Dreams of Fire and Gods 2: Fire (6 page)

“Shall I build us a fire?” Gednon asked, his voice hopeful.

 

“Yes. I’ll gather some deadfall.”

The ability to cast a very weak fire spell was one of the few magical skills the
caedan
were allowed, so by the time Donegh returned with an armload of dry branches, the priest had cleared a spot and built a small fire surrounded by stones. Gednon had spread his cloak on the ground and was now sitting on it, his upper torso bare. In the center of his chest was the shimmering gold Eye of Atnu tattoo that marked him as a member of the priest class. Donegh noted that, for all his coddled, city-bred ineptitude the priest displayed at surviving in the wilderness, he was muscular and appeared physically capable. Perhaps some time on the road would do him good.

Gednon’s eyes were closed when Donegh approached, which annoyed the assassin. The
caedan
had performed his morning prayers on the boat, and had even forced them to stop for several moments in the mist-shrouded swamp for his midday prayers while Donegh stood guard. Now it was obvious the priest was again engrossed in prayer, but he could have waited until Donegh had returned. The man needed to learn caution.

“I feel better already!” Gednon exclaimed cheerfully when he opened his eyes to see Donegh dropping the branches about ten feet from the fire. “It’s amazing how a warm fire can lift the spirits.”

Donegh merely grunted.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea how far we still have to go?” the priest asked him.

“Didn’t you say you’d been this way before?”

Gednon waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that was ages ago. I scarcely remember it.”

Donegh knew the way ahead through the vision he shared with the
ömem
. It would be about a day of walking through the forest, hopefully unmolested, before they arrived at the imperial camp. He didn’t want to appear too certain, however. So he shrugged and said, “I’ve been told that Harleh is about two days’ travel from Mivikh, and crossing Harleh plain can take half a day. So I’d say we have about a day’s walk to get through the forest.”

Gednon made a sour face. “May the gods grant us an easy journey.”
S
AEL
hadn’t seen Geilin all day, and he was growing concerned. If the Taaweh were with the wizard, they were no doubt caring for him, regardless of whatever difficulty he might be going through when the link to the Stronni was severed. But his worry finally led him to break away from his other duties and check on his old master in the
vönan
’s wing of the keep.

What he found was eerily reminiscent of a deathwatch. All the
vönan
in Harleh were gathered in the passage outside the closed door of Geilin’s quarters, held back by a lone guard. When they saw Sael approaching, several of the
vönan
rushed forward to meet him.

“Your Lordship!” a short man with a bit of a paunch exclaimed, stepping to the fore. Sael couldn’t be sure, but he believed the man was named Vosik. “Master Geilin is locked in his chambers, held prisoner as far as we can tell, by these…
sorcerers
that have infiltrated our valley!”

“As I understand it… Vosik, is it?” The short man nodded and

remembered his position long enough to bow this time.

“As I understand it,” Sael continued, “Master Geilin is working with the Taaweh to find a solution to the malady afflicting our mages.”

“Your Lordship, if I may be so bold, the only thing ‘afflicting’ the
vönan
of Harleh is the—” He waved a hand in the air as he struggled to recall the word. “—‘Taaweh’ themselves!”

There was certainly some truth to that. Yet Sael had known when he made the decision to ally himself and the citykeep with the Taaweh that there would be no turning back. The Stronni were not known to be forgiving of those who disobeyed them. So there was little point in lamenting what could not be changed. If any help were to come, it would have to come from the Taaweh.

Sael turned to the guard at the door and asked, “What are your orders?”

The guard had come sharply to attention the moment Sael entered the corridor, and now the man saluted. “Your Lordship! Master Geilin insists that no one be permitted to enter.”

“Not even me?”

 

The guard looked embarrassed. “Your Lordship is the exception, of course.”

 

“Then please let me pass.”

The guard bowed and opened the door, stepping into the room and announcing, “His Lordship, Sael
dönz
Menaük!” as he held the door for Sael to enter. Sael stepped in, conscious of the men in the hall craning their necks to see over his shoulder. But the guard stepped out of the room again, closing the door behind him.

The chamber was small compared to the one Sael stayed in. But Geilin had always preferred modest accommodations. His one extravagance was books. Though he’d only been in the keep a matter of weeks, he had managed to amass quite a library, and wooden bookcases had been brought in to house all his leather-bound volumes and scrolls.

There was a single bed and a small table with two upholstered chairs on either side of it. It was in one of these chairs that Geilin now sat. Or rather slumped, because he was clearly having difficulty keeping himself upright. He looked small in his gold-and-white robes, ancient and wizened like a man twice his age. The shimmering golden eye tattooed upon his shaved head was faint, almost impossible to see.

Sael rushed to his former master and knelt before him, forgetting their recent shift in status. “Master Geilin!”

“I’m fine, Your Lordship,” Geilin rasped, not sounding fine at all. His eyes opened for a moment but fluttered shut again, as if keeping them open required too much effort.

One of the Taaweh—a woman— was standing silently to one side. She now stepped forward and addressed the
dekan
. “
Iinyeh
Geilin is at a critical point. Though he has proven adept at learning some simple Taaweh magic, it has increased the conflict tearing his body apart. The Stronni magic is deeply embedded.”

Sael was surprised Geilin had agreed to be trained by one of the female Taaweh.
Vönan
were always men, just as
ömem
were always women. That was the order of things, as decreed by the gods a thousand years ago. A woman could never presume to train a
vönan
— it was simply not possible. If the
vönan
gathered outside in the corridor knew of this, it was no wonder they were alarmed.

But Sael had more pressing concerns at the moment. Geilin appeared to be seriously ill.

“Perhaps you should rest for a while,” Sael told the old wizard.
Geilin opened his eyes again and raised them to look at Sael defiantly. “With all due respect, my lord, I have no intention of being defeated by some simple spells that any child could learn. Help me up, please.”
Sael knew Geilin would get up with or without his help, so he reluctantly offered his shoulder and steadied his mentor with an arm about the waist. “It doesn’t sound to me as if it’s the spells that are weakening you,” he pointed out.
“True,” Geilin responded, leaning heavily on Sael. “But I confess I’ve grown angry at the discovery that my body has been co-opted by the Stronni.”
The Taaweh said gently, “Stronni magic uses the human body as a vessel. Magical energy is stored by you until it can be used. While it is stored, it also maintains the body to a small degree. What you are feeling now is the loss of that small amount of sustenance.”
“It doesn’t feel ‘small’ to me,” Geilin retorted.
Sael was disconcerted by this, knowing the slight weariness and unease he’d been feeling over the past couple of weeks was caused by the same loss of energy Geilin was experiencing. It simply wasn’t as severe for Sael, since he’d been a mere apprentice. Other experienced
vönan
would be feeling ill as well.
“What about Taaweh magic?” Sael asked. “Aren’t you simply allowing a new form of magic to take control of your body now?”
“Taaweh magic works differently,” the woman said. “It flows through the body, rather than pooling there.”
Geilin frowned and said, quietly enough that only Sael could hear, “We’ll see.”
He stopped in the middle of the room and gestured for Sael to move away from him. Then the old wizard stood there, swaying unsteadily on his feet, as he looked down upon a single
kanun
seed lying on the floor before him.
Sael glanced down at the seed and asked, “What’s that?”
“The bane of my existence,” Geilin said dryly, but Sael caught a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “I’ve been attempting to get that seed to sprout since midday. But the accursed thing simply sits there, mocking me.”
Sprout? If this was Taaweh magic, it was certainly alien to anything Sael had learned during his apprenticeship. Not even the
ömem
could force a tree to grow. But Sael had seen with his own eyes the forest springing up from Harleh Plain during the battle.
“Unlearn the old ways,” the Taaweh woman said softly. “Do not try to force the energy to do your bidding. Simply guide it.”
Geilin closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several breaths, his shoulders relaxing. Then he opened his eyes slightly, yet still keeping them narrow and unfocused, as if he were in some sort of a trance. He gazed down at the seed.
For a long time, nothing appeared to be happening. The room was silent apart from Geilin’s somewhat labored breathing and Sael’s own even breaths. If the Taaweh breathed at all, Sael couldn’t hear it.
Then the
kanun
seed rocked just a bit. A moment later it slowly rolled to one side, and Sael was surprised to see what had moved it was a tiny green shoot that had pushed its way through a crack in the shell. Geilin barely moved, his eyelids flickering only slightly as the shoot began to elongate, but Sael felt his hair standing on end. It wasn’t so much from fear as the feeling that he was witnessing something miraculous. Even the Taaweh woman was smiling in encouragement.
Then something seemed to go horribly wrong. Geilin screamed and grasped his head with his hands, collapsing to his knees in apparent agony. The
kanun
seed exploded—or rather, green tendrils erupted out of it, splaying out in all directions and writhing like green serpents. The tendrils sprouted leaves and slithered across the floor so rapidly that Sael had to jump up onto Geilin’s bed to get away from them. They began to thicken and branch out until Sael feared they would fill the entire chamber.
But the Taaweh calmly extended her arm over the writhing mass, and the plant grew still. After a moment, it retreated until it was no more than a seed with a single sprout growing up out of it, just a few inches tall with a couple of leaves at the tip.
Sael jumped down from the bed and rushed to Master Geilin’s side. The old man was gasping for breath, his face buried in quivering hands as he knelt on the stone floor. The tattoo on his scalp had completely disappeared.
“Master Geilin?”
Slowly, as if recovering from a stunning blow, Geilin lowered his hands. His eyes seemed to stare blankly into space, and for a moment Sael was concerned the wizard had gone blind. But then Geilin’s eyes focused and he looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Something… something broke.”
The Taaweh stepped forward, smiling. “Your bond to the Stronni has been severed.”
“I feel… better.”
“You should rest now,
iinyeh
. Sleep. Your body has been through a considerable amount of trauma.”
Geilin extended a hand and Sael took it, helping the old man to his feet. As Geilin straightened up, Sael could see the color had come back to his cheeks and his eyes seemed clear and sharp. Truthfully, he looked weary but healthier than he had for several days.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Geilin replied after a deep breath. “I feel as if I could sleep for a very long time.”

K
OREH
stood at the edge of an enormous chasm so vast he could barely make out the other side. It was nothing more than a swathe of blackness against a dark-gray overcast sky. The Eye of Druma was almost completely closed, making the night dark, and the cloud cover made the chance of discovery extremely small. It was only this that prevented Koreh from panicking at the thought that he was now deep in the realm of the Stronni. To the south, the enormous
Pontu
Wall of the Stronni snaked its way through the mountains all the way to the ocean in the west. It was so high that no human was likely to ever scale it—not that any would be foolish enough to try. Yet Koreh was on the Stronni side of it now.

The thought terrified him.

High above the chasm, a small silhouette against the clouds, was the tomb of the Iinu Shavi. Koreh couldn’t see it very well, but he knew from visions he’d had in dreams that it was a building made of stone, once the Great Hall of the Stronni, until Queen Imen had used it as a means of trapping the Iinu Shavi and her sorcerers had raised it to its current position, unreachable to the Taaweh.

“The Taaweh have been coming to this spot for a millennium,” his guide said. It was a man this time, and not one Koreh could recall meeting previously. “Always when the Eye of Druma is closed, of course.”

Koreh had been puzzling about the Eyes for quite some time. Now he said, “The Iinu Shaa told me that the Taaweh were here before the Stronni.”

“It is so.”

“But the Eye of Atnu was created when Queen Imen plucked the eye of King Caednu’s most loyal servant and threw it into the sky. Then she plucked out one of the eyes of her old handmaiden, Druma, and threw that up into the night sky. So what was there before the Eyes?”

His companion smiled and stretched his arm above his head, encompassing the entirety of the starry night sky in one sweeping gesture. “What you know as the Eyes have always been there, even before the coming of the Taaweh. We call the one that burns in the day
Kiishya
—‘ember’—and the one that glows in the night,
Omu
—‘water drop.’ Queen Imen’s magic merely affixed the eyes of her servants to what already existed. And by doing so, she has made Kiishya and Omu her spies.”

Koreh found this interesting, but perhaps it wasn’t the best time for a history lesson.