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“The walls of Halholm stood for seven centuries, never breached by an enemy force. Strengthened by magic, they required no repair. Not ever. It was said that the stones were imbued with bits of moonlight that made them sparkle, but inspection of the ruins revealed that it was actually quartz and mica.” The corner of Master Sibson’s mouth twitched. “Despite its location near the disputed border between Halvala and Riza, the city maintained its independence. That is until its walls were demolished in a single day.” He paused. “The first day of the Second Godwar.”
Silence reigned in the classroom. Oskar held his breath, eager for the story to continue.
“In the spring of the year 3413, Henar, King of Riza, decreed that Halholm and the surrounding lands were part of his kingdom and sent emissaries to the city with a copy of the declaration and a demand for taxes,” Sibson smirked and several students, mostly those from cities, chuckled. “Halholm sent its reply in the form of the heads of the members of the Rizan party, each with a fist-sized stone stuffed in his mouth.
“Rizans, of course, worship Kordlak, the god of stone, and found this reply to be more than a political rebuff, but heresy of the highest order, and declared war on Halholm. Kordlak apparently agreed because he led the Rizan forces into battle.”
Oskar’s hand shot up, almost before he realized what he was doing. “You’re saying the god himself actually fought against humans?”
Agen turned around and made a confused face. “Considering he fought in the First Godwar, I don’t know why that should come as a surprise.” A few of the novits laughed, but most shook their heads at Oskar or simply ignored him.
“Ah, yes. You were not here when we discussed that particular war. The gods did, in fact, take a direct hand in human conflicts on occasion. When they did, it was a terrible sight to behold.” He cleared his throat and resumed his lecture. “Being the god of stone, Kordlak had an unmatched affinity with stone. He marched up to the city, arrows bouncing off his granite-hard skin, and literally tore the walls apart.”
“How?” Naseeb asked.
“If the stories are to be believed, he pressed his hands into the walls and yanked out great chunks of stone. When a section of wall collapsed, he moved on to another.”
“There was nothing they could do about it?” Phill, a stout Halvalan youth with rust-colored hair and a florid face, asked. “I mean, can a human fight a god?”
“Anyone can fight a god. Whether or not he can do that god any damage is another question entirely.” Sibson waited for laughter that did not come. “Let me answer this way. Could an ant fight you?”
Phill grinned. “Up until the moment I stepped on it.”
“How about one hundred ants?” Sibson’s tone made it clear he was working up to something.
“I’d take a few bites before I managed to crush them all, but I’d recover.”
“How about ten thousand?”
“I’d run.”
Everyone laughed at that, and Sibson nodded.
“Fighting a god is much like that. Given enough tiny hurts, even the mightiest god will fall. The difference is, even ten thousand would not be enough.” Sibson gave that a moment to sink in. “Being the source of all magic, gods have at their disposal power beyond imagining. They are stronger and more resilient than humans. They are fearsome enemies, to be sure. But the greatest challenge in combating a god or goddess is overcoming his or her will. Men who approach a god’s physical manifestation find themselves unable to think clearly and must run lest they be overwhelmed.” He paused. “Unless, of course, some external force gives them the strength to fight. Such as, another god fighting for the opposing side.”
Sibson waited for more questions, but none came. Returning to his lecture, he told of the destruction wrought by Kordlak, and how, one by one, the other gods joined in the battle—some intent on stopping Kordlak, others entering on his side. When the Second Godwar finally ended, all of Gameryah was devastated.
Oskar was so caught up in the lecture that he was startled when Sibson announced that class was over for the day. He sat, contemplating what he had learned while the others filed out.
“Is there something you need, Novit Clehn?” Sibson stood over him, looking down not unkindly.
“Sorry, Master, this is all new to me. It’s a great deal to take in.”
“I suppose it is,” Sibson agreed. “I fear the subject matter has become a bit stale to me, given that I’ve lectured on it at least once a year for more years than I can count.”
“How many Godwars were there?”
“Only three conflicts are named Godwars, but history is filled with minor conflicts between a handful of gods.” Sibson chuckled. “Minor, that is, in terms of the numbers of gods involved. From the human standpoint, there was nothing minor about them.”
“When was the last one?”
Sibson scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling. “3468, I believe. That was the last time the gods did battle.”
Oskar froze. An idea had just come to him but did he dare try it?
“Master Sibson, as you pointed out, being new to the Gates, I’ve missed a great deal. Might I have your permission to visit the archives so that I may study up on the First Godwar and anything else I might have missed?” His heart raced as he awaited the master’s answer.
Sibson gazed at him through hooded eyes. “Novits may not visit the archives. Besides, the curriculum is circular. Anything you missed will come back around in time.”
Oskar’s heart sank.
“However, it would benefit you to at least have a passing acquaintance with the first Godwar as we move forward. I will write a note asking that you be permitted to borrow Saclan’s Godwar. It is not heavy reading, but it will give you a passing acquaintance with the subject matter.”
Oskar forced a smile and thanked the master. While Sibson dug out a quill, ink, and sand, and wrote and then blotted the note, Oskar reflected on all he had learned today. Something was bothering him.
“What happened to the gods? The seven, I mean.” Oskar knew that history was sprinkled with the names of other gods who seemed to have died out along with their worshipers. “They were involved in human affairs for thousands of years and then, suddenly, they’re... absent.”
“That does seem to be the case.” Sibson handed him the piece of parchment. “Not only have they not taken a hand in our affairs for some time now, but their touch on the world is lighter. Magic today is much weaker than it was during and prior to the Third Godwar.”
Oskar nodded. This was something he already knew. Something still bothered him.
“Where do you think they went?”
Sibson managed a faint smile. “No one knows.”
“What kept you?” Naseeb asked when Oskar arrived at their alchemy class.
Oskar showed him the note.
“Not what you were hoping for,” Naseeb said. “For what it’s worth, you’re the first novit I’ve known who’s gotten to borrow a book from the archives.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t get me any closer to gaining access to the archives. I just hope I can learn something useful in time.”
“In time for what? Wait, is that another of those things you can’t tell me?” Naseeb asked.
“I’m afraid it...what is it?”
Naseeb’s eyes had grown unfocused and his expression calculating. “You might not be as far away as you might think. Give me a minute.” He turned and whispered something to Whitt, who frowned and shook his head. Naseeb whispered something else Oskar couldn’t quite make out and made an emphatic gesture. Whitt flinched and then his shoulders sagged as he relented.
“What did you say to him?” Oskar whispered.
“As you’re always telling me, it’s better if you don’t know. Just remember to act surprised.”
“Better you hadn’t told me anything. Then I really would be surprised.”
Naseeb rolled his eyes and turned to look at Master Lepidus, who was beginning his lecture.
Lepidus discussed the properties of dragonroot, a sample of which lay on each table. Dried and ground, it could be used in a poultice to cure infection, or mixed with certain leaves to alleviate the pain of a toothache. It was the juice, however, that gave the root its name. In its purest form, it was more flammable than naphtha, but if it were brought slowly to a boil, it became a strong liquor— one which only the wealthy could afford, and could only be drunk in small amounts.
“I like to add a pinch of mint leaves just as it begins to boil,” Lepidus said, “but the Master Dac Kien tells me that on the other side of the Sun Sands, they prefer ground orange or lemon peels.” He narrowed his eyes and mimicked a stage whisper, “I hear Proctor Basilius puts bull stock in his.”
A brief, stunned silence gave way to uproarious laughter among those students who knew exactly what bull stock was, followed by another ripple of laughter as they explained the joke to their fellow novits.
“You will use a press to squeeze the juice from your root. Add water. Then you will slowly heat it,” Lepidus said once the class had returned to some semblance of order. “Bring it to a boil, and keep in mind, it is flammable. You won’t have enough juice to do any serious damage, but you could suffer a painful burn if you aren’t careful. And...” he paused for dramatic effect, “the five students with the lowest marks will be drinking your concoctions, so don’t poison them. He winked to show he was joking, and the novits, once again laughing, set to work.
The surprise came a few minutes into the lesson, when Whitt lost his balance and fell backward, upsetting Agen’s flask. Agen cried out in alarm as a brilliant flash of white light filled the room. Oskar shielded his eyes and, when he opened them, Naseeb was gone.
It took Lepidus a minute to sort things out. The fire had only singed the cuff of Agen’s cloak, but it had incinerated his lecture notes. Lepidus instructed Whitt to provide Agen with a new set of notes, and then warned him that any more accidents would earn him an evening in the kitchens.
Oskar felt something bump against his shins and looked down to see Naseeb crawling beneath the table. The dark-skinned youth rose just before Lepidus went to get a new root for Agen and his friends.
“Where did you go?” Oskar asked as everyone returned to work.
“I’ll tell you later.” Naseeb then turned to Whitt. “What were you thinking? That wasn’t the plan.”
“My way is more fun,” Whitt said. “I wondered, why make a fire at our table when I could set one at Agen’s instead?”
“I’ll copy those notes for you,” Oskar said, “as I suspect this has something to do with Naseeb’s plan to help me, whatever that plan might be. I’m just glad you weren’t sent to the kitchens. I couldn’t have covered that one for you.”
“Lepidus rarely punishes us. You have to step far out of bounds or blunder several times to get in his bad books,” Whitt said. “Besides, it would have been worth it.”
The remainder of the class passed without incident though Lepidus surprised them by taking a sip from each group’s flask. He briefly calmed Agen’s anger at Whitt by proclaiming him and his table mates “future brew masters,” but then ruined the moment by clutching his throat and gagging. By the time class was dismissed, Oskar had decided Lepidus was his favorite instructor.
Back in the room, Naseeb dug two small roots from a pocket within his robes and held them up. They looked like tiny, pink carrots. “Here’s what we need. Better than magic. Now, give me Sibson’s note.”
Puzzled, Oskar handed him the note. Naseeb opened it and read aloud.
“Please allow Novit Clehn to borrow Saclan’s Godwars. -M Sibson”
Oskar watched as Naseeb ground up the roots, added water and spread the resulting paste over the words ‘borrow Saclan’s Godwars.’ Almost immediately the gooey substance began to change color: first gray, then charcoal, and finally, inky black. Grinning, Naseeb took out a small knife and scraped it away.
The words were gone!
“That’s nice, but what now?” Oskar asked.
“I happen to have a gift for copying handwriting.” Naseeb took out his quill and ink and added the words ‘use the archives.’ “There,” he said handing the paper to Oskar. “Now you have permission from a master.”
Oskar examined the note carefully. Naseeb’s script was a perfect match for Lepidus’ own handwriting. It would probably fool the master himself.
“What if Keeper Corwine still won’t let me in?”
“I can only cut your food. I can’t chew and swallow it for you.” Naseeb flashed a wicked grin. “Corwine doesn’t mind the desk. It’s usually an initiate, sometimes a saikur. Choose a time when an initiate’s at the desk and dare him to countermand a master.”
“All right,” Oskar said. “I’ll do it today.”