I didn’t actually anticipate needing to fill those barracks with soldiers, but if I had to shelter the people of the county again there would be plenty of space for the farmers and their families to stay. I should probably consider having a second well dug to provide easier access to fresh water, I thought.
My steps took me beyond the walls and down the road toward the valley. I followed it for several hundred yards before I turned aside and headed into the trees that flanked the road on either side. I kept going till I found a comfortable looking spot to sit beside a large oak and there I settled myself, leaning my back against the massive trunk.
Closing my eyes I began slowly clearing my mind. My mage-sight had already made sure the surrounding area was clear of people so I felt secure in my privacy. A more careful scrutiny reassured me that there were no ‘empty-places’ that might indicate shiggreth nearby. I had not forgotten them despite the fact that they had remained in hiding since their attack on the village before the war.
Listening I focused my attention on the deep and steady thrumming of what I thought of as the heart of the earth. My awareness of my own body slipped away and was replaced by a more acute awareness of the ground beneath me, the feeling of the stone and dirt that stretched away for miles in every direction. As my connection to the earth grew firm I cast my ‘voice’ outward, calling her name, Moira.
I had never tried to contact her before so I wasn’t entirely sure it would work. At first I felt nothing in response to my call but after an unknown period of time I felt… something, a more focused intelligence, approaching. Power moved in the earth around me and I felt the ground rise up slowly in front of where I sat, flowing and forming the shape of a woman.
“You called me,” she said quietly. The sound of a purely physical voice surprised me and I opened my eyes to see her standing next to me. As before, she had taken the form of a human woman, perfect in every detail, except for the small fact of being made of earth and stone. Even her voice sounded almost normal, though it had a certain dry quality to it.
“You can speak,” I said. I was mildly surprised, in the past she had spoken to me only in my mind.
“Why would you think otherwise?” she asked, though her face betrayed no visible emotion or curiosity.
“I assumed you could only speak to me directly, mind to mind. If you could talk like this you should have been able to talk to me even after I formed the bond with Penny,” I told her.
“You are laboring under several misconceptions. I can only speak, move, or indeed act at all because you are not bound,” she replied.
That made no sense to me. “The bond only interfered with my ability to communicate directly with my mind, how would that affect your ability to speak?”
“Who do you think you are talking to?” she asked.
I sincerely hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of answering my questions with questions, but with a sigh I answered anyway, “Moira Centyr... or have you changed names?”
“That is probably the best name to use, but it is not strictly correct,” she said with an infuriatingly calm demeanor.
“Listen, I’m not really in the mood for this, if you aren’t Moira Centyr then tell me who I am talking to. I’d rather not spend all day playing word games,” I said impatiently.
“If I were still alive I’d have you punished for such impertinence,” she answered with a faint hint of a smile. “In one sense I am the earth, in another I am a remnant of Moira Centyr, and in the most important sense I am you.”
“Well that really clears things up,” I said sarcastically. I should have expected an answer like that; magical beings never seem to have straight forward answers. I got my frustration under control and decided to tackle the subject systematically. “Let’s start with the first thing you said, ‘if I were still alive’, I thought you were still alive. Did you die after you joined with the earth and defeated Balinthor?”
“The problem is really created by trying to force reality to fit into the form of language. Moira Centyr did not die, she changed, became something else… a part of the earth itself. From a human perspective, and in most ways that matter to humans, she died. I am what she left behind, an impression of her knowledge, an imprint of who she was, preserved within the earth… an echo of her mind.”
I had a sinking feeling this was going to be a long introduction. I tried again, “So you’re sort of a ghost?”
“No, I am her knowledge, preserved within the earth,” she replied.
Same difference, I thought, but I didn’t voice my opinion. “It sounds as if the distinction is mostly academic. Rather than split hairs over the details how about we just call you ‘Moira’ for simplicity’s sake,” I suggested. “Let’s return to the original question, why couldn’t you speak to me like this while I was bound to Penny?”
“Because I am not Moira Centyr, I am a memory. I have no volition, no will or motivating self beyond that which you provide. That is why I said that I am you in one sense.”
Understanding was beginning to dawn, but I still wasn’t clear on everything yet, “then why did you answer when I called you by that name… Moira.”
“I answered because you called. Your will, your desire, your motivation compel me to act, to respond. You provide the volition that creates this semblance of who Moira Centyr was, without your living will I am no more alive than the ground beneath your feet. I am a memory, given life and substance by your connection to the earth and your desire for answers.”
I understood now but I was feeling argumentative, “The ground beneath my feet is alive. I’ve learned that much already.”
She smiled then, flashing teeth like white pebbles, “That is true also, but the ground beneath your feet has no desire to speak or debate topics of human knowledge. It was given this knowledge by Moira Centyr and it acquires the desire to speak from your own living will.”
“So I really am speaking to the earth.”
“I am the earth, but I am not its voice… I am an echo of a woman who has passed beyond the knowledge of how to be human,” she said. It might have been my imagination, but I almost heard a hint of wistfulness in her voice as she said it. I felt intuitively that her words were true, but I doubted they were the final truth.
A question popped into my mind suddenly. “Are there others?”
“Others?”
“Other impressions, memories left behind by previous archmages, like you...,” I clarified.
“Not that I am aware of,” she answered simply.
The answer disappointed me and left me more curious, “Why not? Are you the only archmage to have... er... been lost… or joined with the earth?”
“No, when I was alive I was taught that several had been lost in this way before.”
“So why do you exist?” As the question left my mouth it occurred to me that it was a deep question that could just as easily be applied to myself.
“I was created to guard and preserve certain things, the Centyr family has always had a peculiar talent not found in the other great lineages.” she said. Her voice had an almost hesitant tone to it, as if she answered reluctantly.
Of course that begged the question, “Such as?”
Her blue eyes bore into mine, “What you see before you… I am a ‘splinter’ of the original Moira Centyr, a weakened copy if you will.”
The idea intrigued me, “This was something unique to your family? Were all of the Centyr mages able to do this?”
“The ability to create a living body is something only an archmage could manage and there have been few of those among my ancestors. However Centyr wizards were frequently able to create semi-sentient enchantments of objects to contain knowledge… I am merely the extreme extension of that ability. As far as I know I am the only example of… whatever it is you would label me,” she gestured to her body as she finished.
“And what was your creator’s intention when she made you?”
“The preservation of knowledge, to help yo
u... Although I have no will or power to act remaining to me I can teach you what I knew, if you desire my wisdom. And…,” she began to say something else but stopped.
“What?” I prodded.
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing, what else is there?”
“I am not ready to share everything yet, not until I know your purposes better… not until I am sure you can survive,” she stated bluntly.
“I thought you acted according to my will,” I inquired, “How can a simulacrum be stubborn… or cautious?”
“Some things we are driven to protect so strongly that the desire can survive even this…,” she gestured at her earthen form, sweeping her arms delicately downward.
I had the feeling I wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to pry an answer from her at this point so I mentally shelved the question for later. A larger question loomed before me, “You said others had been ‘lost’ like you were… how did you wind up like this? More importantly could this happen to me?”
She smiled again, “A good question… and part of the reason I was created. It involves the fundamental difference between wizardry and what an archmage does. A mage uses his own power to effect change in the world around him, just as a normal man might use the strength of his arm and an axe to fell a tree. A mage wields his power and causes things to happen, in contrast, an archmage listens to the world.”
“That doesn’t sound very useful, or powerful. The histories say you defeated a dark god, surely you didn’t do that by ‘listening’,” I insisted.
“Correct, I didn’t crush Balinthor by just listening, and that is why I became as I am now. I sought power beyond human comprehension, the power of the earth entire, and I gained it,” she stopped there.
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
She stared intently at me and I found myself fascinated with the light glinting from the deep sapphires that served as her ‘eyes’. Finally she opened her mouth to speak again, “An archmage does not wield power, Mordecai. An archmage becomes that which they seek to wield.”
Chapter 5
Moira Centyr, or rather the creature I called Moira, watched me for a long moment, waiting for her words to sink in. I blinked several times as my own experiences over the past year shifted within my mind, reorganizing in light of what she had just told me. Several things clicked into place as I looked back, and my memory of the voice of the wind and the sensation I had had… of losing my ‘self’… stood out clearly in my mind.
Just a few days ago I had nearly taken to the skies… just to track a man a few miles further than my regular senses would follow. What if I hadn’t come back? What if Ariadne hadn’t gotten my attention? Would I have become a zephyr? A part of the wind… lost forever between the clouds, with no memory of my prior life? The implications were startling.
“Could that happen with the wind?” I asked her suddenly.
“An archmage can become anything,” she replied, “It is both a blessing and a curse… a strength and a weakness.”
“I think it nearly happened to me the other day,” I added.
“I am not surprised,” she said.
“Why?”
“You are particularly sensitive, in my time you would have been guarded carefully by a meillte,” she said. The word meillte was familiar to me already, it being the Lycian word for ‘watcher’.
“What did these ‘meillte’ do?” I asked.
“Their job was to make sure an archmage did not go too far. Most of them were mages of limited ability. If the one they were watching became lost they could speak to them directly, mind to mind, to try and draw them back to the world of men,” she explained.
“Did you have watchers? And if so… why didn’t they bring you back?” Even before I said it I wondered if the question might be too sensitive, but I had to ask anyway.
“I did, but some things cannot be undone. I knew the price and I made my choice, which is why I tried to preserve my knowledge for the future, before I lost myself.” She answered plainly, and if the question bothered her she gave no sign of it.
“You say I am ‘sensitive’, what does that have to do with it?”
“Everything… sensitivity is the way we used to look for possible talents in this regard. In general, once a young mage first showed his power he would be watched carefully. After a year we would test his sensitivity, primarily by checking the range of his mage-sight,” Moira said.
“Does that range or sensitivity give an indication of a mage’s power?”
“Not really. Many powerful wizards were too lacking in sensitivity to become archmages… most of them in fact. Conversely, some archmages were fairly mediocre in terms of pure wizardry. I myself was only considered a ‘moderate’ when my personal power was tested, but my sensitivity was very high. I was closely watched from the time my power first manifested until the time I chose to surrender my life in the attempt to stop Balinthor.” She said this with a certain amount of pride.
Needless to say the conversation had taken a fascinating turn for me. I had read about things such as ‘emittance’ and ‘capacitance’ being used to characterize the differences between wizards and channelers, stoics and prophets… but what Moira was discussing was more particular to my own situation. “How did you measure sensitivity?” I asked her directly.
“The most common test was to see how far away a mage could sense a particular object or person. Anything over five hundred yards was considered ‘very sensitive’. Individuals that tested in that range would be watched carefully to make sure they did no harm to themselves before they could learn to control their abilities. Those judged to be extremely sensitive would be watched throughout their lives… to ensure their own safety.”
“Was that really for their safety, or the safety of others?” I questioned pointedly. I was a bit sore on the topic of not being trusted purely because of one’s magical ability.
“For their own safety… most archmages that go too far do not endanger anyone, they merely lose themselves.”
“What is that like?”
The elemental being stared into me with penetrating eyes, “I was created before my namesake joined the earth completely, so I don’t know, but I have her memories of near ‘misses’ during her life before that day. Becoming something like the earth, or the wind, is too far beyond human experience for it to make sense anyway. Everything you know, everything you are, would be erased, replaced by a vast uncaring reality. There would be no ‘memory’ of such a thing; memory itself ceases to have meaning when discussing something such as the ‘earth’ or ‘wind’.”
“This ability sounds almost useless,” I commented.
“That is because we have only discussed the dangers. There are many advantages you have not discovered yet,” she informed me.
“And what are those?”
“Before we get that far… you’ll need to share some information with me. How far away can you sense a specific individual?” As she asked I could feel the focus of her beautiful gem-like eyes boring into my own. She seemed particularly intent on this question.
“How far were you able to sense a person?” I retorted.
“Nearly a thousand yards,” she replied instantly. “Don’t avoid the question. I need to know, to assess what you will be capable of learning.”
“Fine,” I replied. “I can sense a specific person out to a distance of a little over half a mile, probably over eight or nine hundred yards,” I lied. The truth was I could sense someone at twice that distance, now that the bond had been broken. I wasn’t sure what that might mean in terms of my abilities, but I wasn’t about to give the information away without being sure of the motives of the person that wanted to know.
“I suspected as much. Even in my day that was exceptional, especially for an Illeniel,” she remarked.
That smacked of an insult. “What does that mean?” I demanded.
She laughed. “Despite their historical honor as the first ‘great’ l
ine of wizards the Illeniels did not produce many archmages. The Illeniel lineage was renowned for producing powerful wizards but not many of them were exceptional in terms of sensitivity.
Our conversation had begun to fill me with a frustrated energy. To work some of it off I stood and began to pace, hoping to relax my body. I was relieved to finally be getting some answers, but I wasn’t sure I liked what they implied. Finally I spoke again, “I still don’t really understand why ‘sensitivity’ is important for archmages.”
She walked beside me as she answered, “It isn’t important Mordecai. It is everything. An archmage listens and by listening he understands. Through understanding he becomes. The ‘ears’ that you use to listen are a byproduct of wizardry. The same sense that allows you to perceive magic allows you to listen to the world itself… to become the world itself. Does that make it clearer?”
“Yes, but this power sounds too dangerous to use.”
“That is because I have been telling you of the most dangerous uses. An archmage can listen to many less dangerous things, things more similar to his own, human nature. He can also listen in a more limited manner. Power can be gained without passing the threshold. You have caused the earth to shake several times already haven’t you? Yet you retained your humanity.” She stopped and reached down, into the earth beneath our feet and when she straightened up again she held a dense glassy stone in her hand. “Here take this,” she said, handing it to me.
“What is this for?” I asked in surprise.
“A lesson,” she replied. “Do exactly as I say and perhaps you will understand better. Crush the stone with your hand.” I gave her an odd look but decided to humor her. With a word I encased the stone in my hand with a shield of invisible force and then I began to contract it as I squeezed with my hand. She put her hand on my arm before I could accomplish her request. “Stop,” she told me.