Chapter 23: Alliances

Chapter 23: Alliances

Ber, Day 16 of Melia

Winking Moons

Year 602

The Rolling Sea lies between West Urda, Eral, Ruradîn, and The Wastes,

wrapping around to touch the East side of Urda.

The island of Baitcha, just North of Eral, is entirely surrounded by the Rolling Sea.

—Historical Trade Routes of Heladrith

Something about the cadence of his voice made Evin expect the man to be older, but the lad she faced when she turned around was nearer her own age.

He was tall and thin, with a shock of bright red hair atop his head that spiked and fell forward, almost into his eyes. The eyes were a warm hazel, and his face and neck were covered in freckles. She’d seen Urdans like this before, certainly, but such decided colouring was rare, and Evin tried not to be rude in her appraisal.

“Are you going in?” he asked her.

She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came to her. Instead, she peered back up into the doorway.

“It’s alright if you’re not,” he added. “Some people come merely to appreciate the architecture. I don’t judge anyone either way.”

The carved stone bannister was warm under her fingertips. “The last time I went in,” she muttered, not looking at the stranger, “something terrible happened.”

She felt rather than saw him shift and sit down on the thick stone steps. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “And I don’t know anything about you, but I feel led to say this—you’re not alone.”

Evin felt tears prick involuntarily at the corners of her eyes. She looked at the young man, who was gazing up at her frankly. He patted the step next to himself and she hesitated.

“I’m Ger,” he conceded, seeming to sense her uneasiness. “I’m a student at Craestor University.”

Something about the words invoked magic, though Evin knew it was probably foolish to be so moved at the mention of the school. He goes to Craestor, she thought, and then made the immediate, perhaps naive assumption; He is safe. Her defences ebbed away until only the hard little nub of pain that was her faith remained to stab her in the gut. She took a breath and then sat down next to him, pulling her knees up close to her chest.

“Are you a worshipper of the Divine Pantheon?” he asked conversationally.

“I used to be,” Evin replied. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever attended teachings faithfully. I’ve just paid random visits to the temple when I needed something or wanted to celebrate.”

Ger smiled. “The gods love attribution. They enjoy being thanked.”

“Then they’re going about it the wrong way,” she muttered ungraciously.

He laughed. It was a pleasant sound.

She sighed a little. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m angry, but I don’t hate the gods. I’m just very… empty.”

The young man nodded.

“I’m not from here,” she added. “I come from Liminey. I actually just applied for acceptance at Craestor.”

He brightened. “But that’s wonderful! When will you hear if you got in?”

Evin shrugged. “Any time now,” she replied. She paused for a moment and wet her lips nervously. “I want so badly to get in. The life I thought I would have is dead—I have no home, and nothing to return to.” It sounded pathetic and melodramatic but it was the truth. She didn’t even have distant family that she knew of who would care to claim her.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “My sister and her husband died in an explosion.”

There was a shocked silence before she went on flatly.

“They were murdered. My sister was pregnant with her first baby. I think it was probably a girl. I hoped it was. I mean—” she trailed off. Evin hadn’t dreamed she’d speak of the accident to a stranger. She shook her head. “They were my life. Without Wynn, I don’t know what to do or where to go. I’m so lost.”

These last words seemed to tear something open inside her chest, and to her horror, Evin felt a pair of heavy drops fall from her face onto the warm steps below.

The man—Ger—put a comforting hand on her back. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I’m so sorry.”

She covered her face with her hands and tried to master her shuddery breathing.

For a while, the two of them simply sat that way. His hand seemed to hold her in place so she didn’t fly off into the Heladrithian atmosphere.

“You know,” he said patiently. “You don’t have to go into the temple if you don’t want to. No one will make you, and anyone who tried would be very wrong. This is less about godly wrath and obedience than you think it is. This is about pain and loss and healing. It seems like you might need some time to rest and be.”

Another tear splashed silently to the stone.

“We don’t know each other,” he added. “But I’m here if you need a friend.”

Evin focused on an errant piece of tree bark that had made its way into a crease in the cobblestones. “Thank you,” she whispered.

A pair of women moved past them to climbed the steps to the temple.

She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. She wasn’t finished—she’d need a hard cry later, hopefully in the privacy of her room. “Thank you,” she said again to the young man—Ger. “I appreciate that.”

He smiled kindly at her. “I take an interest in the Divine, but I’m studying to be an alchemist,” he told her. “What are you most interested in?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I didn’t think I would make it this far, if I’m honest.”

Ger laughed.

“I should go,” she said, peering up at the sun. “I promised my guardian I’d be back by eleven bells. It was nice to meet you.”

He smiled at her, suddenly shy. “Same.”

Evin stood and surreptitiously brushed herself off before giving the young man a wave. “See you,” she said awkwardly.

“See you,” he repeated.

Turning back toward the center of town, Evin set off once more. She felt tired and a little cold.

One leg, one foot. Yes. This is how people walk. Now the other, she repeated silently to herself.

At one point she turned back to glance at her new friend, only to glimpse the back of him disappearing into the dark interior of the temple.

He seemed nice, she thought consideringly.

In fact, it all seemed nice. She liked Craestor. She liked the Red Dove Inn and the musicians that sometimes came in to sing to diners downstairs. She liked the hearty food, and she liked the charming little outdoor market in the square. The vendors all seemed busy but kind enough, and even the temple—as complicated as her feelings were on the subject—was inviting.

There was an incongruence to it; her relative pleasure with her day and surroundings and the bleeding of her heart. Evin tried not to think of her former life too often, but sometimes if someone asked her about it or if she simply held still and quieted, the rush of pain would overtake her once more.

Does this part ever stop? she wondered desperately.

The sounds of the market were a nice distraction as she passed back through on her way to the inn.

She nearly stepped on a goose, which hissed  at her and lifted its great wings territorially. When it lowered its neck and took a dash at her, she shrieked and stepped hastily out of its way.

Onlookers chuckled in sympathy, and Evin smiled sheepishly.

Back at the Red Dove, Evin pushed in through the front door and blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Someone was waving at her as her vision cleared—Himes. She raised a hand in greeting and moved that way.

He and Tadyath were having brunch; perfectly poached eggs with a creamy sauce and buttered, wilted greens.

It smelled heavenly, and she sat down on the bench next to the South Urdan. There was a platter of crispy fried potatoes, and she nabbed one, burning her fingers. She yelped and dropped it back onto the plate, and Himes laughed.

“Morning,” Tadyath said to her.

“Morning,” she said back. “I’m hungry again.”

He shrugged. “Order something. We’ve only just sat down. How did you find Craestor?”

Evin gave him a small, hopeful smile. “I found it wonderful,” she said. “I’d like to know how it found me.”

The door behind them opened quietly and a customer entered the establishment. The young man, dark-haired and tan-skinned, made his way to the service counter and spoke for a moment with the attendant there. Then he turned to face Tadyath’s table.

He pulled an official-looking letter out of his breast pocket as he approached them, and Evin’s heart stopped.

* * *

Tadyath decided the boy must be a runner from the university from the way he was keyed in on Evin.

The girl’s face blanched and she went very still.

“Sacande, Evin?” the boy asked them doubtfully.

“Here,” she said in a quavering voice.

In reply, he tucked the envelope under one armpit. It took far too long for him to pull an extra piece of crumpled parchment from his pocket, fumble for a stump of kohl crayon, and mark something off. Then he replaced all accoutrements, dusted off his chalky hands, and handed the letter neatly to Evin.

“Good luck,” the boy said, shrugging. Then he turned on his heel and left the inn.

When her eyes found Tadyath’s, they broke his heart. She wanted this so badly, and he wanted it for her. Please, he thought. Please let it have been enough.

Evin seemed to come to a decision and began to move with purpose. She jammed her thumb up under the crease and pried the paper open, heedless of the scraps she was generating that fluttered to the table.

Once she’d shucked the envelope off, Evin placed it down in front of her and grasped the inner parchment, unfolding it as though concerned she’d break it. She read it aloud:

“Ber, Day 16 of Melia, Year 602

To Whom It May Concern,

Miss Sacande,

The officials at Craestor University regretfully inform you that your scores on Aptitude Test No. 7 were insufficient for acceptance into the program.”

The girl’s hands had begun to shake, and she swallowed convulsively. Then she finished in a very small voice, somehow thick voice.

“As noted in the front matter, a passing score is 750 points, and your score was 732. The school receives hundreds of applicants every year and in many cases, scores are used to break ties. Unfortunately, yours are too low to be seriously considered. You may retake the test in one year’s time if you wish. We are sorry for the disappointing news and wish you luck in all future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Iva Arnich, Registar

Craestor University.”

She looked up over the edge of the paper at the two men and wet her lips. Then she handed it roughly to Tadyath, who took it in surprise. As he looked down to read it himself, she turned and walked out of the room and up the stairs, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

* * *

Beynon had made the conscious decision soon after his appointment as emperor regent to eschew public executions.

They were so barbaric, and he didn’t like what it seemed to do to the populace.

Half of Daitak would be disgusted and speak out against the empire, and the other citizens would become strangely excited by the ceremony, glorying in the blood and the power.

He remembered the phenomenon well because his mother had wholeheartedly subscribed to public executions. Either way, it stirred too many unpredictable emotions.

The man named Talebot had been ushered into one of the court meeting rooms in Daitak Keep. He was attended by a few soldiers and kept in order by Constable Corbin.

Beynon stared coldly at his would-be murderer.

The prisoner had diminished incredibly over the past week. His sunken face and bruised eyes suggested a wounded and diseased animal rather than a man.

“Is there anything you would like to address to present witnesses?” Corbin asked him emotionlessly. “Your remarks will be considered by the council at the next meeting.”

It was cruel, really, and Talebot laughed humorlessly.

“A statement is not necessary,” the constable added. “But it is permitted.”

“I say nothing to you,” the prisoner spat. “Except that others will finish the task I have begun. And I am proud to leave this plane having obeyed.”

Beynon watched him carefully. “Presumably, you go to the arms of your god,” he said to the man.

And Talebot’s faced instantly changed, softening. “Yes,” he whispered. “Daepkarra, whom I have obeyed. Daepkarra, whose will is secret.”

Corbin looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes.

“Your god condones murder?” Beynon asked him simply.

The prisoner looked up into Bryn’s face with perfect conviction. “If it is his will—yes, he does.”

A chill walked up the emperor’s spine, but he tried not to let it show. “Where are your brothers and sisters in the faith?” he asked. “Do they all feel as you do?”

Talebot’s dark features distorted in a twisted grin. “As I have said,” he answered. “We are everywhere. And we agree that your new legislation must not ever pass. The Celare will not be silenced. We will worship in your streets openly, and damn the Pantheon. And no one will stop us from the art of brewing. Prepare yourself, Bryn Beynon. For we will have our war.”

He regarded the pathetic creature for a moment before turning to Corbin and announcing, “I have heard enough.”

A few moments later, the prisoner was put quietly to death.

And they all moved on.

* * *

Clouds of thin, fragrant pipe smoke curled softly through the air.

Colin set the cherrywood pipe down for a moment, relishing the cool, smooth feel of it in his fingers. He exhaled once more, a thin stream of vanilla-scented smoke, and reached for his mug of cold mint tea.

The place was a mess.

Honestly with his work allotment and course load, he shouldn’t have been surprised. The chancellor found himself with less and less free time as his tenure at the university continued.

This led to an increasingly pandemonious work environment.

Messy—he consoled himself patiently. It may be messy, but it’s not ever dirty.

Well, usually. He ignored the small plate of crumbs in the corner of his large desk.

The walls of the small room were packed with hundreds and hundreds of books. Old books, new books, books missing spine pieces, and books that were too large for their respective shelves and needed to be laid down on their sides. Colin never seemed to get enough of the written word. There was something so comforting about knowing the answer to any given problem might be a few feet away from one at all times.

He shook his head and tried to focus.

The large sheet of parchment before him looked ridiculous in its utter disorganization. He’d sketched lists and circled items, penned lines and arrows connecting certain words and phrases, and doodled odd images when he was stuck. The school board could never see this. If anyone found out this was how he designed course curriculums for the coming year, he’d be laughed out of the university.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and Colin looked up. “Come,” he called.

It opened slowly, and around the edge of the door, Ger’s hesitant face peered at him almost comically.

Colin laughed. “Yes? May I help you?”

The student glanced off to the side for a moment, and the Chancellor realized Ger hadn’t come alone. Bela entered, followed by little Pikkia, Alais, Tuck, and a few others. When they’d all filed in and stood supplicatingly before him, Colin reached for his pipe once more and leaned back in his chair, smiling.

“Hullo! This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said truthfully to them all. “What can I do for you?”

Ger spoke first. “Chancellor Slager—good afternoon. We’ve come to speak to you on behalf of Master Alchemist Bricot Camdetch.”

A few of the other students nodded while he continued.

“We all talked about this,” Ger went on solemnly. We understand that there should be some disciplinary measures. Harming a student is unthinkable.”

Slager’s brow creased, but he listened.

“We also believe that Master Bricot is exemplary as a teacher,” said Ger. “We all are willing to give testimonies on our overwhelmingly positive experiences with him. I have this petition also,” he continued, producing a couple of creased pieces of parchment covered with a scrawl of names. “Our fellow students were happy to sign this when they learned about Bricot’s hearing. Please let us know what else we can do to ensure he enjoys a very long career teaching here at Craestor University.”

Colin considered this for a moment in stunned silence, and then looked from face to face for confirmation. Each of them met his eyes steadily. Bela nodded firmly at him. Alais leaned forward expectantly. They all seemed implacable in their conviction.

“Sir?” Ger asked.

The grandmaster combatant’s interest was thoroughly piqued. “I have to say,” he said slowly, “I’m surprised and pleased by your efforts.”

Ger took a breath, tremendously relieved.

“I like Bricot personally,” continued Colin. “I suppose it’s good to know I’m not the only one. The hearing is tomorrow morning. Please come. Bring anyone who feels the same way you do.”

Tuck spoke up hopefully. “Do you think we’ll be able to influence the board?”

Colin’s smile turned a little sad. “I’m not sure, Tuck,” he replied. “But you can try.”

* * *

When seven bells struck the next morning, Bricot twitched and nearly hopped out of bed.

He didn’t even recall having slept the night before, but he must have because in his dressing mirror reflection, his hair was fantastically mussed and there were creases on his thin face from pressing down too hard into his pillow.

It was today. The hearing was today.

For a moment, he simply sat at his desk, trying to make himself breathe. Calumn, but he could be terminated in a few bells. His trembling fingers pressed absently up into his aching eye sockets as the master alchemist wished fervently and for the hundredth time that there was never any such thing as a shade wasp.

Bricot took in a deep breath and looked out his window at the dawning day. Everything would be all right. It would all come out exactly as it was supposed to. Either he’d be graciously allowed to stay at Craestor and fulfill his dream of inspiring the next generation of minds while simultaneously translating one of the most important documents in the world—or he’d be released to realize the potential of his life alone.

The sounds of morning were beginning to beckon to him through his window. The swaying trees outside on the Craestor grounds whispered gently and a chorus of birds hesitantly began to sing.

He’d laid out a set of robes in preparation and donned them now.

The school board was comprised of nine people, all diverse in their ages and genders. Bricot had only ever met a couple of them. In his experience, they all seemed to be very private people with very distinct and important feelings about the way the university was run. Like the Pantheon, almost, he thought grimly to himself as he dressed. It had been a very long time since a separate entity or group of people had held this much power over him.

He looked down in consternation to find he’d put his tunic on backwards.

A few moments later, Bricot stood with his hand on the door handle and surveyed the room. It was neat as always, with the bedclothes carefully smoothed over and the stacks of papers lovingly organized on his desk. He’d never thought before about how much he loved teaching. Now he allowed himself to admit it. Truly, I do. I love it. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I wasn’t allowed to teach any longer.

Unsure of what one customarily brought to such an occasion, he’d armed himself only with his own journal detailing the events on Melia the fifth. Ostensibly, others would be brought in to testify as well. Bricot could only pray they represented the situation truthfully.

With a last glance at his little room, he left.

The corridor on the second floor was utterly silent, as was the stairwell. But once Bricot reached the hall downstairs, a slew of young faces turned to look up at him. He froze.

There were probably forty students or so just waiting about in the reception area.

Someone began to clap slowly.

In horror, he watched as others joined in.

“No,” he mumbled to them, harding knowing what he was saying. It just felt wrong. “That’s—thank you. Please, no. I don’t want this.”

They ignored him.

He heard a shout of encouragement or two, and someone else was booing him. It made him sick.

Bricot gave up on trying to communicate with the students and simply made himself walk away from the chaos in the foyer and into the side corridor to the library. The sounds of applause and whistles followed him as he went.

Gerds away at the entrance to the library stood one of the very last people Bricot could want to see under the circumstances; his colleague Farax Lucean. She clutched a sheaf of papers to her chest and seemed to be waiting for something. When she raised a hand to him in greeting, he realized she was most likely posted there to meet him. It seemed an eternity until he would reach her, but he forced himself to continue moving at a respectable pace.

Behind him, the students began to quiet. “Go on, Master Bricot!” one of them shouted into the ensuing silence.

But Farax frowned and put a finger to her lips.

Sheepishly, some of them tittered to each other. The group of them bore Bricot straight up to the doors.

“Good morning,” he croaked at Farax.

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Brought some support, eh?”

Desperately, he cast about at the throng behind him. “No,” he tried to explain. “No, really. I—don’t want them here. I didn’t ask for anyone to do this...”

Farax broke into a smile. Her smile was one of his favorite things. “I’m only joking,” she said to him. “Relax. I’m not worried about this.”

He looked up, straight into her dark eyes. “You’re not?”

“No.”

Bricot opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came to him.

“Try to breathe,” Farax suggested quietly. “It’s going to be alright.” Then she said more loudly to the collected group of students, “This is what’s going to happen next. Master Bricot is going in for the hearing. It will be held in a meeting room off of the main library. The nine board members are there, as is Grandmaster Slager and a few others staff members and faculty. You,” and here she gestured widely at the group, “are not allowed in.”

A chorus of moans and protests followed, but Farax lifted a hand to still them.

“Not yet, anyway. When the time comes for the session to collect testimonies, they may permit some of the students to speak. Please only present yourself if you were there on the day of the incident in question. I would prepare written statements if I were you. The last thing we want is one of you to be called to witness and not have anything interesting or important to say. Got it?”

There were nods and murmurs of assent.

She turned to Bricot and gave him another of her rare smiles. “Let’s go, delinquent.”