The day had slid by Aya like so much water off of a duck’s back. It took a particularly hard prod by Frare to dislodge her from a slurry of inattentiveness. As she looked around she realised the barricades had been almost completely disassembled, with only scraps remaining on the church floor. The pieces of broken glass and masonry were being carted outside by the villagers that remained.
Currently there was a lukewarm debate around the command table, dragged to the centre of the hall. Aya’s consciousness glossed over Sorore reprimanding her brother for bothering her, as well as the various arguments over logistics and provisions. She half-heartedly listened to discussions of various threats on various roads, and then quickly forgot about it.
Without really realising it, she found herself peaking at the parchments spread over the table. The lined scrolls held no real meaning for her, but the centre map with its pins certainly did. It was a large and fairly extensive map of the continent, with various cities illustrated with flowing script too elaborate for her to read. Slowly her eyes flitted from north to south, and found the curl of a mountain range bleeding into a peninsula where she assumed Karkos was.
“What about here?” she said, pointing to the location through the greaves of the captains before her.
Most turned to look with amused confusion, and she quickly felt a flush creeping up her neck.
“It’s a city,” she said.
The officers continued to look at her, awaiting elaboration.
“Y-you could get food there,” she offered weekly.
She almost added ‘I’ve heard the food is quite good’, though fortunately for her dignity the phrase died on her lips before it could enter the world. Naia, almost directly across from her, looked down and stroked his beard.
“It’s far from the worst option,” he said, “in fact, it’s probably one of the better ones.”
“It charges an arm and a leg, just for the usage of one ship. The cost of transporting all of us will be steep,” one soldier protested.
“The mountains are blocked off with the Alonshaze destroyed. None of the other passes can be reliably quickly traversed, even in summer,” Naia countered, “going the land route right now would be asking for trouble. The flatlands at the base of the Alonshaze have always been unstable, but ever since Ein’elen broke up it-”
“Sharaloch would be another option,” spoke up Damafelce, without much enthusiasm.
“You want to bet on a city of pirates and mercenaries for transport?” exclaimed another captain.
“Unwise, especially with such valuable persons,” Naia said, “we’ve already had enough headaches. The last thing I need is a hostage situation while sailing the strait.”
“You get what you pay for in Karkos,” yet another captain offered, with general murmurs of assent, “though with what gold we have I-”
“The gold’s not the issue,” said Naia, “if necessary, we can issue bonds in the name of Angorrah, or the paladins can in the name of the church.”
Niche, glum and surly, still nodded at the implied question.
“The general would not be happy. You know how possessive they get over money on a mission,” said Damafelce.
“We’ve been attacked multiple times, crossed half the continent, and found a long lost bequeathed, all with about a hundred men,” snorted Naia, “with all due respect to my betters, they can take their complaints and shove them-”
“If we’re going by speed and stability, Karkos is the best way,” cut in Niche through the laughter of the soldiers, “the safety of the Bequeathed should be our top priority. A good ship will get us there in under a week.”
“A ship to Espala, then Inalthia. Draskar forest is a nightmare at any time of the year,” Naia said, leaning over the map. With a subtle motion, he moved Aya’s finger northwest, and she realised with horror that she’d been pointing to the wrong end of the peninsula where some lesser settlement stood.
“Captain Deckard, I assume those that don’t want to come for pilgrimage will be returning to the fort?” he continued without giving any sign that she’d done anything wrong.
A new man, eyes blazing underneath furry dark brows nodded fervently.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to clear out. I want everyone ready by sunset - it’ll be just under a week before we reach Karkos. Get what sleep you can - we’ll be riding out the next morning.”
There were a few finer points of debate that were bandied back and forth, but the conversation largely seemed to be settled. Niche and Damafelce both seemed to be locked in a staring match as Naia approached her.
“A good suggestion, my lady,” he said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the city, but it might be just the place after this string of close calls.”
Aya tried to take what credit she could with a burning face.
“Now, there’s one other piece of business I have to attend to, I think,” he said, “where is the mage?”
“He’s on the roof,” she blurted, “I can show you.”
“No,” he said, holding up a gauntlet, “I think we’ll be just fine by ourselves. You should go and rest. It’s been a long night.”
He and Damafelce walked away from the table and vanished through the side door. Aya returned back to the altar with Niche, who was muttering some unkind things under his breath. It wasn’t more than a half hour before Naia returned with his captain, looking troubled. Before she could ask any questions, however, he quickly exited through the front of the church.
The rest of the day was largely spent on routines of amusement, the Bequeathed and the children of the village playing little games and telling stories among each other. The paladins, though they kept an eagle eye upon their charges, were not in a talkative mood that day. Lillian’s face was particularly dark, and she often muttered things that no one cared to listen to.
When evening came, any residual fears of the monsters returning were put to rest. The icy fear was no more, the villagers placed back what intact pews there were, and the flow of people from the medical bay slowed to a trickle. A simple meal, and a dreamless sleep, and Aya awoke in the early hours of the morning. Pulling herself up to one of the broken windows, she could see the summer green of the trees, their vibrancy somewhat damped by a light blue-grey fog.
Before they left, a service was held to bury those who’d been slain. The dead were laid side by side, wrapped in simple drab cloth, in a large pit just outside the doors of the church. Niche stood over the graves, eyes shut, pronouncings the blessing and peace that these brave defenders would lie with. Aya took the time to say a silent thanks as she gazed at the cloth-bound bodies.
As the remains were covered with soil, Niche shifted into a louder, older language as he sang in a husky tenor. Some kind of funeral liturgy, she guessed, though it was unfamiliar to her. The villagers cast tears into the ground with clouds of earth as they passed along the pit, then they left for the wall and the village beyond.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Aya’s concerns as she reentered the church shifted to more material things - hunger, cold, the lack of bathing over the last few days. At least some of those needs were addressed by the paladins in the next hours, with furs and food. But soon enough, they were on horses, walking in a line down to the south over open fields before the forest.
The first morning passed with very little conversation between anyone as they passed underneath the trees. That was all the better for Aya, who found herself enjoying the crisp air and the rapidly warming sunlight. It did take a bit of a turn for sorrow when she remembered that she often swam with her mother on mornings like these in the mountain lakes. Still, she was determined to extract what happiness she could on such a wretched journey. It was a resiliency that Frare seemed to share, while his sister still glanced nervously at the trees around them. Aya wondered if the girl was still seeing the creatures from last night in every shadow.
When they reached a clearing around midday, the children were made to sit before Niche as he handed out various meagre components of meals. As they began to eat, Lillian joined him, and both cleared their throats in unison.
“Right,” Niche began, “I realise the last few days have been less than smooth. Hardly a time for lessons, unfortunately.”
His dry chuckle was not reciprocated by any of the listeners, so he quickly moved on.
“But, given the nature of what happened, I think it’s advisable to speak on magic and mages, and what the scripture says about them.”
Frare, at the word ‘scripture’ audible groaned, which was followed by a hiss as his sister seized his ear.
“We have been forced into a position where we needed the help of a mage,” Niche said, picking his words with care, “it was not something we did willingly. It wasn’t a choice, but rather the product of circumstances beyond our control.”
You mean, the commander overruled you, thought Aya, though she elected not to voice such thoughts.
“If we had another choice,” Lillian chimed in, “we would’ve taken it. Survival, however, takes precedence, especially for you three. The choices were made, we might not be proud of it, but we’re all still here and that’s what matters.”
“That being said,” Niche said, fumbling in the interior of his breastplate and withdrawing a small booklet, “it would be good for you to understand what exactly underlies our choices.”
Aya’s eyes flicked over to the twins - Sorore was sitting upright and attentive, while her brother was a glum and slumped mirror. Niche thumbed through a few pages, focused in on the one he’d selected and once more, cleared his throat.
“And thus it was found, a great conspiracy, conspired against the children of Angorrah, conspired with creatures both great and small, but terrible all, in darkness and stagnant pools, where the profundity of their sin would go unnoticed by the decent and pious. Hated and proclaimed sinner, traitor, rebel against the Lost themselves. Three Boons would be taken, and three Houses be condemned to dust.”
Sorore perked up, for she clearly already knew the story and was excited to hear it yet again. Aya waited with a tempered anticipation, hoping at least there would be a half-way interesting tale, despite its lacklustre delivery. The story progressed into a broad parable, describing how three houses arose in rebellion against the church, and how three holy items had been robbed from the sepulchre of the ‘roiling cathedral’.
Apparently, they were ferried into the hands of mages, who perverted their holy functions until they burned the most sacred tree on the continent, one laid by Nafthtazia herself. For all of Aya’s doubts about the moral, she couldn’t deny the enjoyment of a good piece of history.
“Magic exists beyond the purview of the church,” Niche began, then quickly corrected his error, “rather, it is a part of the mystery of the Lost, but others can access in inappropriate ways. Some speculate that it should be left entirely to the Lost, not handled by mortal hands. Regardless, the church has taken upon a sacred duty, to ensure that what magic is used is done so sparingly, and with the utmost care.”
He closed the book with a flourish, clearly pleased at the depth of his instruction. Frare’s eyes were fluttering, which prompted a painful poke from his sister.
“So, magic is evil?” said Aya, trying to square that conclusion with all she’d seen.
Niche puffed out his chest, no doubt about to exclaim that it was in the strongest possible terms. Lillian however, had her own thoughts to add before he could.
“Not… inherently,” she said, “But it is broadly forbidden and for good reason. It is less evil, rather a great risk for evil. That is, far too easy to put it towards evil ends. That’s why mages are, as a rule, cruel, selfish, and dangerous creatures. Perhaps it is better put that magic attracts evil, even if it can be used for good.”
Aya stewed in that statement for a while - clearly the church was deeply knowledgeable, expanding and attending to her own, meagre education on the matter from the local priest. Still there were holes, obvious holes, or so she told herself.
“It might be hard to understand,” Niche said, “it might seem a little strange that the church forbids something that could be so useful. There are very good reasons both in scripture and in history that proves the point - magic is not to be used with abandon, and thus must remain under the Church’s eye.”
He patted the sigil of the church, engraved on his breastplate.
“That is one reason why the Light Lords were created in the first place,” he said, with thinly veiled pride, “we are the watchers, investigating the use of magic and capturing the perpetrator that would harm or cheat with it.”
“It was a decision made long ago,” added Lillian, “it was a sort of… half-agreement between the church and the army. We kept the peace that was broken by the mages during the Night of the Burning Tree.”
“So there are mages in Angorrah?” said Aya, drawing a strange, near insulted look by Sorore at the question.
“Well…” said Lillian, sharing a look with Niche, “a handful at most, who operate under the strictest scrutiny.”
Sorore’s face twisted at this, but whatever comment she would’ve liked to make stayed in her head.
“The point is that mages are faithless and concerned for themselves above all else. They are to be engaged on only the most necessary basis. They may be directed towards good in service to the church, but never on their own.”
The rest of the lesson served as constant reinforcements and examples of the danger of mages. There were one or two arguments between Frare and their teachers that Sorore was too slow to suppress. Before long they were off again, the leaves shaking above them as a wind blew from the south. The evening camp mercifully spared them another lecture and after a simple dinner, both twins made their excuses and retired.
Aya huddled beside the fire as the temperature dropped. Around them were a circle of waggons, some covered by a framework of canvas, others bare, all loaded with supplies. The gifts of the grateful villagers, granted to the commander who had saved them.
The paladins were busy doing maintenance, carefully laying out arms and armour, scrubbing, polishing and sharpening. Aya got up, murmured a good night to the paladins, who nodded curtly. They were so absorbed that they didn’t seem to notice Aya slipping away.
She poked her head into one of the ‘empty’ waggons, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Save for a handful of small crates, there lay the crumpled form of the mage just as they’d loaded him. Aya felt her breath still as she looked at Inniaylsia’s amber eyes. Even from this distance, she could see the subtle inner flames of reds and yellows softly illuminating them.
“Yes?” came the voice of the older woman, curt and snappish.
Aya started to speak, then stopped, realising that she had no real reason to be here, at least not one that she’d thought out.
“Come out with it child,” came the voice again.
Aya was put in mind of a line of children, heads bowed before a grandmother picking detritus from their scalps.
“I- I-” she said, “I was wondering if…”
“No. There’s been no change in this old bag of bones,” said Innie, her voice softening slightly, “though I’m sure he would appreciate your concern.”
Aya stood there for a moment, awkwardness rising, before setting her jaw, looking behind her, and upon seeing the paladin’s backs, clambered in as quietly as possible. The cat sat attentively and silently, regarding the young girl before her. Aya began in a hushed whisper, talking about the Night of the Burning Tree and the lessons of the paladins from the morning.
“If you want to ask a question about history,” interrupted the cat, “you best ask this sod when he wakes up. He proves irritatingly well-versed on that. Considering his age, he might've lived through it.”
“I thought you were old as well,” Aya said, trying to remember where she got the notion from.
“I am. Older than him. Old as half the company put together,” she said, “but I rarely venture outside of the forest. This is the furthest south I have been in decades, perhaps a century or two.”
Aya paused to try and get a grasp on the scale of time the creature had just casually gestured at.
“So my dear, if you’re going to ask me about the great deeds of men or the history of cities, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” said the cat, tail bobbing this way and that.
“But that’s not exactly what I…” said Aya, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I wanted to ask about magic.”
The cat cocked its head, the speed of the tail picking up.
“What about magic, child?” she said.
Swish-swish.
“Well, I was wondering, just for a start, what is it?” Aya said.
“You should sit down,” said the cat, “this might take a while.”