The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (19 page)

"Ella," Miro said, his voice ragged; he knew he had little time. "You’re ill. Very ill. I need you to live. Please. I need you to live, because…" A tear fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek. "Because, without you I have no one else."

Amber spoke, "Ella. Please, listen to me. I need you to live, don’t fall from me, please, don’t push me away."

Amber broke down, crying. Ella’s eyes closed.

Layla said nothing. She reached for a mug she had prepared, an amber-coloured liquid filling it to the brim.

Little by little, Layla dripped the liquid into Ella’s mouth, moistening the parched lips, the dry throat.

She took Miro and Amber’s hands each in hers and led them from the room.

"She will sleep now, and let us hope the will to live reasserts itself. I have prepared herbs that will help her rest and recover," she handed Miro a pouch, "and other herbs that will need to be mixed with water and slowly fed to her continuously." She handed Miro a second pouch. "I’m sure you did your best, Alturan, but she has been days without food or water, and needs her body to rebuild its strength."

Layla left without another word.

"Thank you," Amber called after her.

~

I
T
was a slow and steady process but eventually Ella’s colour started to improve and her strength began to return.

Amber and Miro alternated periods of caring for her so that she could continue with her studies at the Academy and he at the Pens.

Life continued in Sarostar. The two spoke little to each other, united by their bond of caring for Ella. Occasionally Amber’s hand would brush across Miro’s, or she would catch him looking at her. But neither acknowledged any feeling for the other. Amber’s plans to marry Igor Samson progressed, while Miro sought to become the warrior he knew he could be.

Then one day Miro returned from the Pens, a nasty cut under his arm where an opponent had scored him, bruised and battered from fighting in the dust. At first he didn’t believe it, but then he was certain; he could hear voices.

Creeping forward, Miro kept as silent as he could. He climbed carefully up the stairs to the wooden porch, looking through the open window straight into Ella’s room.

Ella sat up in the bed, her face pale but otherwise looking well. Amber was telling her a funny story. Occasionally Ella smiled a little and spoke softly.

Miro’s heart leapt.

Ella looked up and met his eyes. Amber stopped and turned, her smile growing when saw Miro’s face.

"I’ll leave you now," Amber said.

She left Miro standing on the porch without saying a word. He thanked her with his eyes, entering the small house and replacing Amber at his sister’s bedside.

Not for the first time, Miro thought about his relationship with his sister. They had their own lives to lead, but they shared a bond, something that had kept them sane through the travails of their childhood.

"How are you?"

"I dreamt about you. Somehow I knew you were there with me."

"I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Ella. I’m sorry I left."

"No, don’t be sorry. I… I made some mistakes."

"We all make mistakes, and we all learn from them."

Ella looked away. There were no tears now, they had all been cried out.

"Do we really?"

"We do. We feel pain so that we learn. It’s only when we stop feeling pain that we should worry."

"Have you spoken to Amber? How does she feel, really?"

"Don’t worry, Ella. She understands. She really does."

"I didn’t want to ask, but is she going ahead with the marriage to Igor Samson?"

"She is." Miro’s expression grew pensive.

"But she’s already in love…"

"Yes, she told me."

"She told you?"

"She said she loves another, but he doesn’t love her in return."

"Oh. I see," said Ella, looking out the window.

"She wants you to stand with her at the wedding, Ella."

"Me? No. No, Miro, not that. Never."

"Ella, she’s your friend. She went to Dunholme, alone, to get a healer for you. She was almost killed by a couple of hunters who made sport with her. You know where she got that mark on her right ear? You must stand with her; it is an honour."

"No, Miro. No. How could I ever…? No."

Miro decided to leave it alone for now. "I heard you did some amazing things at the Academy. They say you’re the next High Enchantress."

"I’ll never go there again," Ella said firmly. She wouldn’t meet Miro’s eyes.

Miro sighed.

"I’m sorry, Ella. It must have been tough here. I expected to return to a warm welcome and an order for more cherl for Brandon. Instead I returned to find he was gone. And you were so sick. You terrified me, Ella. You were so fragile, like when you were younger. I never told you, but Brandon said you were sick for months after our parents died. Please, don’t do that again."

"I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry."

For a moment they sat, silent. Miro could tell Ella was drawing away, the way she sometimes did. Putting that solid wall up again, where he couldn’t get in.

"But tell me, how was the journey? What happened?" she said.

"It was… eventful." Miro remembered again the lust, the fear, the blood, and the aftermath.

"You can tell me more than that. The ship, what was it like."

Miro took a breath. "It was beautiful, the most graceful ship I have ever seen, I can honestly say that, nothing like our little river boats. The Buchalanti..."

"The Buchalanti! Are you telling me you sailed on one of their ships?"

Miro grinned. "Yes. A storm rider called the
Infinity
."

"I’m so terribly jealous! What were the Buchalanti like?"

"They were like the sea — solid, yet fluid and graceful. The men and women look a great deal alike. The Sailmaster told me…"

"You spoke with the Sailmaster!"

"Ella, please. I’m trying to tell you…"

They spoke for a long time, Miro telling Ella a more or less complete version of events, keeping it light, leaving out the darker details.

He wasn’t sure what to say about the Chorum, so he glossed over it. Yet his mind wandered, his eyes saying more than his words.

With the Emperor’s peace broken — the Primate’s protection meaningless — most of the delegations had left the city with alarming speed, seeking the safety of their own borders. With their Lexicon lost and loremaster killed, Raj Halaran had been seriously weakened.

High Lord Tessolar had offered the Halrana lords passage on the trader ship, but the proud Legasa had politely declined. Tessolar reaffirmed the Alturan commitment to the Ring Forts, while High Lord Legasa again pushed for more decisive action.

Lord Marshall Devon, the commander of Altura’s forces, had stayed in Tingara. His task was to buy the allied houses the time they needed to prepare for any coming confrontation.

"Do the men really all have their heads shaved in Seranthia?"

"Not all of them, only the loyalist Tingarans."

"But isn’t everyone in Seranthia a Tingaran?"

Miro paused, unsure of how to explain it to someone who only really knew Sarostar.

"Not really, no. There are people from all over the world, Builders from Torakon. Veznans, even many Alturans, although you wouldn’t know it to speak to them. They’ve spent so long in Seranthia even their accent has changed."

"What are they doing in Seranthia?"

Miro wondered how to explain the sheer volume of goods passing through the ports and trade routes of Seranthia, the immense wealth of the merchants. "Buying and selling goods, negotiating for services. Administering the city and the realm."

"It sounds amazing. I wish I could go there and see it for myself."

"It is amazing. It’s also sad though."

"Sad? What do you mean?"

Miro thought of the beggars and the desperate hawkers. The filthy streets and the old men and young children sleeping on the street. The streetclans whose only law was violence.

"I don’t know. I can’t really explain it."

~

A
UTUMN
slipped steadily into winter. At the Academy the centurion trees in the Great Court lost more and more of their leaves until they took on a skeletal appearance. Boaters on the Sarsen became rare as people travelled the river less — only as a means to hurriedly get from one place to another. The lights of the Crystal Palace came on earlier as nightfall moved forward in the day. The chill night air lost the heady scent of flowers and trees, becoming crisp and odourless.

~

E
LLA
was preparing a mug of cherl from the package Miro had brought earlier. She knew he would be home at any moment and wanted it to be ready for his arrival, so he could quickly wash after the day’s exertions and spend time with her talking on the porch.

Amber hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Ella lately. She still never spoke about the wedding preparations, but Ella had found out from Miro that the wedding was scheduled for the next month. Several times Ella had caught Amber about to speak, but her friend had swallowed and said nothing, instead talking about the markets, or the change of the season.

Looking out into the forest, Ella saw Miro rising up the last few steps onto the porch. He looked exhausted, covered with sweat and grime. He stopped to lean for a moment on a railing, taking a deep breath before smoothing his face and putting on a forced smile.

"Ho, Ella," he said. Sometimes she waited, but he never asked her about her day.

"Ho, Miro," she smiled.

Rather than entering the house, he stood silently for a moment on the porch, quietly regarding her.

"What is it?" she said.

Ella handed him the mug. Miro put it straight down without even realising he had done so. He just stood there, looking at her.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ella, I’ve brought someone to talk to you."

"You haven’t. Miro, what are you…"

Ella broke off when a tall, willowy figure emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, her steps stately, her manner accepting deference without question. She wasn’t old, but her age was high enough to be indeterminate. Her skin was unlined, but the penetrating grey eyes had seen much, experienced much.

The woman wore a shimmering green silk dress with a hood over her hair. The fabric was covered with arcane symbols, so tiny they were almost indistinguishable from one another. The matrices were the most complex Ella had ever seen. The runes glowed softly silver, giving the woman an ethereal, ghostly presence.

As the woman stepped from the shadows she pulled back her hood. Long silver hair spilled down to her waist like flowing water, straight and lustrous.

Ella gasped. There was only one person this could be. She had never met her, never seen her, had only heard her name discussed in hushed tones. Even the masters altered their voices when they said her name, as it to say it in a rough tone would indicate disrespect.

"High Enchantress Evora Guinestor," Ella breathed. She dropped to one knee and touched her lips with her finger tips, resting them there for a full breath, before touching them again to her forehead.

"Rise, child," said the woman with gravity.

Ella slowly stood. The High Enchantress looked carefully about. Miro deferentially offered her a chair. She sat, the folds of her dress flowing to the floor, her hands in her lap.

"I will leave you," Miro said. With a final glance he turned away, slipping into darkness.

"You have not been attending your classes, Ella," the regal figure spoke, her voice precise.

Ella said nothing. She didn’t know what to say.

"Do you think you have learned all the Academy has to teach you? You are skilled enough, is that it?"

Sitting here, looking at this woman, whose dress bore more skill than Ella believed possible, she felt nothing but shame.

"No, no, High Enchantress. Nothing like that."

"Knowledge is dangerous, Ella. I think you, more than anyone, should be aware of this. The knowledge you possess now, is dangerous. You are an incomplete instrument. Is that the way you wish to be?"

"No, High Enchantress."

High Enchantress Evora shook her head. "You are too proud, Ella. It was your pride that led you to do that foolish thing. It is your pride that is preventing you from returning to face the people you hurt, to show yourself to the world and acknowledge ‘Yes, I did this thing. It was foolish. I am sorry.’"

"No, that’s not it. I made such a terrible mistake, I hurt everyone. How can I continue to live the same life? My presence alone must be a pain to everyone."

"That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what lets you keep hurting yourself, and hurting the people around you. It is not true. If you look deep into your heart, truly look, you will see that it is pride." The woman’s glare was like a razor. "Yes, pride. Your pride. I’ve been watching you, Ella. You are the young woman who stood in front of the final year’s lore students, the brightest young minds in Altura, and showed them that you were the best of them all. You are the young woman who has the most potential I have ever seen. A little pride is deserved?"

Ella blushed, caught somewhere between pleasure and shame.

"Yet you sit out here on the edge of Sarostar in self-imposed exile. Why? Pride. Your house needs good enchanters, the best enchanters, but you don’t want to help your house. Your brother needs you — people need someone to lean on themselves sometimes — but you don’t want to help him."

Ella hated this. It made her sound so selfish. She just wanted the berating to end.

"Is something I am saying incorrect? I don’t believe anything I am saying is untrue — do you?"

"Please, don’t make me go back there," Ella sobbed.

"Make you? Girl, we have better things to do than force students to learn what we have to teach. The life of an enchantress is a life of discipline. You have one final chance. The Academy leaders will allow you one more opportunity to join your fellows, finish your studies, and graduate in a month along with the rest of your peers. I think you have been punished enough. You have learned the dangers of essence, better than anyone I would say. You still have a chance to learn the joys of real enchantment. Of creation. Do you want that chance?"