Pentadai, Week 15 – 19th Macial, 19th Macis 1209
Wanda Camp – Laioril’s Tent
AT THE BEGINNING of the reckoning of the years – to be exact, one thousand two hundred and nine years ago – the lands we now know as the Oedranian Empire were split up into warring factions. There’d been fighting between different tribes and kingdoms from time immemorial. Now, though, the land suffered, crops were burnt; fighting was constant and unending; families were torn asunder, thousands died. Anarchy was heralded and the hearts of men bled.
Stories that became legend and myth say Ull appeared in a small village, in the loop of a river…but that isn’t where his story truly begins… It is said it starts on another world.
Imagine a world where magic prevails, where men of might do not carry swords but control the substances around them by thought, by wish, by touch. Imagine a man, a man who wants not only to rule what he can through this power, this magic but wants to rule over men; who wants to control not just the inanimate but the living; who wants to cast aside those who have mocked him; who wants to be the power amongst those who were equals, the one who decides what is right and what is wrong. There have been many men who have desired what he did but none with the power, the magic he had. His name, the legends say, was Ull and he is the one who brought magic to this world. It is said he was nothing to look at – until he was. That he could pass you by in the lanes and not be known but then he would catch your eye and you’d know it was he.
He was known as a majistar and legends say he came from a world called Annire. The twin of Erinna but a very different place. On that world, the power resided with the Council of Maji, made up of majistars, who had completed years of gruelling training to wield magic. Ull was one such majistar but not a member of the council for all he wanted to be. He wanted to teach them that he was owed their respect without earning it. Wanted to show them that he was as powerful as they, more than they were. They had laughed at him for his height, his accent, his origins and even his dedication. He searched through the libraries of Mebyd, hunting for something, anything, that could help. His dedication should be rewarded, his determination should have its prize. He found, as though by accident, the book that he wanted. He’d been delving in the dusty shelves of Mebyd’s Archive Library, which held a copy of all tomes considered important but this one didn’t appear important, it didn’t feel important, it seemed as nothing, a pamphlet between sagas. It was dog-eared and dusty, torn and tattered, worn and warped. He’d opened it more out of curiosity: surely something so damaged would have been recopied. There was no title he could see, just three instructions. The first to turn the moon dark – why that would be needed, he didn’t know, but it was simple and he memorised it easily; the second to make others listen, which would be useful and again he memorised it easily. It wasn’t a spell, as such, just a mental catechism; the third he couldn’t believe: in green ink, mockingly clear against the age of the book, was a true spell – a set of instructions and items to make the one who could wield the magic the most powerful majistar in the world. Ull read it over and over but could not memorise it. It seemed to shift and change before his eyes. He decided to take the book, forbidden as it was, but as he was soon to become the majistar it described, he could pardon himself then.
Once in his quarters, he sat and opened the book again. The orange light of the dying day seemed to set it afire and it tingled to his touch. He smirked smugly to himself. Here was the answer he’d been searching for, here was the solution to his troubles, here was his reason, his prize. No-one would remember his roots were low born, no-one would care he was a head taller than the tallest of them, no-one would laugh and ask him to tell them when it started raining. He would simply be the first of the council, not the first amongst equals but the omnipotent and invincible leader. He would break the clique, the model that excluded rather than included, he would bring reform in his image.
The spell wasn’t even difficult or expensive. It asked for twelve different coloured star stones, all of them with twelve points to the star and all the same size. That had surprised him slightly. Star stones were common enough on Annire. They were on streets, in fields and tumbling along river beds. Normally spells required something more valuable to be part of the process: a cart full of the most exotic wood to burn, a chest full of the most precious metals to melt. To perform a spell in the desert lands you’d need gallons of water. This spell only required twelve different coloured star stones. It seemed almost parsimonious and gave him pause for thought, but, if the spell didn’t work, no-one would ever know.
The next council meeting he observed left him furious. They had voted once more to exclude on origins as well as skill. He could see his fellow majistars muttering, could feel their discontent but he knew they were weak, they wouldn’t challenge the council; they would murmur and mutter and that would be all. He was seething when he returned to his room. With enraged thrusts of his palm, he forced the fire into life, the candles to light, the curtains to close. He retrieved the book, the star stones and his embroidered cloak. He inhaled. Soon the world would change and he would become the omnipotent majistar, the one who combined all the able spirits of magic, all subtle hues of skill. He would simply become.
He spoke the words of the spell, felt the change in the air – felt the change in himself – and strode to the door. He flung it open, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. His room was still there, all the rich trappings were in place; the tapestries that adorned all the rooms at the Academy of Annire were there, the gold thread catching the light of the fire. So where was the corridor? Why was there a village street? Why was a gaggle of children laughing at him? A stern glance later, they ran off, still laughing. He stepped out into the street and a young man clad in mail and girt with sword, asked,
“Is this one fancy dress then? Or have I missed the turning somewhere?”
Ull looked at him, up and down the street, turned on the spot and examined the spot before inspecting a small one-storey longhouse; such buildings were common enough on Annire – he’d been born in one though he seldom admitted it – but the plants here were as different as the fashions.
It’s said, his altercation with the soldier was full of frustration and misunderstandings. He learned of the battle, of the struggle between the Battle-King, or Cary, Anaparus and his cousin, who considered burning crops and razing villages an acceptable way to take control. Imagine, if you can, what that must have been like for Ull. Stories tell Annire was peaceful; they worshipped the moon deity Cisluna bringing safety to the night, but on Erinna the moon is Aluna, with a whole different emphasis in the ancestors’ blessing. Imagine learning that magic is not might but vanquishers wield weapons, that oratory is outlawed and slaying is standard. No-one knows what happened to the soldier Ull met, but as the tales speak of him, it’s likely he survived.
Ull returned to the longhouse. Expecting his room at Annire, he was dismayed. There were no hangings, no rich furnishings, just beaten earth for the floor, cracked pots and crude-hewn furniture. His room had vanished, leaving nothing but a dying fire, candles burned out and glowing star stones. On the crude table lay the book, like new; the caking dust had gone and the title was discernible: The Egotist’s Downfall. He collapsed onto a spindly three-legged stool and sat there, holding the book. His whole being crashed down around him as he read those words accusing and describing him in equal measure.
Ull was angry; what had gone wrong? What had happened? What on Erinna was going off? He opened The Egotists Downfall at random. He squinted at the page; twelve words were there. All described spirits, abilities of magic in different coloured inks; it took him a second to realise that most colours matched the star stones – but the white was in black ink.
He cursed the book, frustrated at the lack of help within its pages. He railed against the futility of his situation. The book in front of him snapped shut and then fell open again. Words began to scrawl across the blank pages:
You wanted to be the greatest majistar in the world. You forgot to specify which world. This world had no magic until today. You are the greatest and only majistar on this world. You have brought something that should never have been here. Before you can return, you must find the people who can wield the power locked into these stones. You must stop the fighting. You must balance the world again – before it destructs. It is already fragile, go carefully. For if this world falls so will its twin Annire. You wanted to be great, be good instead. Stop the battle, find the twelve and rebuild the world.
The book snapped shut again and Ull almost threw it into the dying fire in exasperation. Some instinct stopped him. He opened it again and there were the twelve colours and spirits. He scooped up the stones into a pouch and strode from the house with the book in his hand. He set off walking up the hill. Over the rise, the first things he discovered were the carts and tents, which always followed an army around. He sighed; the camp seemed to be full of toothless grannies, women of rather dubious occupations and children by the score. He set off through the throng until he found the biggest tent and strode in, saying,
“Who’s in charge here?”
A dry, crackling voice replied, “Our cavalry, by the sounds of things. Though I think… yep, that’s theirs joining in. I hope my son knows what he’s doing.”
It was told, through all the years that followed, that Ull simply strode out of the tent, having realised he’d never get a straight answer. Who can say what the truth is? He strode to the high point and, summoning all the magic within him, turned the weapons into air. He felt an enormous sense of satisfaction as men looked bewildered and scared. The satisfaction transformed swiftly to rage as man after man resorted to manual combat.
He yelled and cursed before spotting the standard of the Cary – an arrow in flight – caught in the streaming wind. The emblem caught at Ull’s latent imagination. He flicked the book open and at the top of the list was the word Skifta; next to it was the description ‘to shift.’ Glimpsing the standard again, he made his way towards it. Every time a soldier went to attack him, he thrust out his palm and they were thrown backwards. By the time he reached the standard, the Cary had seen him coming. They faced each other; the Cary brown of hair and eye and tall; Ull fair-haired, blue-eyed and just that tad taller. The Cary stood there waiting for Ull to bow. Ull stood there waiting for the Cary to bow. The surrounding men watched the scene with confusion. None capable of interfering.
Ull broke the silence. “Are you the one responsible for this?” He motioned over his shoulder to the two fighting armies.
The Cary looked at him. He prided himself that he could appraise a man’s character in seconds: the seconds normally prior to him killing the man. He stared into Ull’s eyes and saw something in the depths he’d never seen before.
To the surprise of the surrounding men, he said, “It takes two to fight.”
“But one may stop it. You are destroying this world. Hundreds are dying for you. It is your fight – not theirs. End the battle and I will show you another way to settle your differences.”
The Cary looked again into the depths of Ull’s eyes and knew what this man said was true. Something strange had happened; where were all the weapons? Was Aluna displeased with the fighting? Had she sent this man to tell him that? He turned to the trumpeter and gave the order to sound the retreat. The men below them stopped fighting, slowly; the Cary’s soldiers made their way back to camp in some confusion. The opposing side, mystified, watched the retreat, cheering until the trumpet of their leader sounded and they went in the opposite direction.
The Cary and Ull made their way back to the tent Ull had earlier left. Ignoring the heralds waiting for him, the Cary entered to be greeted by the old woman.
“Not dead yet? Doing better than your pa then. Not sure how though because your cousin’s the better fighter. They should never have split the kingdom up but that’s men for you.”
The Cary glared at her and she left laughing to herself. He then faced Ull, who started to explain his day. The Cary thought the man was insane, a trick by his cousin, until Ull pulled out the star stones. Common they may have been on Annire but on Erinna they were unknown. The Cary became lost in the depth of the violet stone, which glowed when he picked it up. Ull curiously opened The Egotists Downfall again. The entry for Skifta had disappeared. He had found one of the twelve; maybe he wasn’t going to be too long before he returned home.
Ull’s prediction was sadly misplaced. He and the Cary worked out the power of the first stone. The Cary could think of a place he wanted to be and move there in the blink of an eye. The Cary pointed out that this might not end the war. So Ull told him to challenge his cousin to a race, specifying that whatever skills they had, they could use. The winner would rule over both kingdoms. The Cary’s cousin laughed at the proposition but agreed – knowing he was the faster runner. His advisors warned him to be wary of a trick, but he was so certain of victory that he never listened. The day of the race came. The Cary’s cousin started running and easily overtook the Cary. They rounded a bend and suddenly the Cary was in front of him again. The same thing happened all the way throughout the two-mile race. When the end came in sight, the Cary’s cousin was perplexed to see the Cary still running in front of him. When he crossed the line, he began yelling about tricks. The Justice-King, or Justa, adjudicated. As the only stipulation had been that the competitors could use whatever skills they had at their disposal, the Justa decided that the Cary had won the race fairly. The Cary declared his cousin as his second-in-command and the fighting ceased. Both lands combined once more to form one kingdom. In time, they became peaceful.
Ull stayed within the Kingdom of Anapara: named after the founding Cary. It is said he performed many wonders whilst there, but soon one of the neighbouring tribes started to attack over the western ridge. Ull went with the Cary’s troops to see if he could stop the fighting. He found the Chieftainess of the area. Her standard was a bird in flight. He talked with her and showed her the star stones; she took the orange stone and became lost in its colour. Ull opened the book again. The entry for Sundrian had disappeared, but the word splitter was still just legible. The Chieftainess and Ull sat outside to try to find a way to stop the fighting.
The Chieftainess spotted an eagle and sighed. “I wonder what the country looks like from up there. It must be so beautiful.”
“Why don’t you concentrate on the eagle? Concentrate on the mind of the bird. You might be surprised.”
The Chieftainess considered that he had lost his senses, but something in his face made her try. She felt the strangest sensation in the world. She was soaring, scanning the land, watching herself watching the bird. She realised she could focus the thoughts into either the bird or herself.
Ull asked her what she could see. Was there anything to give her pride, hope, a future to believe in?
The Chieftainess concentrated; she was swooping free over a country that was… not beautiful; the fields were poor, the houses decrepit and the people worn down. She flew on until she reached the battlefield and all she saw was blood and men dying. She drew her consciousness into her body. Ignoring Ull, she got up and told her advisors to stop the fighting and wouldn’t listen to arguments to the contrary. Ull gave her two minutes before following her into her tent. She rounded on him, upset by what she had seen, lashing out but realising her greater understanding was a power she had not had before.
Ull explained that the stone had chosen her, that the world needed to stop fighting. With the country around them recovering, Ull moved south.
The next altercation he found was fierce. In one camp he came across the Chief’s disillusioned wife, tired of speaking reason to men who didn’t listen. Feeling helpless and hopeless, she begged him to intervene. He said he could not, that she had to find the strength herself, for it was her world that was dying.
He offered her the star stones. She picked the blue, becoming entranced by the colour. Soon the fighting had stopped; the illusions the new Jeci had managed to create had stopped this battle and had shown her husband what it had done to the world.
* * *
Laioril looked at his audience. The youngsters were drooping, and Arkyn wasn’t faring much better.
“Part two will be told whenever you find time to visit an old man. Now, if I’m not careful, I’ll have Maria and Kadeem after me. So, go on with you all. Must be getting to your dinnertime. I’d hate to stop you eating.”
The lads grinned and left. Arkyn considered ruefully that he’d only ever heard the first part of the story. Laioril always stopped there. This time, he was determined to hear the rest. The history he had been taught dealt mainly with the last four and a half centuries; since the Bard had helped to overthrow the Age of Tyranny in the year 777, but his interest in earlier times had definitely been piqued.