Equimancer's Realm

  “You’re very cynical for a Gundian,” Nessa huffed.

  “No, I’m being realistic. So all these poor, noble girls are starving for attention… and other things. And I won’t lie to you – mostly because that’s one thing I can’t do – I’m happy to serve in any way I can,” he laughed.

  “Pffft.”

  “Oh come on. There’s no harm in it. It’s not as if I need to worry that one of them shows up with a big belly in a few months – for that is another thing I can’t do.”

  “They don’t know that!”

  “Oh please, darling Nessa. Are you really so worried about the monthly worries of the likes of Fabienne?”

  “Hmmm,” he had a point there.

  “Besides, as a country boy I’m a curiosity. All the noble Ladies who have never seen a cow in their whole lives, and would get a hernia if they got mud on their shoes, have a certain idea about the likes of me. They imagine me coming in from the fields… the rippling muscles of my naked upper body glinting with sweat as I make my way towards the next haystack…”

  “Stop putting images in my mind, you big-headed oaf,” Nessa screeched.

  “Aaaah, too late,” Gregorius laughed.

  “Why are men such horrible creatures?” she shook her head.

  “I don’t know my dear, must be a part of the Creator’s Grand Plan. But the sooner you accept the fact that we are, the easier you make it on yourself.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I’m sure it will get better, I just have to get these things out of my system – we all do,” he winked at her.

  “Right. It’s my eighteenth birthday today. I guess you know what this means,” he said, stood up and took Nessa’s hand to pull her to her feet.

  “The Pledge of Identity Ceremony,” Nessa replied, trying to collect herself.

  “That’s right. Would Your Majesty honour me by being my Witness?”

  “Me? Of course. When do we have to be at the City Hall? When do we meet the other guests?” she asked, visibly touched.

  “We have to be there at four, so you have almost an hour to get ready. I went back home during the Academy Spring Break and my family had a big celebration for me, so they won’t be coming, and I didn’t want to invite anybody else. You’re the only one I need there,” he smiled at her warmly.

  Nessa was speechless. The Ceremony equalled a wedding in importance.

  “May I suggest you wear your short-sleeved lacy ecru summer dress?”

  “Ecru?”

  “You know; the shade between off-white and ivory. You have a matching parasol to go with it.”

  “You mean the white one? Boy, you must have quite a colour chart in your head. I’m not surprised that poor Adoryan Peacock thinks that he has a chance with you,” Nessa grinned.

  “As I keep telling you; Gundian here, the admirer of Ladies and style. Now, chop, chop, you only have fifty-seven minutes left,” he clapped his hand.

  An hour and ten minutes later Nessa met up with Gregorius in front of the Academy.

  “I couldn’t get my hair right, sorry,” she panted.

  “Never mind, dear, I didn’t expect you to be on time,” he grinned at her, and offered his arm.

  “May we, Your Majesty?” he asked and they set off. He looked extremely elegant in his perfectly tailored summer-coat. Nessa felt like they were going to their wedding. The wedding they’d never have.

  “Which room did you book?” she asked him when they had arrived at the City Hall.

  “The smallest one for all the Billy-no-mates.”

  They entered the tiny room where a Ceremony Master and a scribe greeted them.

  “I’m ready when you are, Master,” Gregorius said, stepping up to the table, and taking a seat in the Pledge Chair.

  “Dear guests… guest and Witness. We are here today to celebrate the Pledger stepping over the threshold of adulthood, and to hear his Declaration of Identity.

  Pledger, please imbibe the contents of the Flask of Clarity.

  Lean back, close your eyes and await the Colour.”

  Gregorius did as he was told. Naturally, for Apts it was an entirely superfluous ritual, as they all knew their Colour, in most cases both their Colours. Gregorius was an Earth-Water-Apt, represented by yellow and blue.

  He could feel the draught making him a little light-headed. Then, behind his closed lids a bright yellowish-green light flashed up.

  ‘Unsurprisingly it’s green,’ he projected to Nessa.

  ‘Not something you can tell these Nonapts,’ she replied with a smile.

  “Pledger, please open your eyes, stand up and tell us your Colour,” the Ceremony Master said.

  “Yellow,” Gregorius announced. In a way he was telling the truth; his Earth was stronger than his Water. The scribe scribbled into the massive, leather-bound Book of Identity.

  “Pledger, please make your Declaration,” the Ceremony Master asked.

  Gregorius cleared his throat.

  “I am a Child of Earth.

  I am a Son of the Lover.

  I am a Member of the Academy.”

  He smiled at Nessa. She had never felt prouder about her decision to become an Equimancer. She smiled back and tried to stop herself from welling up.

  “Congratulations, Pledger. Please proceed to the Book of Identity with your Witness and sign it.”

  Gregorius and Nessa scribbled their names in the Book.

  “Make your choice of beverage, so you and your guest and Witness can drink to your health, Brother Gregorius,” the Ceremony Master said.

  “Roditeean Sparkle please. And have four glasses fetched, not two.”

  Both the Master and the scribe gasped and then broke out in happy smiles. It was always rewarding to attend new Academy Members’ ceremonies.

  “Where are you going?” Nessa asked Gregorius after they had left the miniscule Ceremony Hall.

  “The Inkmaster’s room is over there,” she pointed in the opposite direction of the City Halls entrance.

  “I’m not going to an Inkmaster, I’m having my Throatmark done by an Inkartist,” he replied.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little pain. Real men go to Inkmasters,” she snorted.

  “Well, I’m secure enough in my manliness to choose the painless option. Besides, I refuse to bleed from my throat for a week. My shark is temperamental enough; I don’t need to encourage her to see me as her dinner.”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  “If you want to see me in pain so badly, just let’s get it over and done with and kick me in the groin,” he snapped at her.

  “Let’s just go,” she rolled her eyes at him. She couldn’t deny it; she was excited. There were only a few Inkartists in the whole of the Realm, and without exception they were all Roditeeans. Nessa had heard so much about Roditee that she couldn’t wait to meet one of the citizens of the apparently most beautiful continent in the World.

  They took a city barge to the Cadentian District, and spent the time with their usual chatter.

  “Have you ever met people who bound each other?” Nessa asked.

  “No, mostly because it’s impossible to meet any of those people in the Hidden City. The Structure would negate it as soon as they stepped inside,” Gregorius said after a few seconds of tutting.

  “Oh, I see. Why?”

  “To release them from a very harmful influence. I see you have been perusing the books of the Library. Did you read the entire book about Binding Rituals?” he cocked an eyebrow at her. She shook her head.

  “Well, I have. It’s said that it was written by King Keselyo’s mother, who was apparently a Sarean Royal who fled to the Realm before her relatives could kill her. The Realm Guard found the book in Empress Vultona’s palace after her arrest and thankfully the Academy could get hold of it.”

  “You’ve only read it because it’s about sexual rituals,” Nessa rolled her eyes at Gregorius. He shrugged.

  “I won’t deny it; the book does have some erot
ic content that appealed to me. Nevertheless, even the writer admitted that she would be hesitant to perform the Ritual on anybody who wasn’t fully committed to her in the first place.

  She had written that a Ritual should only take place between an Apt and a Nonapt, with the knowledge and the consent of the person who was about to be bound. She also very strongly advised against binding another Apt. Apparently, it enslaves both the bound, and the binder. While it creates a deep connection, after a while the bound Apts grow to resent and to hate each other, being forced to do things that they might not agree with just to please the other one.”

  “Damn,” Nessa giggled.

  “Bad girl! That’s us. Let’s hop off,” Gregorius jumped off the barge and extended a hand to help Nessa onto the dock.

  After a short walk he stopped in front of a small shop that was even more decadent than the rest of the Cadentian district.

  An intricately designed sign hung in its window.

  Mezer Inkartiste Zizou am’Chably’s Salonne

  The moste beautificatious, paineless, bloodeless

  Throatmarkes for the Créme of the Islande

  “They really do misspell everything,” Nessa giggled.

  “No, my dear, they don’t misspell; they embellish all the words they want to look and sound nicer. Probably the main reason why spelling and pronunciation are not parts of Roditeean grammar,” he smiled and opened the door for her.

  For a second they both feared they had come to the wrong place, for the shop looked like an exclusive Roditeean joyhouse. Or what they thought such a place would look like. Plush red carpets and curtains, gilded mirrors and chandeliers, loveseats with a multitude of tasselled cushions.

  An impossibly beautiful girl appeared from behind a curtain.

  “Greetingz. Mezer Oxenhorn for ze six o’clocke appointemente?” she beamed at them.

  Gregorius nodded enthusiastically.

  “Can I come in and watch, please?” Nessa asked.

  “Noooooo, Memzell. This iz not a circusse, it’z a place of work,” a male voice shouted from behind the curtain.

  “Pleaze Memzell, take a seat and feel free to entertaine yourzelf with our beautificious bookz of wonderfulle Roditee,” the girl smiled at Nessa apologetically.

  Gregorius stepped into the adjoining room. He was greeted by a rather huge man dressed in a kaftan and sporting an outrageous wig, as well as the heaviest make-up he had ever seen. His light yellow Crown sparkled. He pointed at a recliner and clicked his finger at the harpist in the corner.

  “Musica,” he snapped at the musician, who started to work the strings immediately.

  “Trance?” asked the pretty girl with the rose-coloured Crown. Apparently she was the assistant of Mezer Zizou.

  “Zilly girl! Can’t you see ‘e’z an Apt? Why would ‘e need trance? ‘e knowz I won’t touch ‘im. Concentrate. I won’t ‘ave any flirtacion while I work,” he snapped at her.

  He pulled his stool close to the recliner.

  “Inked sponge,” he barked at his assistant.

  “Wait,” Gregorius said, earning himself a stern look.

  “What for, Mezer?”

  “You haven’t asked me what kind of Throatmark I want… Mezer Inkartist,” Gregorius muttered.

  “Pah. You are an Apt who walks around freely in the Capital. You are apparently an Equimancé of the Realm, so you want the inner part a circle cut into twelve equalle partz. Your Corona is yellowish greene, so you are obviouzly a primary Earth, so I shall make it a circle to reprezent that our Earth is a disc. Iz that right now, Mezer?” he sniffed.

  “Yes, thank you. Except that the outer circle represents that our Earth is round, but not like a disc. Like a ball,” Gregorius nodded.

  “Utter rubbish! Why would anybody think that? Where is the proof for that?” the Inkartist felt so strongly about the topic that he forgot to embellish his words.

  “Once somebody manages to circumnavigate the globe, we will have proof. It is said that once we can break through the Fog of Gods, it will be possible to sail west from Roditee on the Sea of Fog and end up on the eastern coast of Sarea.”

  “Sacred Bull! Only people who have never seen the Fog of Gods can say such idiotic things. I have seen it, I’ve been there. You cannot break through it. You know why not? Because it’s the edge of the World. West of Roditee, north of Kronuria, east of Sarea and south of Ermelia and Euposia. I will have to charge you extra for both wasting my time, and talking sacrilege. I changed my mind. Julienne, trance!”

  Gregorius was about to reply, but he was hit by the white and red rays radiating from the sweetly smiling assistant’s mind.

  “That was quite an experience. Did it hurt?” Nessa asked an hour later when they walked far enough from the shop.

  “Only intellectually. Good job the Mezer wasn’t around when I woke,” Gregorius fumed.

  “You do know that any Earth-Apt in the Hidden City could have done your Throatmark for free… Though I must admit, it’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

  “Doesn’t the Academy encourage us to spend money on frivolities? I wanted the Roditeean experience, and now I’ve got it,” he grinned.

  “Sweeping the floor with your tongue at the sight of the assistant; was that the Roditeean experience?”

  “Meh. Was worth it.”

  “What now?”

  “We can decide on that later, but first we need to swing by the Hidden City. The First Servant himself asked me to be on the Main Square at eight. So we better hurry.”

  When they arrived, it seemed that every single Equimancer of the Realm had gathered. Andarian stood at the hovering circle in the middle of the Square, but he didn’t show any sign that he intended to step on it.

  “What the…” was the only thing that Gregorius could utter before a beaming Tarilla grabbed his arm and dragged him towards Andarian.

  ‘You’ll know what to do,’ she projected to him. He had his doubts.

  Andarian raised his hand as soon as Gregorius stood next to him.

  Everybody went silent.

  “My beloved Sisters and Brothers. We are here today to greet the newest Equimancer of the Realm. Adept Gregorius, please step on the disc and let us hear your Pledge,” Andarian said.

  Gregorius did as he was told. The disc floated up a few feet.

  He looked at the gathered masses.

  He felt thoughts and feelings radiating towards him. He felt a lump in his throat, but suddenly he did know what to do and spoke.

  “I am a Child of Earth and Water.

  I am the Son of the Creator and all the Gods and Goddesses.

  I am an Equimancer.”

  The silence was interrupted by the cheers and whoops of the thousands of spectators in the Square. He stepped off the disc. Andarian turned to him.

  “Congratulations, Brother Gregorius. Let me present you with the key to your new house,” he said and pushed an immense golden key into his hands.

  “Thank you, First Servant. Which house does it open?”

  “Well, none of them really. There are several reasons for that, the main one being that none of the houses of the Hidden City are equipped with a lock. You may pick any of the uninhabited ones. Fortunately, there are empty houses around all the Parks of the Seasons. I’ll need the key back though; we only have one,” Andarian smiled.

  “Before we start celebrating, there’s only one thing left to do. Empty our glasses of the personalised beverage that our beloved Elated Xinia prepares for all our new Equimancers. Everybody pick up the glasses from the tables of the inns. What is it this time, dear?” Andarian looked at the beaming Elated.

  “Honeydew melon for yellow and blueberry for blue,” she replied.

  “That is a much better choice than the sweet-corn and plum sparkle we had last time we had an Earth-Water Apt’s ceremony,” he smiled with relief.

  Gregorius was kissed, hugged, squeezed and had his shoulders slapped what felt like a thousand times. When he m
anaged to breathe again, he found Nessa standing in front of him.

  “You knew about this,” he squinted at her.

  “Of course I did. Took all my Air-Aptness to hide this bit of information. And this one,” she held up a basket.

  Gregorius opened the lid and got a lick on his face from a little pug.

  “I found him weeks ago half-starved in the streets of Realm’s Heart. I noticed a while ago what you’re like around dogs. I thought you might want one for your new house,” she said.

  Gregorius pulled her into a hug with one arm, with the other he wiped his eyes.

  “I’ll call him Nessy,” he said.

  “Isn’t that a bit girly for a boy?”

  “He will learn to live with it. Right. I think the rest of the night is sorted. Let’s go house-hunting.”

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  ‘It is done,’ Vipra said to herself for what must have been the hundredth time.

  She leant back in the pool of steaming, jasmine scented water, and closed her eyes.

  Her whole body was still screaming with pain and tiredness that the discomforts of the last months had caused her, but it didn’t matter.

  “We have done it,” she whispered, still incredulous.

  All the Tombs had been defeated.

  Patriarch Zarkan was on the run.

  The remaining shamans of the Bone Temple had revolted against him.

  Many had followed him to exile, but the rest had pledged fealty to her.

  The opposing Matriarchs were either dead or had accepted her as the ruler.

  She was now the Matriarch of the whole of Areshadia.

  The war was over; there would be peace at last.

  But winning this war was only the first step.

  There was so much more to do.

  ‘Bi min no. No ummigrumt,’ she thought. But not today. Today we celebrate.

  A balmy breeze rippled the silken curtains.

  She could hear the noises coming from outside; shouts and cheers of the victorious warriors and the masses who welcomed them back, horses being led to their stables, the sound of South Sarean siege weapons being pulled over the cobbled ground. Siege weapons that helped them win this war, but would be obsolete from now on, for they had no use in modern warfare; trebuchets, mangonels, catapults and battering rams.