Life is dark.
I reached a clearing and stepped out from under the canopy, glittering with sunbeams dancing their way between bustling leaves, and into the dominating gaze of a grand blue sky.
Life is cold.
A breeze flew across the forest floor, sending a wave across the grass and through my body.
Life is grey, plain, neutral, without texture.
It was Sunday, a day of rest. No work was to be done at the monastery nor on its farm. We were all free to mill about and occupy ourselves as we wished. Most of the other scholars would visit the nearby town of Johesefal, or go a little farther to the city of Yerumandel. They would visit with relatives, rendezvous with local friends, enjoy delicate foods, attend festivals, occasionally get into fights, and so on. It all struck me as antithetical to our purpose as monks, but I suppose some pressure always has to be released.
Life is noisy, chattering, bothersome.
I chose to spend most of my Sundays in nature. The first hour or so of my day would be spent crossing the monasterial farmland to get to the bridge over the Black River. Past there was rocky, hilly terrain patterned with evergreen forest.
I would usually walk until nightfall and then turn back. I brought no food or water with me and gathered nothing. I wore a plain shirt and pants, no shoes, no matter the weather. I considered this good practice. As a monk, I had been taught to close my mind to all sensations. I had been taught to detach myself from things like hunger and thirst and move about as a ghost would. I regarded my body as a traveler might regard his wagon. It can get worn and weathered, so long as a wheel doesn't snap.
Life is solitary.
I was alone everywhere I went. In the woods, at the monastery, in the city. Being surrounded by people doesn't matter if you're detached from them. Unless something binds you to others, you are alone.
Life and death might as well be the same thing.
As I took tentative, silent steps about the clearing, I heard a sudden rustling in the overgrowth. A rabbit jumped out into the daylight, and then was pounced upon by a fox. It struggled to wrest itself away, even as it was torn apart. I felt startled, but I didn't really feel good or bad. I tried to decide how I should feel. Was it appropriate to feel neutral? It was just nature taking its course, after all. But it felt arrogant to chalk my heartlessness up to a connection with nature. That would imply I felt a balance of sympathy for the hungry fox and terrified rabbit. I felt neither. I felt disconnected.
-
I forged onward through the woods until I came to a stony hillside. From the position of the sun, I estimated that it was about three in the afternoon. It was a fact that I was hungry. I could sense the emptiness in my body. And yet, this didn't impede me at all. It was something detached from myself, not capable of slowing my pace or dulling my senses.
It was a fact that the gravelly ground calloused my feet as I walked. I could sense that they were being stabbed and rubbed raw. It was something separate from me, impotent to slow my progress. The natural mischief of the material world could not reach me.
I marched up and around the hill until I had spiraled around to the opposite side of where I started. From there I could see a stream. I had never gone in this direction before, but I knew from maps I'd read that this stream's name was Makol's Stream.
On the bank of Makol's Stream I saw something I had never seen this far into one of my hikes: other people. A young woman and a young boy, leaning over to watch fish as they swam. The boy wore very ordinary, modern clothes. A light jacket and sturdy-looking pants. It was the sort of thing most of my fellow monks would wear on Sundays, when they were allowed to shed their drab brown robes. The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a very old-fashioned style. Her entire outfit was monochrome. A long black dress covered her from neck to foot, with a lacy white collar extending out from the top. Her hair was braided, with the end tied in a white ribbon. She wore round spectacles with no frames. All in all, she was dressed like an old lady on her way to a funeral.
I wondered if the two were mother and son, but that seemed unlikely. The woman looked a bit older than me, maybe old enough to have children, but none as old as this boy, who looked like he was on the cusp of adolescence. She also had black hair and somewhat tan skin, while the boy had golden hair and was distinctly pale.
I stood there and watched them for a while, trying to understand them. Their eyes remained turned down to the stream, so they didn't notice me until I took a careless step, moving the stones beneath me. They both turned to look at me. Then the strangest thing yet happened: the woman began to transform. Her arms and legs were pulled into her body. Her glasses were pulled back into her face and her mouth and nose merged together into a long beak. Her black dress seemed to be tearing itself into tatters, but then I realized that it was turning into a cloak of feathers. Her black hair became black wings. Her collar became a plume of white feathers upon her chest, and the ribbon in her hair became a streak of white running along both wings. She ended up resembling a magpie, but was closer to the size of an eagle.
The boy also transformed, but his transformation was more drastic. It was harder to tell what became what. In the end he looked like a very ordinary sparrow. Once his transformation was complete, the two of them took off in flight through the trees.
Without thinking I made to follow them. Normally, tracking two birds flying low through the trees would be nearly impossible, but being able to remove the senses themselves from the body is one of the gifts of detachment. My spirit could reach beyond the bounds of my physical form, reach out through the trees, and track the motion of life through the woods. However, even with this sensory extension I could only run fast enough to keep up with them for a few minutes before I completely lost their trail.
I sat down on the forest floor, panting, wondering what it could possibly be that I had just seen. I was a student of the Holy Science, of the ways of magic, and this was unlike anything I had seen before. The modification of one's own body in the course of casting a spell was, by itself, theoretically impossible. This didn't make any sense.
As I sat there, contemplating, I suddenly realized something: I felt hungry. I also felt thirsty, tired, and cold. My feet felt like they had been flayed and my head felt like it was full of sand. My hair and my shirt felt scratchy and uncomfortable against my skin.
I thought again about what I had just seen. The woman and the boy. The woman's body looked soft. She looked warm and inviting. She was smooth, not rough and angular like a man.
I was starving. I had to get back. I could probably return in time for dinner.
-
I crossed the farm as the sun was setting. I could see horses and wagons navigating the mountain pass by lantern-light on the far side of the monastery, bringing monks back from the outside world. They would all be trickling back in as the night went on, with some even returning in the early morning.
I could hear the sounds of livestock as I crossed through a field of corn. I reached the monastery's garden and snuck in through an unassuming doorway that few knew about. This brought me to the southernmost room of the library complex, reserved for biographies of saints. It was almost always empty.
"Brother Leo. It's surprising to see you back so early." A voice barely above a mutter drew my attention to a candlelit corner of the room.
"Brother Lucan. What are you doing here? Isn't it dinner time?"
"I'm not that hungry, but if you're going to dinner then I'll join you."
He closed the book he was reading, The Ten Tribulations of Saint Paresetel in Verse, a volume that we had been required to read in our younger days when we were still receiving formal lessons on history. Paresetel was a heathen priest who received a revelation about the true nature of the universe and then defeated the old ways of magic through the Holy Science. Each of his "ten tribulations" illuminated a certain aspect of the Science, meaning it served as both a founding myth and a basic guide.
"What brings you back to Saint Paresetel?" I asked Lucan as we walked.
"I'm trying to learn more about the pre-Scientific practice of magic."
"That seems like a dark path."
"I want to understand how uneducated barbarians managed to accomplish feats that take us years of careful study and introspection. Sometimes feats that appear to be beyond our knowledge."
"What makes you think those are anything other than legendary?"
"The fact that they served as inspiration for the methods of the Science."
"Imagination can inspire."
"Whether or not these feats are mere legend is a subject of my investigation."
"You are only setting yourself up to be lied to. This is why we are warned to focus on the Science before any other field of study."
"Other research is not forbidden."
"Because the magisters trust you to exercise discretion."
He didn't answer this last remark and I felt a little guilty for speaking in such a judgmental tone. I wasn't truly concerned with what Lucan decided to research. It was probably a waste of time, but nothing sinister.
We made the rest of our way to the dining hall in silence. We each got some food and then sat down across from one another. I didn't want to sit with him, but I also didn't want him to think I was actually offended by his interests. We had been friends for a long time, even though we had drifted apart in recent years, and it seemed pointless to risk ruining that.
"Have you come across any magic that allows the caster to transform into an animal?" I asked him. I figured that even if it was a long shot, it was at least something to talk about.
"Well, yeah, there are plenty of legends that talk about people turning into things."
"But you think they're just legends?"
"Of course. The geometry of body and spirit have to be aligned to perform magic. How can they remain consistent if one is changing?"
"You can move while doing magic. Isn't that basically a way that the body changes itself?"
"The spirit changes shape to compensate. It's a natural change because the body is supposed to move. If your hand was cut off, the compensatory reaction wouldn't be automatic in the same way."
"But it could be done deliberately?"
"In theory, I suppose."
This sort of theory was far beyond our level of education. Our knowledge of the Holy Science was still very limited. We could move things without touching them and see things without looking, which were very impressive accomplishments to anyone outside the Order, but we still had a long way to go.
Lucan looked over me with a suspicious expression, as though he were gauging what degree of trust he ought to place in me. As we finished our meal he finally spoke. "I want to show you something. Follow me."
-
Lucan took me to a corner of the library even less trafficked than the biographies section, the room of botanical volumes. Most of the books there would be of little use even to the rare student fascinated with flora. Books purchased by the monastery were required to have illustrations removed and to be retyped in a certain particularly plain font. They were then bound in stern black covers with the titles uniformly embossed in white. Since most botanical works relied on illustrations in lieu of wordy descriptions, it was very hard to tell what plants were being discussed in any of those books.
I followed Lucan to an obscure corner of this obscure room and he pulled a book off a shelf that the room's light barely reached. The spine was black and bore the simple title, The Study of Plants. However, it looked as though the black of the spine and the white of the text had both been painted on. Indeed, the cover was green and bore, in shiny gold letters, the title The Lost Perspectives on the Holy Science.
"Did you put this here?" I asked Lucan.
"No. I think somebody else must have put it here, hoping to hide it in plain sight. I guess they assumed nobody would see a title like The Study of Plants and get curious."
He handed me the book and I flipped through the pages. I was immediately struck by the elaborate drawings on nearly every page.
"There are plenty of examples in there of people transforming." Lucan said. "Apparently some pagan priests could turn into snakes. Pretty weird."
"Can I borrow this?"
"It isn't mine, so do whatever you want with it. Just put it back at some point and don't get caught with it. I quite like the pictures."
-
I pored over The Lost Perspectives in my room that night. It seemed to be a sort of encyclopedia of rumored types of magic, generally inexplicable by the Science. Only a few of them had supposed eyewitness testimony of their existence.
WRAITHS
When a magician who is powerful but impure in spirit goes into a hermitage with the goal of detaching entirely from the material world, he may instead become bound to the land that he makes his sanctuary of solitude. His spirit claims the land, and the land claims him. The result is an organism called a wraith that encompasses a bounded domain whose radius depends on the power of the magician who served as its seed. When travelers cross into its domain, it attempts to seduce them by taking the form of something they crave. The wraith does this because it is an endlessly lonely creature. It seeks to capture the souls of those it detains so that they can never leave. A few have been reported to exist, supposedly apostates from monastic orders, but some say that these are invented in order to keep unprepared students from striking out into the wilderness, as often tempts them.
WITCHES
Blood rites are one of the few ways that women have been reported to be able to gain magical abilities. A witch is one type of practitioner of this form of magic. The witch takes possession of one or more young boys who then steal an animal for her at the start of each month, usually a goat or sheep, and then raise it. On the last Sunday of the month, the animal is slaughtered and the witch drains the blood from its heart to drink. This is the only time the witch eats or drinks anything. This odd ritual and the refusal of any other food supposedly gives the witch the power to transform herself and others into animals, with the witch spending most of her time in the form of a bird. A few witches have been captured in the past, sought for kidnapping and robbery, though none could be compelled to transform before a court, leading some to denounce "witchcraft" as a hoax.
HELLHOUNDS
When soldiers are armed with enchanted weapons, some of the magic they use to kill others rebounds and damages them in a different way. It is unknown why this happens. The soldiers, over time, become more animalistic, often taking on canine mannerisms and, if they use such armaments regularly, becoming canine even in appearance. This was known to happen to soldiers in the Galerian War, giving them the nickname "the dogmen."
-
The beginning of the next day was normal. The day began with the entire Order convening for meditation in the Grand Hall of Silence, at the heart of the complex. Then my cohort proceeded to scriptural study, and then to martial arts training. Martial arts started energetic as always, being the highlight of the day for most scholars. However, as training went on, the mood in the room grew solemn. Sparring matches were conducted and observed in an uneasy silence.
Martial arts was followed by magical training, which at our stage was dominated by thorough lectures on the theory of the Holy Science. A sensation of fear hung heavy on the air in the room. We could all feel it. It was as though a dark wave had engulfed the entire building. Even the instructor was visibly nervous throughout the day's lesson.
The entire Order then reconvened for dinner, our one meal of the day. Usually abuzz with chatter, the cohorts shuffled into the dining hall with only careful whispers exchanged, a quietness which was anything but tranquil. A shadow had come over all of us.
Once everyone was in the great stone room, the Grand Magister, leader of the Order, stood up. Using magic to project his old, straining voice to every wall, he began his announcement.
"This Order provides for itself what it can. Every one of us has labored hard on the farmland when it has been our duty. However, we cannot provide ourselves with everything we need. Not even close. As such, we rely on the support of the king to maintain our lifestyle. In exchange, we provide our country with a promise that, in the case of a national emergency, we will come to its defense.
"Invaders have crossed the northern border. An army at least tens of thousands strong has launched a well-organized offensive and already laid siege to the northern capitol. They are expected to be on our doorstep within a month. As such, all training will now be focused on preparing you for war.
"We stand at roughly five-hundred strong, counting only those who are eligible for combat. The last time we were called to fight, we had less than half that, and we won every battle we were involved in handily. This is what gave us our reputation as the most dangerous fighting force in the world. As such, I ask that you try not to be afraid. Our knowledge of the Holy Science gives us a powerful advantage, but our faith and wisdom elevates us beyond all foes."
He sat down and we all ate quietly.
-
That week saw virtually all of our time taken up by last-minute combat training. It was clear this war had been unexpected. Magical training shifted from discussions of theory to practical combat magic, including the enchantment of weapons and manipulation of fire. We were trained in the use of rifles for the first time, though it was made clear they should be a last resort, to be used only if magic were to fail us.
By the time Sunday came everyone was exhausted. The ceremonies in the early morning were abridged, with the usual sermon being replaced with a concise reading of a psalm about quieting one's heart before battle. After that, it was announced that members of the Order who were above the age of nineteen were to remain on the grounds, while those of us between the ages of thirteen and nineteen were allowed to roam free but were to stay south of the city of Yerumandel, not going further north than the town of Johesefal, in case of a sudden attack. We were then dismissed.
I immediately made south for the hill overlooking Makol's Stream. I found that my ability to detach my senses had gradually returned to me. I was hungry but I did not feel hungry. My feet were hurting but I was not hurting. I passed out from under the trees onto the rocky slope.
Looking out onto the glistening water I saw a bird perched atop a rock. A giant magpie. I walked down and waded out into the water. She barely moved as I approached.
"Hello there." My voice shook. I was a little self-conscious, talking to a bird.
I beheld the opposite transformation of what I had seen last time. Glasses emerged from the bird's face. Her wings wrapped around the top of her head and formed a tail of braided hair tied in a white bow. Her feathers merged together to cloak her body in fabric the color of midnight.
There she sat upon the rock, bare feet dipped into the cool, rejuvenating water of the stream. She looked up at me with a serene smile.
"Hello! What is your name?" she said in a sugary voice that I was surprised to hear from a witch.
"I'm Leo. Are you a witch?"
"Yes. And you're a monk, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"My name is Irubasilia, but you can call me Ira for short. Sorry about last time. You just startled us. We never see other people out here."
"Where is the servant you had with you last time?"
"I don't like calling them servants. They're my friends! And they're all back at my house right now. Do you want to come meet them?"
I thought about this for a moment. Was it unwise? Was I young enough that she would want to capture me? Would she be able to capture a monk like me? The Lost Perspectives hadn't gone into detail on how a witch "took possession" of her servants.
"Sure."
"Okay! Let's go!" She stood up and took my hand. She grasped it firmly as she led me out of the stream and into the woods. Her hand felt interesting. It was warm and soft. It didn't bear any of the wear that mine did from working shifts on the farm. It felt tender and welcoming, like drawing close to a fire on a cold night.
"Do you have any food at your place?" It wasn't something I meant to say out loud, but the uncomfortable gurgling feeling of my empty stomach made the words real. "Maybe something to drink too?"
"Of course! I asked my boys to make some tea and cookies, just for you!"
"So you knew I was coming back?"
"I figured it was likely. Besides, if you didn't, more for them!"
The sweet tones of her voice quelled the doubt in my heart. Suspicion ebbed and flowed in my mind as I reminded myself to keep my wits about me.
We came at last to a little cottage on a stream, this one even smaller than Makol's Stream. Beside it was a wire pen with a ram lying down inside, docile. The sparrow-boy I had seen with Ira before sat in a chair in front of the cottage reading a book. A taller boy about my age sat with the ram, watching it rest. Two younger boys were running around playing tag in the trees. All of them had hair the color of wheat and eyes the color of a clear sky.
The tall one stood up when he saw Ira and I approach and followed us inside. A single cup of tea and a plate of cookies sat on the table. I sat down and started eating without saying a word.
"Wow! You're really hungry, huh?" Ira said with amusement.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what it is."
"I wish I could have some. They look so tasty!"
"But you can only drink blood?"
"Indeed. Next Sunday I'll have my one meal for the month." She sat down next to me.
I finished the cookies and swallowed the tepid tea in a single gulp. Ira looked up at her servant and said, "Would you get Brother Leo some more tea?" He went and poured me some more in silence.
"Do you only kidnap blond ones?" I asked. I felt a little guilty about being accusatory after being treated so kindly, but the situation was undeniably strange.
"I don't kidnap them. They come to me. The others came to me as a caretaker, something like a mother. This one fell in love with me." The tall one gazed off into the distance as if he hadn't heard anything.
"Was he always like that?" I asked.
"No. He was very talkative when he met me. But as they attach their hearts to mine, they stop truly being separate from me. They become more like extensions of me. Even the ones playing outside are very quiet and don't really need to think anymore. They found their peace in me."
"It sounds kind of like their spirits die and you take them over."
"No! It's nothing like that." She acted flustered but I felt she must have known how it all looked. "They like it here with me. We're like a family. We all take care of each other. Right?" She grasped the tall one's hand. He nodded in a minimal gesture of affirmation, his face remaining stony and listless.
"So why do they all look the same exactly?"
"They didn't start out looking like that. They were much plainer when I got them. I suppose they change over time to fit my ideal. I think they look beautiful, don't you?"
I stared up into the tall boy's sky-colored eyes. He looked back into my brown eyes and for a moment I could see my ordinariness as he saw it.
-
As I left her cottage, Ira told me I should come back the next Sunday, when they would be killing and eating the ram. I told her I would think about it, though imagining the blood made me shudder. I set off into the twilit woods, the sounds of crickets, birds, and leaves thrown to and fro in the wind bringing an ominous liveliness to the approach of night. I reached Makol's Stream in the shadow of dusk. The rushing water made me realize I felt thirsty. I crossed the stream, trying to forget my thirst even as I could practically feel the promise of cool refreshment on my wading feet. By the time I reached the other side I realized that it was hopeless to deny myself. I turned around, knelt, and took gulp after gulp of the clear water.
I reached the monastery grounds far too late for any hope of dinner. My stomach was rumbling. I ended up stealing an ear of corn from the fields.
The next day was more military training. Our cohorts had been further subdivided into "watch groups" that would take turns parading the grounds in military style. My group marched in the morning, then returned inside for magical training, to be observed by the Grand Magister and a younger magister named Ishkol.
Using magic had suddenly become very difficult for me, even more than for the other monks, who were distracted by the prospect of war. I could somewhat reliably produce a flame but I had a lot of difficulty controlling it. During one exercise I accidentally burned a classmate's cloak.
"Leo! Focus!" The Grand Magister scolded me in a raspy voice that sounded like he was coughing out each syllable. "If you burn the men at your sides and back instead of those in front of you, you're worse than useless. As a matter of fact, why don't you sit back and observe the rest of the lesson to make sure nobody gets hurt." So I spent the rest of the hour sitting against a stone wall and watching in silence.
After the lesson concluded, Magister Ishkol beckoned for me to come over to him.
"Magister." I bowed my head.
"Leo, come with me to my office." I followed him instead of following my group to rifle drills. I had always liked Ishkol. He was the youngest of the magisters, being in his fifties, and I could remember when he was a regular teacher. He was a stout, bald man known for his encyclopedic expertise in the Science and his clear delight in any discussion of its intricacies.
We sat down in his office and he began to speak. "I hope you understand that His Eminence didn't mean what he said. We know you're all very new to combat magic. It's an unfortunate situation. He's just worried for all of you, that's all."
"I understand, sir."
"Good." He gave me a loving smile. "You know, Leo, your teachers speak very highly of you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Yes, you are a very promising student. But, I admit, it is obvious that something is distracting you. Do you mind if I ask what it is?"
"I'm just nervous about fighting, sir. Same as everyone else."
"If you say so. But I think something about you is different. I know you like to explore the forest on Sundays. I'd like to warn you, that land has an allure that draws people inward. I've seen brothers of ours become totally estranged from humanity. Be careful."
"I will, sir."
"Maybe you should go to Johesefal with some friends this Sunday! Get your mind off things."
"I don't have any friends."
"What about Brother Lucan? I've seen you two together before."
"He wouldn't want to go. He just likes reading."
"Ask him."
"I will, sir."
"Alright. Try not to worry too much. Fire beats guns every time, even if it's a bit sloppy. That's what I learned in the Galerian War. That's what His Eminence is counting on."
"Okay. Thank you, sir."
-
The next Sunday I set off for Ira's cottage again. I felt a bit sick, knowing that I was disobeying Ishkol. He hadn't ordered me to go to Johesefal, but he might as well have.
The ram was dead by the time I arrived. It was strung up between two trees, front legs apart as though it had been crucified, chest open, heart missing. Its sides had been dismembered in order to retrieve the meat, which the boys were cooking over a fire in silence.
"Leo! You made it! Come inside!" Ira came running out of the cottage and grabbed my hand. I felt queasy. The three younger servants followed us in, leaving the tall one to attend to the meat.
A colossal goblet of blood sat on the table. Ira picked it up with both of her hands, taking a gulp. Some of the viscous crimson liquid dribbled down her chin and marked the white lace around her neck. The air smelled like coins.
"We'll have a nice hearty serving of that meat for you in just a minute." She giggled. I think she enjoyed seeing the shock on my face.
-
The tall boy brought a chunk of the meat in on a platter and then placed a slice of it on each of our plates. Ira watched me with an amused smile as I took a bite.
"What's it like being a monk?"
"It's fine. We're preparing for war right now."
"Oh yeah? Do you think you'll win?"
"I have no idea."
A mischievous grin crossed Ira's face. "If only you could turn into a bird and fly away!" She took another big sip of blood.
"How does drinking that give you power?"
"I really don't know. I just do it and then it feels like I can do anything! So I turn into a magpie and go around collecting shiny little pieces of gold." She ruffled the hair of the sparrow-boy, who smiled slightly but stayed quiet.
"I see."
"Leo, would you come for a walk with me after dinner?"
"Sure."
-
Night had fallen in earnest and a chilly breeze rushed through the trees. Ira held my hand, even though she wasn't leading me anywhere. I felt so warm despite the wind.
"Leo? Can I tell you something?" Ira's voice had fallen into a melancholic register that I hadn't heard from her yet.
"Of course."
"You know, when I take these boys in, and they start to change, it isn't entirely voluntary. They lose themselves in me, but I sometimes wish they could stay separate."
"Why can't they?"
"It's something about the blood rite. It makes my spirit overpowering."
"That's interesting. I can't say I've felt an overpowering spirit from you."
Was that true?
"You're a monk. You could resist the force of my spirit..."
Life is solitary.
"...which is why I want to ask you to stay with me. It's lonely, only ever being with four parts of yourself. But you could keep me company..."
Life is grey and plain.
"I can't."
Life is cold.
Ira grasped at my body in the darkness, pulling me tightly to her. I felt enveloped by a warmth I had never encountered before. Her softness pressing into me made me feel complete. Even here, out in the dark woods, it was as though I were sat by the fire in a childhood home I'd never had the chance to live in.
Life might as well be death, unless two can become one...
"Please stay."
...unless spirits can intertwine...
"Irubasilia..."
...unless you can share in the light of another...
Something like a bright white thunderbolt snapped through the air in front of me with a crack that made my ears ring. I watched a stunned Ira stagger back and then disappear into the night.
"I thought I might find you here." A familiar voice boomed out from among the trees. A bald head shone in the moonlight.
"Magister Ishkol." I bowed.
"Leo, I warned you. This place is even more dangerous than I thought. Follow me." Ishkol made a ball of light in front of us and started taking us back in the direction of the monastery.
"Did you know about Irubasilia, sir? The witch?"
"I know of witches. What you encountered was no witch, my son."
"What was she?"
Ishkol sighed. "When I was
about your age there was a magister named Basel. A brilliant man, but
he thought all war was folly. He refused to fight in the Galerian
War, so he left to become a hermit. I sought him out years later, but
he was very different. Half man half shadow. He called himself
'Yerubaselia.'"
"The land of Basel?"
"Something like that. He would talk about himself like he was a place rather than a person too. He would say 'here' rather than 'I.' It was very strange."
"So you think she was actually a wraith?"
"Well, nobody's heard from Magister Basel in years, and this would be about the right spot. So yes, it, that thing, was probably a wraith. If we weren't about to fight a war I'd look into it. If I live I'll look after. But the point is that you are not to go back there."
"Yes, sir."
-
Military training continued that week, but I used my free time to research the mysterious Basel. Records said that he existed, but little else. A book on the history of the Galerian War said he died in the fighting. Strange, but maybe the Order was embarrassed about him leaving. Maybe he had faked his death and only told a few people the truth.
Had Ishkol lied to me? He could have taken the name "Irubasilia" and spun a story to fit. He would have had to think fast, but he was a magister, one of the smartest men alive. It was clever, if so, making me think the pretty young Ira was actually the ghost of a crazy old man.
A knock rocked my door in the dead of night. I felt tired. I felt hungry. I felt thirsty. I felt almost immobile. I forced myself to get up and stagger to the door. It was Lucan.
"They're here. They bypassed Yerumandel and made straight for Johesefal. They're trying to catch us off-guard. Magister Reskal told the watch to wake everyone up."
I stared blankly at Lucan for a moment. I noticed something for the first time. He was smaller than me. Obviously I had been aware of the fact, but I had never viscerally taken it in before. I had never felt it. Lucan was small and frail for a boy. He had soft, youthful, endearing features. He looked vulnerable. He looked like he needed protecting.
"Lucan, can I hug you?"
"Uh... sure?"
I held him close but gently. He didn't feel anything like Ira, but he was still warm and soft.
"Leo... this is a bit weird."
"I don't want to die." I resisted the rush of tears to my eyes.
He let out a long sigh and then lifted his hands to my back to return my embrace. "Me neither."
-
The Order stood upon the mountain pass at dawn, preparing for the foretold assault. As the rays of daylight passed over the church steeple of Johesefal we saw them: an army in ragged black clothes teeming about like a pack of wild animals. They rushed up the hill at all angles, some firing shots around indiscriminately, some making for us with swords drawn, still others running on all fours.
As the army approached and we began our flame-barrages, something became clear: those black clothes were made for us. Every soldier sent here was equipped with a fireproof cloak. "Aim for the eyes! Aim for the eyes!" came the cry from the rear. As a man ran at me, eyes wide and teeth bared, clutching a knife, I let loose flames in every direction, and heard a howl as his face melted under his hood.
Wave after wave scraped its way up the grade. Smoke and gunfire filled the air into the afternoon. I had no way to tell who was winning from the low crevice I'd been driven to, but based on the magically-emphasized call of "Retreat! Retreat!" I assumed we'd been overwhelmed. I tried to crawl back up to rejoin the group, but as I did an entire team of soldiers cloaked in black noticed me. I made a wall of fire and sprinted away, gunshots at my back. I heard gunshots as I ducked into the foliage. I heard roaring fire as I pushed through the dense trees. I heard barking and yelping as I made south for the Black River.
Ira. Ira. Please come save me. I'll never leave you again.
I heard thunder as I swam across.
I'll keep you company forever.
I heard the cries of the dying as I pushed through the woods. I heard clashing steel as I entered a clearing. I heard calls of "Help!" and "Retreat!" as I reached the foot of a rocky hill.
Just let me stay with you.
I could smell burning bodies as I reached a stream. The smell filled my throat and made me cough. I was so, so thirsty. I crawled on my belly to the stream and dipped my face in, taking in as much as I could. I lifted my head and saw, in the water, two eyes the color of sky and hair the color of sunshine.