
She wiped her eyes. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
“We send for a guide now.”
As she stood waiting, Bardán came over and joined her. “Lady,” he whispered, “the Elders believe the child to be yours. It would be best for his sake to not let them know otherwise.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she said, glancing Sully’s way.
Soon, a middle-aged woman arrived and led Sully and her away. Although friendly, the woman spoke no Common, but that didn’t deter her from trying to communicate. “Seanmháthair,” she said, smiling.
She forced a smile of her own. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” was the only response she could offer. After repeating the word a couple more times, the woman gave up.
Rayna walked hand-in-hand with Sully. Passers byes spoke to her along the pathway, seemingly greeting her. Not understanding a word anyone said, all she could do was smile and nod in return.
They came to a spot where several pathways intersected. The woman veered onto a smaller trail, and Rayna soon found herself amongst several buildings. From a distance they seemed an assortment of intricately designed cottages, but as she drew closer, she saw people going about their daily chores. These were people’s homes.
Her guide stopped in front of one such place and pointed, grinning widely. “Seanmháthair,” she said, tugging Rayna toward its entrance.
An elderly woman looked up as they entered. Old, her skin was wrinkled, and she was dangerously thin. Her eyes went wide when she saw Rayna. She struggled to her feet with a grunt, and then ever so slowly reached out a trembling hand and touched Rayna’s cheek. “Akaisha?”
Sully looked up. “She be thinking you be your mother.”
Rayna pursed her lips. “Older folks confuse easily.” She took the woman’s hand, shaking her head. “No, not Akaisha.” She pointed to herself. “Rayna.” The woman looked puzzled.
How could she make her understand? “Sully, cross your arms as if you’re cradling a babe, and rock it back and forth.” He did as she asked. “Yes, like that.” She pointed to herself. “Rayna.” She pointed at Sully. “Akaisha.” She pointed at the mock baby again, imitating a crying babe. “Akaisha and Rayna.”
She waited, hoping the old lady would puzzle it out, but it just seemed to confuse her more. Her guide intervened. “Mátair Akaisha. Babaí Rayna,” she said, pointing to Sully and the pretend baby. “Is iníon Akaisha é Rayna. Is é Rayna do ghariníon,” she explained.
Realization painted the old woman’s face. “Ghariníon?” she asked, tears flooding her eyes. She took Rayna’s hand and kissed it.
The guide was weeping, too. She wiped her tears on her sleeve, looked at Rayna, and pointed at the old woman. “Seanmháthair.”
Rayna turned to Sully. “Remember that word so we can ask Caitlyn what it means.”
She smiled at the old woman and withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Seanmháthair,” the old woman repeated, her hands pressed to her heart.
It was then realization stuck. Rayna started trembling so badly she had to lean on Sully for support. He who looked up at her. “Lady, you look to be sick.”
She reached for the woman’s hand. “You’re my grandame.”
The woman nodded, saying seanmháthair, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Oíche na Cumhacht
Night of Power
After Rayna and Sully’s departure, Hagley and the remaining Outlanders were banished from the city proper. “Make sure to repeat my warning that Oíche na Cumhachta brings with it unexpected evil,” Jarek urged Bardán as armed guards led them away.
They were being taken to a place high above the city, to where the magus and Goodricke had first entered A’ryth. The climb to get there was arduous, Hagley’s feet growing heavier with each stride.
About half-way there, Master Verity stopped and leaned against the wall, steadying himself. “Are you all right, Magus?”
“I find the climb a bit dizzying is all,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I’ve no fondness for heights. It felt the same when I walked down this horrid path. I managed it then, I can do it now.”
After a brief rest they resumed their climb. Master Verity’s dread was understandable. Their path was steep and only a few feet wide, with no protective rail. Any misstep could prove disastrous. By the time they finally reached the top, Hagley found himself sharing the Magus’s concerns.
They were led through an archway to an open field, after which the escorts returned to the city. As soon as they were gone, Magus Verity started interrogating them. “Why in the god’s names did you two fools bring a woman and child with you?”
They recounted their tale of their journey here, and why each was here. Their explanation took the better part of an hour. “You baffle me, Hagley,” Master Verity said after hearing it. “You claim you couldn’t pass the university’s trials, yet your command of the arts now includes not just light globes, but a variety of illusions and some sort of dancing compulsion. Do I have that right, or did I mishear?”
“Yessir, I can’t explain it. It’s been this way since I joined up with my friends.”
Jarek thought a bit, then nodded. “I have a theory that might explain your sudden command of such diverse spells.”
“You have?”
“Later.” His attention turned to Gresham. “As for you, my good nephew, how is it you’re suddenly creating light globes? Did you not tell me a soldier has no use for the arts?”
Gresham related what happened at the university with Masters Kagen and Vardon.
Jarek scratched his chin. “They claim you to be a Battle Mage, eh?”
“Yes. They even gave Hagley a spell book to teach me from,” he said, nodding toward Hagley’s pack.
“What!” he said, twisting to face Hagley. “You’re traipsing through the wilderness with a precious spell book in your possession?”
“I… I didn’t want to leave them behind for the pirates.”
“Them?” He snapped his fingers. “Show me!”
Hagley reached into his knapsack. After sifting through it, he handed a book to Jarek. “This one contains illusions. I used some of them on our journey here.” He handed over a second book. “This has only two spells, one for movi
ng things from afar, and a counter-spell that prevents them from moving at all.”
He handed Jarek another. “This one is called Hands and Arrows. Master Vardon said to give it to Gresham. He claimed that with a bit of training Gresham could master its spells. The last one is a rune primer to help him read it.”
Jarek thumbed through Hands and Arrows. “Most of these require the use of your hands.” He handed the book to Gresham. “We’ll start with those and work on the arrow spells later.”
“Start Sir?” Gresham asked, nearly choking on the words.
“Vardon wanted you trained, so trained you’ll be. While we wait on the Elders, I want you two to master as many spells as you can. If we’re to face who I came here to face, we’ll need any advantage we can gain.”
“Who might we face?” Hagley asked.
Jarek cleared his throat. Goodricke stared at the clouds, whistling. “His name is Zakarah. He’s the one who took your headmaster,” he answered, then recounted all that happened at the Nexus.
Hagley feared he might vomit. “The headmaster was taken by a demon, and we’re to face it?”
“It’s not as bleak as you think. Goodricke here is quite adept with a sword, and the one he carries is enchanted. He’s here to guard our backs. A second Nexus is to occur this very night—here in A’yrth. That’s why I’m here—to confront Zakarah, to somehow get your headmaster back, the A’rythians permitting.”
Finding the topic too horrific to think about any further, Hagley changed the subject. “Sir… you said you might be able to explain how I’m suddenly able to cast spells that I couldn’t before.”
Jarek paused, contemplating. “I believe the main reason you failed the university’s tests is because you’re intimidated by authority. But this lack of confidence is only partly why Kagen failed to identify your facet.” He scratched his chin. “If my conjecture is correct, it explains this wide range of spells you’ve somehow managed, but I’m not sure you’ll like what I have to say.”
