“...and then she stabbed me!”
- Brynn Willow proudly recounting some of his favourite memories
Mercurial. That’s the word I would use to describe Brynn Willow, Once Chosen of the Heavens, now a council member of Veliki. Everyone in Veliki knew each of the five. If not from meeting them, then from the stories, wherein Brynn was always the naive and nice one. If one were to pick out who was the most naive and nice from the five, then it would still be Brynn.
But that wasn’t saying anything at all. The five travelled together for five decades, going from quest to quest until they were undisputed as the most accomplished Chosen of their time. They were all more experienced than I could hope to imagine. Assuming they were naive was foolish. As for how nice Brynn was, he still had a connection to the Heavens. The details weren’t talked about much, but the fact that it was there automatically meant he strove for goodness.
That was part of the reason I hadn’t felt any reason to make nice to him before now. Any kindness I got from him was to be expected, and thus less genuine. That’s why I preferred Taranath’s strangeness and Vycar’s intellectualism. At least, that’s what I had naively assumed.
“Bitch!” I yelled as the tip of Brynn’s mithril sword bit into my skin once more.
“Watch your language and straighten your back.” Brynn ordered. “Fix your grip. Not like that.” The tip of his blade licked my thumb and I cursed. “Better. And again!”
I swung the drow sword and received a blade to my nose. We were drilling the form behind certain swings, and had started with the drow sword for reasons I couldn’t fathom. This time the attack was different. The sword didn’t go in any deeper, but it hit something that made it hurt more.
Because I swore.
“You overextended again.” Brynn informed me.
I bit down on my tongue before I unleashed more vitriol at him. The pain that brought on my tongue was actually preferable to the torture the Once Chosen of the Heavens was giving me.
My thoughts were disrupted as the mithril blade licked the small of my back. Its touch was so delicate that the cloth of my shirt didn’t even part. In fact, apart from some light colouring, my clothes were entirely undamaged. “Relax your back. You were standing too rigidly. And again!”
I swung again. Immediately, I became aware of three new points of pain.
“Your footing was wrong. Ah.” Brynn paused and checked my stance, suddenly embarrassed. My feet were placed correctly for once. He patted me on the shoulder and sent healing surging through my body. All my various cuts healed up in an instant. “My mistake. I forgot you were a twirler.”
“I will gut you the next time you forget.” I promised, blood flaring at the title. This was hardly the first time he’d made that error. This had been going on for hours.
Ever since I had achieved Rezan with the dagger, Brynn had changed the curriculum from relentlessly attacking me to drills. We had gone over a few simple maneuvers, like stabbing with the dagger, slashing with the sword as we were doing now, and methods of disarming using both weapons.
As much as Brynn promised I was making good progress, I couldn’t help but feel I was barely making any progress at all. Not only that, this stuff was for fighting another human, and wouldn’t help me should another beithir bear down on me. I only managed to twist the blade from Brynn’s grasp three times. That he was still attacking me relentlessly wherever and whenever I did something wrong was just icing on the cake.
“We’ll call that the third part of your training then.” Brynn nodded, completely ignoring my indignity. “If I forget. But you let your free hand drift too far from your body. Someone could cut it with a wayward strike.” To drive his point home, he remade the slash he put on my arm. “And again.”
I took a breath, then tumbled mid swing onto the magic circle the Majestic Manor had been cast in as the spell ejected us from the space. My dagger landed next to me but I lost my grip on the sword, so it ended up flying across the room and embedding itself in the writing desk. While I had been caught off guard by the sudden failing of magic and fallen because of it, Brynn had landed flawlessly.
I grumbled as I picked myself and my things up.
“Well, let’s call it a day there.” Brynn decided, as if it had been the plan all along.
“I started today hating angels.” I said. “Now I think I hate you.”
Brynn sheathed his mithril blade and approximated a shrug. “If you really hate me, then we won’t train tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll meet you in this room in the morning. In any case, you should take a break before meeting with Weldon. I can’t imagine you’ll be too effective a teacher in this state.”
I ignored him as I tried to pry my sword out of the desk, but I still wasn’t strong so I made no progress. Before I gave up and asked Brynn to do it, I gathered my magic and tried again to no avail.
“Why isn’t it fucking working?” I asked the air. As an experiment I unsheathed my dagger, stabbed it into the desk further than the sword was, then pulled it out with ease. “I’m doing the same thing with both, so why is only one working?”
Brynn caught on to my plight quickly. “That would be because each person may only invest their magic in one object at a time. Rezan refines the practice, but the limit exists for most.”
“For most?” I repeated.
“Think of Rezan like a groove in the soul. Each time you activate Rezan, or sustain a weapon with Rezan, it carves that groove just a bit deeper. When you aren’t using Rezan, that groove is filled. Be it with soul or magic is a debate for divine arcane practitioners.”
“Like Vycar.” I said.
Brynn paused, looking a bit flustered. “Yes, but not me.” He cleared his throat. “The point is, when Rezan is active, the stuff that is normally in that groove has been moved to the weapon. If you wanted to have it active on a second weapon, you’d need to carve your soul a second time.”
“Isn’t the theory behind the differing tiers of magic exactly that?” I asked. “First tier requires a small groove. Second tier requires a deeper groove. So on and so forth.”
Brynn sighed. “I am most definitely not the one to speak on the topic with. Do you want help with that?”
I just grinned and stepped aside, happy to have something over Brynn after the eight hours of torture he just put me through. But my expression dimmed when I again remembered what I had promised for the rest of the day.
“Damnit, I don’t want to train Weldon.” I complained as Brynn struggled to get my sword out of the desk. “I’m tired.”
“Nga!” Brynn nearly fell over as he pulled the sword out. He sheepishly handed it to me, where I put it in its sheath. “It’s why I suggested you have a rest. But I would probably have that discussion that Voxis wanted before you sit or lie anywhere. She keeps you on your toes, that one. Voxis isn’t exactly vengeful, but it is good to be in her better graces.”
“Because of the demonscript thing?” I tested.
“Amongst many more things.” Brynn agreed, already headed out the door. “I will see you tomorrow, or…” And he was gone, still talking to an empty hallway.
With a heavy sigh, I left the arcane study, came back for some liquorice, then left again in search for Voxis. When something hit the back of my shoulder I almost bisected it with my sword, but I fumbled drawing it from the sheath and had to take an extra moment to get it out. In that moment I recognised my assailant as an angry old man, or a folded paper imitation of one the size of my fist.
When I realised what was going on, I said, “Take me to your leader.” My sword was dropped back into its sheath, no longer needed. I supposed I was a bit jumpy after spending eight hours being lacerated by one of Veliki’s most ‘good’ peacekeepers.
Oregano, the folding paper familiar of Voxis, unfolded itself then folded into an oblong birdlike shape. Then it turned and led me through the town hall. We went down three floors, up two, then walked down a hallway that I was certain was longer than Taranath’s estate before Oregano unbent itself into a flat sheet of paper that slid under a door. I knocked, because Oregano didn’t.
“Come in.” Came through the door and I rolled my eyes as I remembered that was how Voxis spoke.
I had to pause when I saw the contents of the room. It was a chilled storage room, filled with various creature parts, some of which were prepared in various ways and some of which were not. The unsettling thing about it was that the body parts were all human parts.
“What the fuck?” Was aptly the first thing out of my mouth. When the eighth sage had taught me and Avien, he had taken a much more ‘crash course’ philosophy to his teachings. Namely, he showed us all the things that could be done with necromancy, rather than just telling us about it.
I’d seen some gruesome sights, but because of that I knew for a fact that most reagents in necromancy spells did not require human flesh or otherwise. Animal parts, especially pig parts, were just fine. Necromancy wasn’t actually all that repulsive in practice. According to the sage, the scenes in stories are only there because most necromancers aren’t educated enough to clean up after themselves, and then the bard embellished.
So this sight threw me.
“I was not expecting you to accept my invitation today. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Voxis instructed, somewhere behind a shelf of intestines in varying stages of pickling.
“Where did all this come from?” Was the next question out of my mouth. “There aren’t enough souls in Veliki to supply all those eyes.” I was looking at the wall, and the wall was looking back. Eyes covered the entire thing.
“You would be surprised what can be accomplished with a powerful cleric and death row prisoners.” Voxis told me, something inhuman under her voice. Although, to be fair, she wasn’t a human.
“Yeah, lots.” I agreed. “But there are diminishing returns once you pass second cubed regeneration. Still doesn’t explain the eyes”
“Unless you allow for two score weeks of rest, whereafter the soul can be considered to have recovered.”
I shook my head. Voxis clearly wasn’t going to tell me the story behind this. As much as I might have enjoyed some unexpected intelligent conversation, I had things to do. “Why did you want to talk to me?” I said in lieu of pointing out that the two score weeks was assuming the subject lived a normal life, and thus couldn’t be applied to prisoners being harvested for their flesh.
There was a scraping sound, then the shelf Voxis had been behind shook as a sliding ladder hit the side of it. The gnome looked down at me from the top with those black furnace like eyes again. This time she wasn’t wearing her scarf, and I got a look at her entire face.
Her forehead was still covered by her black bangs, but her lower face was on display. It was strange, to say the least. I was put in mind of the abstract illustrations of fey on the mural outside. Her cheeks were rigidly shaped and angular, though they still had a curve to them. But that curve could only be called unnatural. Her mouth, chin, and nose had similar properties. That wasn’t all, I found myself forgetting aspects of her appearance while I was looking at her. Considering she wore the most memorable face I’d seen today, I found it disturbing.
“I see your plight.” The gnome uttered, her lips barely shifting. “You are normal. All has decreed it so.”
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“I’m far from normal.” I rebuked. “And that’s because the heavens have attached me to a boy that did nothing to deserve the vast riches he has received.”
“Perhaps what you say about the boy is true,” Voxis stared at me with her wide, wide eyes. “But I find him uninteresting. You are raging. You would not be here if you were not.”
I crossed my arms. “Oh?”
Voxis reacted in a way that I couldn’t have expected. She chuckled. “There are some who receive their mandated quests from the Heavens and find themselves unable to accomplish the tasks required of them. Often this is because the Heavens are as inhumane as I am, if not more so. Many have been told to slaughter their loved ones for small crimes, told the sky ‘no’, and found themselves on a path seldom seen to the end.”
I frowned, but didn’t interrupt. Was this a warning?
“I call it the Mascevan path.” Voxis continued. “That way lies constant interference from the Heavens. Often to the point of breaking the one that walks, and destroying the lives of those around them. The Heavens do not suffer those who would ignore their divine commands. The Gods are childish like that.” A small tremor ran through the ground at the heresy, but it only served to prove the gnome’s point.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of my voice and succeeding brilliantly.
Voxis sneered. “I am old, Amber. Allow an old gnome to weave the tales she pleases at the whims on none but herself.”
Meaning she had read me like a book, and was either giving me a warning or delivering me advice. But she’d never admit it out loud. I rolled my eyes, but didn’t continue arguing.
“There was once a child who was Chosen to be a king.” Voxis told her story from the top of the ladder, leaning on a shelf to get snug. “He was intelligent, empathetic to those he could be, and sympathetic to those whom he could not. It was his first trait that led to his most defining characteristic: Curiosity. All the others eventually fell to the wayside. His name,” Voxis paused for effect. “Was Drublehm Vitor.”
I didn’t go bug eyed or anything. She had said he was destined to be king and he shared a last name with the current monarch of Kreg’uune, so that much was expected. I did notice the badge Bubbles gave me heating up in my pocket, but I didn’t react to that. I was from Veliki. He wasn’t my king.
“The young noble spent his youthful days in relative freedom. He was the firstborn of the queen, and thus was expected to succeed her highness. But the queen was in good health, and would not need to be succeeded for twenty five years after the birth of her first son. Therein lay the issue.
“Young Drublehm concluded his studies of the royal court, his tutors taught him everything that could be learned of manners, and thus the mistake was made to allow Drublehm a hobby. He took up arcane studies. Normally this is encouraged, as monarchs of Kreg’uune are expected to be able to handle themselves in active conflict. However, Drublehm already had proficiency with a sword and had mastered that too. With nothing else to occupy his time, Drublehm learned everything the royal mages had to teach, and commenced research of his own. And then came the heel.”
“The queen died.” I guessed.
“It was quite sudden.” Voxis agreed. “Assassination tends to be. Normally, this would begin a week of mourning, and after the tenday had passed, young Drublehm would be ascended to the throne in a grand coronation. Only the nascent monarch was nowhere to be found. Instead, Drublehm was investigating the ruins of some of my extinct brethren, the Osvet Gnomes.”
“And the Heavens didn’t like that at all, did they?”
Voxis nodded. “At first the interference would have been quite benign. An overheard conversation about the empty throne here, a dream or two about responsibility there. When Drublehm still did not return to the throne, angels were sent to bring him back. That did not turn out well, as the Heavens had given Drublehm both martial and arcane might in preparation for his ascension to the throne and the angels were predictably rebuffed. After that, armies flew down from the skies above to force Drublehm to his rightful place, or to destroy him if he still refused. But it was too late, Drublehm had already unlocked the secret of immortality.”
“No way.” I said, finally getting into the story. “He became a lich?”
“He did.” Voxis told me, quite amused.
“How?” The sage that taught me necromancy had spent hours going on about the topic, but ultimately declared it wishful thinking. There were too many unknowns, was one thing that he claimed. That being so reckless with one’s soul was a great way to permanently be removed from All was another. The guy had just climbed up from the Hells, though. So he might have been more biased than normal at the time.
“Knowledge that must be safeguarded at all costs, I’m sure.” Voxis delighted in my dark turn of expression. “The moral of the story is, it wasn’t enough. Even with his immortal soul reconstituting itself into a body once every week, the forces of the Heavens waged the first and only divine crusade against him. Slaughtering him and the minions he turned to creating again and again until eventually his phylactery was sealed.”
I frowned. “Wait, wait. That doesn’t make sense. The Heavens were dedicated to destroying Drublehm. Why would they just seal him?”
“I’m sure there’s a reason.” Voxis told me, a touch unenthusiastic. “My theory is that he stored his soul in an item so important to the Heavens that destroying it was impossible for the gods to justify. Vycar’s theory is that he’s on the moon. My favourite theory, if not the most plausible one, is that he’s having a nap and letting the Heavens think that they did enough.”
“So why tell me all that? Is that what happens every time someone goes against the word of the Heavens?”
“That was an example of what happened when a Chosen king decided he didn’t want the throne.” Voxis corrected. “And it was simply a tale. Who knows if it actually happened. There are other stories of ones Chosen for purposes they were not able to fulfil. What happened to them is similar in theme, if not force. It is by no means a death sentence. After all, Brynn Willow is a sane and living resident of Veliki.”
“And he seems to be doing just fine.” I acknowledged. “Any other sage advice?”
Voxis’ expression flickered with amusement. “Don’t refer to me as a sage. I am proud of my status as a Warlock, and that is all I have to say to you.”
“Thanks, then. I guess.” Suddenly I didn’t know why I was standing there. The room filled with various human pieces became incredibly awkward all at once. “So I’ll just go.”
“Oregano will show you out.” Voxis informed me as the ladder she was on slid away. The paper in the shape of an angry old man floated past me and I followed along, relieved to be out of the chilly room that didn’t even have a scent now that I thought about it.
Was that all just an illusion? I looked back, but by the time I did the door had closed, seemingly of its own accord. I would likely never know.
Once I was out of the town hall, I went to the courtyard where it never rained to get out of the light drizzle that had started coming down and made use of one of the benches there. I was unfortunately interrupted before I could feel like all the exhaustion had run off of my bones. It was, of course, a young blond chosen with an angel on his back.
“Amber!” He sounded as though he’d recovered from the mental damage inflicted by Brynn earlier. “Lavina says you agreed to train me! Thank you!”
Weldon went on to say something about justice and something or other. I was mostly annoyed by the fact that he was being so loud so close to me.
A question occurred to me as I groaned and took my time sitting up. They were the ones that needed something from me, so I could afford to act like this. It kind of put it into perspective why the retired Chosen of Veliki acted the way they did.
“Tell me,” I said after letting the silence drag on. Normally I wouldn’t do that, but I was grateful for any pauses after the eight hours of training from the devil that was Once Chosen of the Heavens. That the extended pause appeared to physically hurt Weldon only encouraged me. “Do you have healing hands, or some other method of healing yourself?”
“Um,” Weldon’s hand went to grip the handle of his great sword. He squeezed, then released it. “I do.”
This guy really needed to stop relying on his sword, angel, thing. I stood up, taking my leisurely time once more. “Walk with me.” I told him, heading north east, to the corner of town that was the farthest from my own place. I hummed along the way, purposefully picking the most unsettling hymns I knew. Or half knew. I wasn’t the best songstress.
But it made the boy who was once so righteous become anxious, which was the whole point. It occurred to me that I might just be perpetuating a cycle, but I brushed that thought aside. This kind of thing was normal in Veliki. Get used to it or get out.
“Okay.” I spoke once we were in a clearing in the forest, just in sight of the town. The light rain was sounding on the canopy above, and there were spots where the water fell from the trees to the ground. I ignored them. “Are you capable of taking hold of your magic?”
“I am!” Weldon declared, he pulled his great sword out and uttered a divine incantation. The sword flashed and retained it’s overly bright sheen.
“Good.” I commented as I unsheathed my dagger, then set its scabbard aside along with my other sword. “What are you doing right now?”
“The next evildoer I strike shall be smote!” Weldon seemed to be getting back into his groove. That was good.
“Is that some kind of spell?” I checked.
“It is!”
I stepped in close and hooked my dagger around the hilt of his great sword, where I found it easy to pull it out of his grasp. The shape of my dagger actually made that an incredibly easy maneuver, and the hours I had spent training to disarm with Brynn had helped more than I thought. Immediately, Weldon’s spell ended, then the great sword hit the ground, where it flashed again, probably with indignation.
“That’s not what we’re doing.” I told Weldon. Then I punched him in the face. Predictably, it didn’t do much, but I could see it hurt his pride. “Armour off, it’ll get in the way of the training. Once you’ve done that we’ll go over the theory of Rezan before moving on to practice. We’ll be moving at my pace until then.”
Weldon reached for his sword, but I rapped my unarmed hand on his armour and he got the message. “What about after then?”
I smiled sweetly. “Why, Weldon. After that we’ll be doing things in your own time. Can’t rush this, after all.”
If swords could flinch, the one on the ground beside me did. I frowned sidelong at the sword that allegedly trained the Once Chosen off the Heavens. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew where Brynn’s unorthodox training method had come from.
\V/