***
“No, don’t worry. I have this under control,” Lorna assured him.
Outside of the infirmary, Yulan hesitated to say goodbye to his wife. With this new development, he was reluctant to leave, but at the same time could not delay.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, most of the children are hardly sick at all now and should be completely better in a few hours. It was only something they ate,” she reiterated.
Yulan felt his forehead scrunching, and in response Lorna raised her eyebrows at him, her fist travelling to her hip. He decided to un-wrinkle his face and put his thoughts aside for now. This wasn’t a fight worth having; when he thought about it, most of them weren’t.
“You have to go,” Lorna told him, “the Magicus Celesti do not send a summons lightly.”
Yulan sighed, agreeing. He retired many years ago, and he was certain they would not have reached out to him unless it was important. Important to the Magicus Celesti usually meant dangerous for everyone else.
“I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” he assured her. After a quick kiss he slung his pack over his shoulder and set off, northwards out of the village and into the forest.
He took a last look back at the home he created for himself and others, a sense of satisfaction swelling within him. Though he was no longer with the Celesti, he took great pride in the work he’d done since his retirement. He helped a lot of people over the years, and perhaps most importantly, it gave him the opportunity to meet Lorna. Being a father was something that had never occurred would happen to him, his work always took precedence. Not that he had regrets, but he thought at his age it was an experience he wouldn’t have. But here he was, well into his fifth decade, newly married and a baby boy to bounce on his knee. It rejuvenated his old bones.
Deep into the woods, he turned off the main path and followed along a deer trail for a few miles. Soon that path ended and he walked amongst the tall trees. The dense leaf cover left little light to allow much growth on the ground, for which he was grateful. He had walked this path so many times in his life, though there were no signs to distinguish one landmark from another, he could practically find his way through it with his eyes closed.
Making an eastward turn the trees began to thin, and tall grass slowed his progress. He grumbled to himself, not enjoying the late summer overgrowth or prospect of stepping on a snake or some other unpleasant critter. “At least it’s not a swamp,” he muttered, trying to look at the bright side.
He began to scan his surroundings, knowing he must be getting close to the clearing. Catching a reflection of the sun in the distance, he smiled. Shining, polished obsidian glinted in the morning light. In all the years he had been to the giant circle of stones they never lost their gleam, yet as far as he knew required no maintenance. Old, worn stone steps sloped gently downward into a small clearing, barely large enough to encompass the structure. White quartz tablets almost as tall as him offset the dark stone, filling in the remainder of the circle.
He looked around cautiously, out of habit, though he was certain no one had followed him. Very few knew of the existence of these stones, and even fewer understood their purpose. If the occasional hunter or passerby stumbled upon any of them, word eventually spread back to the archaeological guild in Creekview, under the thumb of none other than the stone’s creators – the Magicus Celesti. In that manner they kept some control over their tools, ensuring no one tried to remove any of them or show too much interest in their exploration. Not that he believed anyone could if they wanted to; magically bonded into the earth, they were affixed to the rock layer beneath them by some means stronger than any compound he had ever come across.
With resignation he descended to the center of the circle, and set his hand on a stone set at about chest height; it was time to go. Closing his eyes his lips moved silently. The stones began to vibrate, the white and black crystals thrumming with energy as mists began to coalesce within them. The space between two of the tall standing stones shimmered, a blurry image forming that partially obscured the trees beyond.
It was a sight he had seen countless times. He no longer held what was before him in awe, the wonderment of viewing a room nearly two hundred miles away having long ago faded. Shrugging his shoulders he took a last look around - no one there but him and the squirrels. He had hoped this part of his life was behind him, but he supposed once involved there was no truly leaving it. The Order was as much a part of him as his arm or foot.
The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back, he reasoned. Stepping forward, he entered the mirage. No matter how many times he had passed through it in his life, it was never a comfortable sensation. He felt as though he were immersing himself in a cold gel, freezing him to his bones. Passing through was a laborious process; either he slowed down or the rest of the world sped up.
When he emerged, moments later or an eternity, it was always difficult to tell, the familiar scent of the chamber stirred a host of memories in rapid succession. The stale air of a room hundreds of feet underground wasn’t exactly pleasant, but his personal history and accomplishments he associated with the Keep and those memories were. He breathed in deeply.
Along the arched chamber wall, amongst similar portals others were arriving in the same manner from across the lands. Many he recognized, but being away for so long there were more faces than not that he couldn’t put a name to. Every few minutes another newcomer appeared, making it difficult for him to catch up with anyone in particular.
“Yulan!” he heard, giving him someone to gravitate towards.
“Dear old friend!” the stranger declared as he got closer, taking Yulan’s hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously.
“Bern what a pleasant surprise!” he answered with equal enthusiasm. “You’re still kicking above ground, if I didn’t see it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it.”
Bernard was, in gentle terms, seasoned when Yulan was merely an initiate, and a very old man by the time he retired. He must’ve seen a century of life at this point, a feat unheard of. It took several moments of staring in wonderment before Yulan realized he was gaping at the man like a fool.
“Close your mouth before you catch a fly,” Bern scolded, gently but swiftly giving Yulan a pat on the cheek, “I’m still around, yes.”
“Where are you hailing from these days? Did you ever get up north like you had always wanted?”
“No,” Bern answered, “too cold for my blood as it turns out. I’m still here.”
That came as a small surprise to him. Typically one would serve his purpose to the organization and move on. To take the grounds on as a permanent home was highly unusual. “You’ve retired here?” Yulan asked.
“I continue to serve here,” Bern replied, his wry smirk still showing a hint of youthfulness.
“Well, well,” Yulan answered through a chuckle, unable to hide his astonishment, “that is quite something!”
“I see we’re being herded towards the dining halls. Come, let’s be off and have our meal. There is news to share of which you are likely well unaware. Allow me to bring you up to speed as we dine,” Bern told him.
Yulan couldn’t help but feel worried, bordering on dread. Whatever announcement was coming could only be big news; he couldn’t remember a time when all current and former associates of the Magicus Celesti were gathered together. It was unprecedented.
He slowed his gait down only slightly for his old friend Bern, who though moved slowly, did not carry himself as though he were fragile. In fact he seemed to have a rather healthy vitality, given his age.
Others filtered out of the chamber ahead, while most lingered with their introductions. They departed through one of the three main underground tunnels, leading towards a large cavern used as a meeting area capable of holding hundreds. It served the Order well for when they needed to entertain guests without bringing them directly into the keep proper or grounds.
&
nbsp; A variety of smells mingled together to greet them, their mixture not altogether unpleasant. Dozens of whole pigs turned on spits, open pits cooked pheasants and wild turkey, while attendants scrambled to set all of the tables and finish off last minute preparations. They found one of many empty tables, slightly off to the side. Bern took a loaf of bread, splitting it in half while he absent-mindedly picked from it. He nodded in satisfaction before turning to the butter, oblivious to his companion until the entire piece was slathered.
“You’ll remember from your histories here of the tale of Kubathu, the crystal seals and his imprisonment,” Bern finally began.
Yulan nodded. Every student of the Magicus Celesti knew the story.
“What you were not aware of, and only very few over the passing of the centuries were actually privy to, is that the necklace has been held on these premises and handed down generation to generation,” Bern continued, “an unbroken chain of guardians for over fifteen centuries.”
Yulan frowned. Bern was referring to the “Tale of the Broken King”, a myth passed down over time to serve as a cautionary story among the Magicus Celesti. It warned of the dangers that arose when drive and ambition ran unchecked, the immorality of acquirement at any cost. It was too fantastical to have grounds in reality.
“You’re telling me there exists a necklace, on this premises, that contains an evil being. Not just evil, but perhaps the vilest creature to ever set foot on our lands?” Yulan asked, mockingly incredulous.
“It is no myth, and no cautionary tale. How much of our records are based in fact is still up for debate; however it is irrelevant. This part of it is true, at least, and that’s all that matters. I found out myself nearly thirty years ago,” Bern said.
“How many of us know about this?” Yulan whispered more harshly than he meant to. He didn’t quite believe his old friend, but saw no reason for him to be lying. Over the years he learned to discern when Bernard was speaking the truth.
“For a long time, only a handful. There have been recent… events, that have people talking, and a few of the brighter residents have pieced it all together. The dam has burst and the flood of intrigue is upon us. That’s why we’ve gathered everyone today, to get in front of it,” Bern answered.
As the dining hall began to fill, Yulan could see many faces that bore worry. The tension within the magi was palpable, a great weight bearing down upon them. If he had greater skill in their ways, he would have gone into a meditative state to learn what he could from the spirits. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an ability he could use on the sly, and it would have been a calamitous breach of etiquette among a friendly gathering such as this.
Bern stared at him conspiratorially, as if he could read his intentions. “Relax, there is no cause for alarm. Though this is a day for the history books, everything is well in hand. Antok the Venerable will speak on the matter soon.”
Their table began to fill, as did all of the others. Many were forced to stand until additional seating was found, and soon the clamor of hundreds drowned out any single conversation. Bern nodded slightly, signaling that their conversation should be put to a close.
Soon dishes were served, and the sounds of chatter dimmed while the feast commenced. Yulan picked at his stuffed bird, though it was delicious he didn’t have much of an appetite and preferred to get on with whatever brought him here. He didn’t care to be away from the place he called home. This was no longer his life.
Being back in the keep reminded him how little changed here; Antok the Venerable led the Celesti when Yulan was in their service. Even back then he was not a young man. By now he must be ancient. While waiting he sat silently in apparent thought, listening in on what he could from the younger generation of magi at his table and those nearby. It was mostly inane chitchat. As a young adult, he learned that no matter what station in life the conversations taking place were generally on the mundane side. Either that, or he was simply growing old and had seen and heard it all before. Whichever the case, he had partaken in small talk more than enough for his lifetime.
“…I told you I wasn’t the only one hearing a voice,” Yulan heard from somewhere behind him, his ears perking up a bit.
“I bet that’s what this is all about, the whispers,” someone else added in. “Sorry I didn’t believe you before, too many have heard it now for it to be a coincidence.”
Laughter from his own table drowned out parts of the conversation that he was actually interested in, and he couldn’t help keep the annoyance from showing on his face.
“Oh come now Yulan, don’t be such a sore sport,” a lanky man of middle-years said to him from a few seats down. Yulan recognized him but couldn’t put a name to the individual.
“I asked you a question,” the too-thin fellow continued cheerily, “how is your little village of misfits?”
“Yes, yes, we’re all very well,” Yulan answered dismissively, hardly paying any attention to the people around him. He focused again, trying to tune in to what the other group was saying about hearing voices. His table-mate looked confused momentarily, surprised by the curt response. After an awkward silence he turned away from Yulan and focused his conversation on someone else.
Once able to concentrate again, the voice of a young female cut through his table’s jabbering, “It seems to have quieted down some, no one has been by the infirmary complaining about it in three days now.”
Three bells tolled, stirring up another commotion as they began to wrap up their meal, servants coming by to clear the dishes and refill drinks. Feeling vexed, the bits of conversation only provided more questions and no answers. Silence fell in the chamber and everyone stood, the chimes signaling the appearance of the First of the Prime Order, the leader of the Magicus Celesti.
Likely the most influential person currently alive, few outside of the Order even knew of his existence. He moved slowly, looking straight ahead as he proceeded along the walkway. Antok the Venerable was a giant of a man, hailing from one of the villages outside of the northwestern border of the Blue Fold Mountains. He stooped slightly with age; Yulan reckoned Antok must be nearly as old or older than his friend Bernard, but his advanced age did little to lessen his presence. It was said that as a young man walking the area outside of the grounds, he once threw a bull to the grass that had charged him when he cut across its field. Yulan wasn’t sure if that were true or not, but it seemed plausible enough for no one to question the rumor.
“I want to thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Antok began. “First I want to start by saying your safety, the safety of all of the magi and the residents on the surrounding isle is paramount. There is currently no danger within the keep, and though sometimes we require you to resolve hazardous situations, it is always done within the interests of the greater good, with least possible risk to our agents.”
Many nodded, they understood their line of work wasn’t without risk.
“We are all aware some of our missions are highly secretive, even from each other at times. It is acceptable because our work benefits society; we keep individual men from the rampant exploitation of their people, provide balance when greed and avarice take over the hearts of rulers. Not everyone would agree with us all of the time, but the work is necessary nonetheless.
I remind us of this, because recently a classified task of utmost importance has been compromised. The council has come to the decision to explain what is happening, rather than allow rumors and fear to spread out of hand.
There is a story we have each of you study upon your arrival, and I’m sure you are familiar with. It is also a favorite of inns and fireside tales. I’m referring to ‘The Tale of the Broken King’.”
The crowd murmured low in acknowledgement, everyone had heard this story many times throughout their lives.
“I’m telling you now it is more than a cautionary fable, it is a history. Sixteen hundred and seventy two years ago, twelve members of the
Magicus Celesti made a sacrifice to prevent a catastrophe. They voluntarily imprisoned their souls into twelve gemstones, along with one wicked soul into a ruby. This is not a story of legend, this happened.”
Confused whispering spread throughout room. Everyone talked at once to whoever sat next to them, expressing ranges of emotions from disbelief, fear, and excitement, to satisfaction in hearing the truth.
“Quiet, quiet please!” Antok yelled, raising his arms. The sound in the room dampened, whispers muted as if travelling into a solid wall. In that moment he once again held everyone’s attention, and continued on, calm and collected lest he should lose them again. “It was once safer for only very few people to know of this. Recent events however, have taken that safety away from us. Now it is critical for each and every one of you to know the full truth.
What I am about to tell you cannot go beyond the ears of the Magicus Celesti; the panic it would cause would be catastrophic. If you all know the truth, you can control the rumors in your homelands, and redirect it towards a less terrifying subject. It is important you know what is happening here, and of the efforts to mitigate the problem so you can contribute if needed. Let me assure you that we have control once again after a minor breach, and the power holding Kubathu is fully restored. I want to emphasize that at no point was anyone in danger.
“How did this happen?” someone shouted angrily, followed by overlapping voices that couldn’t be differentiated.
Antok raised his voice, speaking slowly over the others until they quieted, “I assure you I will tell you everything that you need to hear.” When silence returned, he continued, “Just as the story goes the seals are maintained within a necklace. Two hundred and fifty-four years ago one of the protective gems vanished mysteriously, the bearer killed and the stone gone without a trace. It caused great panic among those who were charged with its safe-keeping; at that time the decision was made to keep knowledge of its existence a tightly guarded secret. Within a few generations the history became no more than a fable for old men to teach a moral to children.”
Yulan could hardly believe his ears as Antok continued. The one called Kubathu, Breaker of Souls, actually existed and spread his influence from the City of the Sands. He dominated the minds of countless thousands, bending them to his will, conquering nearly everywhere from the Blue Fold Mountains south through the Vermillion Sands. It wasn’t a tall tale, and his spirit still lingered inside a gemstone, somewhere on these grounds.
“There was another breach four days ago, we believe Kubathu has greatly weakened an additional seal. Some of you may have heard voices over the last few days. That was because of the incident.”
Silence filled the room, and a chill ran along Yulan’s spine.
Antok continued, “This is what we currently face. Be assured it is a game we have played for over a millenium, and one we know how to win. Additional measures have been put in place to keep Kubathu contained; those magi responsible know who they are and what to do. At a moment’s notice any of you may be called upon to stand in; should that happen more details will be given. I understand that what I’ve told you is a lot to absorb, take comfort in the fact that the matter has been dealt with, and there are measures in place to assure Kubathu’s imprisonment is as secure as ever. You are all dismissed to your duties or homes.”
Everyone in the room understood the level of secrecy within the Magicus Celesti, and knew not to openly ask further questions. Yulan knew it wouldn’t stop further speculation behind closed doors, and he could already hear a cascade of whispers within the chamber as individuals talked amongst themselves once Antok departed. He walked away with the same slow, deliberate pace that he entered with, and he seemed to bear a slight frown, lost in thought.
“You know more,” Yulan said accusatorily, looking to Bernard. He was one of the few people in sight not showing much reaction.
Bern smiled, fox-like. “There is always more to know around here,” he answered, “you know that as well as anyone.”
“Relax,” he continued, knowing Yulan well enough to see his mind working through a dozen possible conspiracies. “It is true enough the danger is passed, I’d tell you more, old friend, but you know that I cannot. Head back to your retirement, and rest assured there is no cause for worry. You won’t be called upon for this service.”
“You truly believe it is safe?” Yulan asked, lowering his voice.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Bern answered. Yulan hesitated, wishing to speak further but unsure the best way to proceed.
“There is another matter Bern; it's our daughter, Lorna and mine,” Yulan explained after chewing on his lip, “she just started showing signs of the gift before I left.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Is it? Can I send her here now in good conscience? How in the Fel-Wastes would that be responsible?” Yulan asked.
Bern shrugged. “The world is full of perils, as it always has been. She needs the proper education, you know this much. You’ll make the right decision.”
His old friend stood and offered a modest bow, signaling he was ready to depart. “Where do you think you’re going,” Yulan said, “I haven’t seen you in nearly ten years!”
“Duty calls, my old friend. Some of us still have work to do around here,” Bern answered wistfully, “stay a few days and visit when you decide to send your daughter, I’ll keep an extra set of eyes out for her.”
Yulan took a look around the room, many still lingering around though a few began filtering out. He wasn’t happy with what he learned here today, not in the least. Secrecy was always at the foundation of the Magicus Celesti, but this information was difficult to accept. How could he not tell Lorna? When it came down to it, he had no choice but to hold true to his oaths. Sevra, however, would not be setting foot within a hundred miles of this place. It was far too dangerous as far as he was concerned, Antok and his reassurances be damned.
Though the grounds and keep were beautiful, and he had nearly full access throughout the castle and courtyards, he had no desire to stay any longer. He hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from his active days in the Order, and he was a firm believer of leaving the past where it belonged – in the past. Other than his former instructor Bernard, Yulan was content to return to his farming and village duties without revisiting this part of his life. It was time to return home. If he was lucky he could make it back before dark.
Inner Demons
A knock at the door interrupted Sevra from her newest toy. She usually didn’t care to waste time at games, but these were different. It was a puzzle the blacksmith made, an intricate series of wood blocks and pieces of bent metal twisting and turning around itself. He was Uncle Yuley’s friend and seemed determined to build one that she couldn’t solve. Every month or so she’d get a new one, each more challenging than the last. She sighed, sensing that playtime was over.
At the door was Mrs. Lemmin, Jason’s mom. She wasn’t happy.
“I’ll get it darling you keep playing,” Momma Lorna said.
She put her toy down, sitting on the carpet, facing the door with her feet touching and hands folded in her lap. Momma Lorna opened the door, and said hello to Mrs. Lemmin.
“Hi there Caroline, what can I do for you this evening? Is Jason feeling better?” Momma Lorna asked, seeing who it was.
“I need to talk to you for a minute,” Mrs. Lemmin told Momma Lorna. She looked over towards Sevra and frowned.
That stupid boy, I told him he’d be in trouble if he said anything.
In a hushed voice, Mrs. Lemmin started to tell on her, “Jason told me some concerning things this afternoon when he came back from picking vegetables. He said that your little girl is the one who made everyone sick, and if he told on her she’d make him wish he’d never been born.”
“What?” Momma Lorna said loudly, her back going rigid in defense. “Those kids had some kind of food poisoning, you know that.
Sevra wouldn’t have had anything to do with it.”
“Well whatever happened, it’s a little disturbing for her to try and take credit for it, don’t you think? And threatening my little boy, unless you’re saying he’s lying,” Caroline responded with a hint of challenge.
“We’ll straighten this out, Caroline,” Momma Lorna assured her, “Sevra, come over here!”
She walked over, her head down. The world was so unfair.
“Look at her, completely guilty,” Mrs. Lemmin commented, “nothing a few sound smacks on the bottom won’t fix.”
She hated Mrs. Lemmin, that conceited, tight-lipped smile of satisfaction on her birdlike face. She’s such a busy-body, can never mind her own business.
“Back when I was a child if we acted like that, why, we’d go pick a nice sized switch from out back,” Mrs. Lemmin reminisced, talking as if she were fondly recalling a trip to the market, “and whack! We’d get it good when we misbehaved. Not like these spoiled brats today.”
“Well I don’t condone hitting children in most cases,” Momma Lorna told her, “sometimes it’s just better if you talk to them and figure out what’s going on in their heads.”
“And that’s why,” Mrs. Lemmin said, dragging out her words, and speaking brightly as if she just won an argument, “your little girl has no manners and is running amok.”
It wasn’t fair, all Sevra wanted was for the other kids to not bother her, they always started it. She finally fights back and was the one who gets punished for it.
“You’re a vapid old crone,” Sevra told Mrs. Lemmin.
Mrs. Lemmin's jaw dropped slightly. To Sevra it made her look even more vacant. Even the swirls around the woman weren’t very interesting.
“Sevra! Apologize right now!” Momma Lorna told her.
Being seven, Sevra did the only thing she could when she realized she overstepped her bounds. She ran for the door, and continued running. Momma Lorna gave chase, but stopped when Mrs. Lemmin doubled over in pain.
“For spirits sake,” Lorna muttered, giving up on Sevra for the moment and seeing to Caroline. What on earth had gotten into that girl of hers?