Here it goes again. Once more, I apologize for the length of time between this chapter and the last one. But school has been astronomically time-consuming this semester. You all know the drill-this story is copyrighted, is fictional, etc. Thank you to everyone who wrote to me. I have been amazed at how many people like this story and thank you all for the constant e-mail. Once more, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, please e-mail or IM Faradhi269@aol.com.
Neriam watched Alsuin leave, tears in his eyes. He dressed slowly and left the bathhouse, wandering aimlessly through the shockingly straight streets. Off to his right, one or two blocks over, he heard the sound of a large crowd and on a whim, decided to see what was going on. As he got closer, the sound of the crowd turned angry. He picked up speed, wanting to get there quickly and see what suddenly happened. Before him, many shopkeepers were loudly bolstering their doors and windows closed as an old man in dingy blue-gray robes walked by, seemingly unconcerned about the ever-growing angry mob behind him.
Then a child, prompted perhaps by an older sibling or friend shouted out "Ghul," and threw an apple at the man, striking him in the square of the back. The man waved a hand negligently and continued moving on. At that, the flood damn broke and showers of rotten fruit, eggs and even rocks were hurled at him. Neriam noticed in amazement that none of the barrage hit their target, all striking harmlessly off a barrier that Neriam thought he saw just flickering at the edges of his vision. He rushed forward to figure out what was going on. As he approached, he saw that the old man's eyes were covered by a milky film and he had a small half-smile on his lined face. His long white hair was surprisingly clean and his steps didn't falter as he walked, unerringly towards Neriam.
Neriam stopped in his tracks. "Come now, my boy," the wizened old man said amiably. "Help an old man through this lovely city. What say you, eh?" His voice was kind and he lay a calloused hand on Neriam's shoulder.
"B-but," Neriam stuttered in amazement.
"Oh, don't you worry about them," the man said. "They won't hurt me. Or you either. Come, I would like to speak with you." Feeling his feet turn to match his stride to the old man's of their own will, Neriam shrugged. "Why not?"
"The old man smiled. I am Opius, a servant of Magius, the Lord of Spells."
"A servant of the god of magic?"
"Yes. I am his priest." Opius grinned an amazingly young smile on his aged face. "His high priest, actually. Which is rather astounding, as I have been unable to see for the past decade or so."
"But priests can heal. Why has your blindness not been cured?"
"My Lord asked it of me as a test of faith. He said that a moment would come when I would look into his face, but until then, I will walk in darkness. I am used to it by now, and my magic aids me."
"Magic..."
"You have questions, my son? So rare in these lands to find any curious about magic."
"Well...I was wondering, erm...why did that boy call you a Ghul? What is a Ghul?"
"This world of ours is a large one, my boy, and many continents of peoples exist upon it, though we know little of them. Our continent we have divided amongst many peoples: the Elflands house the Elves, of curse, as the Dwarflands do the Dwarves. We humans and our half-sized companions live in the Good Land, where you are now, Melkor, which lies in the center of the continent between the Mountains and the Great River, and the Tundra where the barbarians roam. If you've ever seen a map, you now that to the North of the Good Land lie a pair of smaller islands that we call the Twins."
"Yes, I remember."
"Those islands are sacred. It is on the smaller of the two islands that the gods meet in person on this world to discuss its creation and to argue their disputes. No mortal has ever been to the smaller of the islands of the Twins and returned. The people on the other island are reputed to be the most beautiful people that live, with the blood of celestial beings flowing through their veins. They are reputed to live with unicorns, pegasi, coatl and other creatures of extraordinary beauty and magic."
"Wait a minute! They have celestial blood? What do you mean? What is celestial blood? They have the blood of the gods," he asked in amazement. "No, my boy. No one has the blood of the gods. The gods have many spirits of greater and lesser power that serve them. In some lands they are called angels or aasimar. These are the immortal servants of the gods, whose power exceeds ours by far, yet is not godly. It is those beings who once intermingled with humans who lived on the large island. And those people migrated to the Good Land. It is the reason why those two lands are always at peace with each other and why, on this continent, at least, the people of the Good Land are the most beautiful physically of any other race."
"That explains why Alsuin..."
"You have a friend from here?" Before getting a response from Neriam, he continued. "Alsuin...I have heard that name before. Is he a young nobleman?"
"Yes. But, we, well, we had a fight."
"Really? What of," asked Opius kindly.
"You were telling me about the Ghuls," he interjected.
"Ah," the old man agreed with aplomb. "How forgetful of me. Well, there is another land in which people live. It is the land known as Terra del Ghul. Once, it was a land much like the Twins, and the people there were blessed by Lord Magius with strong magic. Their island was a haven for the Art. But they began to dabble in the darker arts, turning to necromancy and the summoning of demons.
"Several thousand years ago the inhabitants of the island, now bolstered with terrible Necromantic power and the blood of demons flowing through THEIR veins assaulted the rest of the continent. None but the Elves could ever match the Ghuls in magical power, but all the people united, and armies of monsters and the walking dead roamed the lands.
"So much magical power flowed through the land that mountains were raised and lands sunk beneath the seas. After about two decades, the power of the Ghuls was beaten back. But the mages of the continent were destroyed, and much of their power with them. Occasionally, some were born with some magical talent, but it usually faded in time, and for those who kept it, it was often beyond their control. Without teachers, they could not learn the necessary control. Magic has almost ceased to exist from our world."
"But I've heard the Elves have magic. Why didn't they teach these people?"
"The Elves left the non-Elven races to their own devices after the war, although they are the first watch against the possible threat of Terra del Ghul. For magic only grew in strength there, as the blood of demons strengthened their magics."
"But...why did they call you a Ghul," Neriam inquired.
"In this land, the people worship Amarah, or Namarah as she is sometimes called, almost exclusively. The other gods are acknowledged, but Magius is feared more than Borator, god of disease, and Kardoch, god of chaos, combined. People consider him to be the god of Terra del Ghul, and though he is, he does not show favoritism to them any longer. Not since their invasion. And as I am a priest of Magius, people felt I was one of them. The people of Terra del Ghul-the land of the demons-are now used as bedtime stories to children." Opius sighed. "It's a shame, really. That they are the last practitioners of magic, and that they do it in such a way."
The old man stopped his story and Neriam was surprised to find them at an inn. "I'll rest here tonight. The innkeeper here is a good man. Thank you for the company, my boy. Good night."
Opius stepped into the doorway and soon vanished. Neriam watched him ascend the stairwell, and turned on his heel, his thoughts churning.
"Hey, now, didn't I just see you with the old wizard," chuckled an elderly man wearing coarse peasant clothing of drab brown who was sitting outside the inn.
"Who? Oh you mean Opius. Yes. I showed him home."
"I figured as much," he cackled. His hand dropped under his grimy shirt and a knife flew out to Neriam's face. Unable to block or dodge, Neriam watched in horror as the dagger glinted end over end at his face. It clanged suddenly against something unseen directly before his face, and fell to the ground. The man gaped. "Another one!"
He turned and ran back into a nearby alley, disappearing in the darkness. Neriam's stomach heaved, but nothing would come up. Retching, he staggered away, unaware of his surroundings until he stumbled on a large stairwell that descended sharply towards the street from a large marble building. He saw the building's edifice before darkness once more overtook him.
A young woman in rose robes saw him as he stumbled and called into the building. Several men wearing similar robes hurried out and helped Neriam inside.
When he opened his eyes, he was alone and he felt something hard against his back. Directly above him a large dome held many beautiful drawings of men and women coupled in passionate acts. Neriam gaped as he saw a pair of men together. He'd never even thought such a thing was possible! As his eyes roamed around the frescoes, he saw more positions and couples than he'd ever thought possible. Many of them seemed to require an awful lot of flexibility or other athletic prowess, and not all of them were between two people.
As his mind tried to process this, he noticed Alsuin standing on his right with a frown.
"Always getting into trouble, eh, Neriam," he asked. Though his voice was light, his face held-especially in his large eyes-an apology.
"So it seems," he responded ruefully. "Where am I?"
"The Temple of Amarah."
"What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here?"
"You passed out at the bottom of the Grand Stair of the temple."
At that moment, the image of the spinning knife in front of his face returned to Neriam, who blanched. "And as for me, I was out looking for you when I came across the young priestess who found you."
"That doesn't tell me WHY," hissed Neriam angrily.
"Well, we've got the dinner tonight, don't we? I went back to the baths to apologize. Now we're late. Come on!"
"Why should I go anywhere with you? I saved your life-twice! and you treated me like dung. Tell me why!"
"I-I'm sorry, Neriam." He lowered his voice. "Whether you have magic or not doesn't matter. You DID save me, and I want to repay you. Magic or not, you're no Ghul."
"I don't have magic!"
Alsuin laughed. "'Methinks the lady doth protest too much,'" he quoted mockingly.
"What?"
"Nothing. Come along. We're expected for dinner. Pity you don't have any better clothes, but I think we can manage."
Alsuin squelched Neriam's further protests, hauling him almost bodily up off the floor and into a waiting carriage. It was a black carriage without a coat of arms, but was in good condition with silver lining around the doors, windows and wheels. It was drawn by a pair of jet-black horses and a single milk-white gelding. Inside, Neriam almost fell into the deep leather seats while Alsuin explained what would be expected of him.
"I can't do all that," he protested when Alsuin described the number of eating utensils used in a standard meal and the proper etiquette of arm position and order of reaching into the common plate.
"It's that or be a servant," Alsuin snapped shortly.
"Works for me. I'm used to that."
"Fine," he huffed. "But don't embarrass me, then. Or I'll treat you like a servant."
"Like you haven't already," muttered Neriam under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Look," he said quickly, "is that the Manor?"
Alsuin peered out the window to see a large, four-story mansion with whitewashed walls. To the northeast and southwest stood two tall towers, both a good thirty feet or so higher than the rest of the house. "Yes," he said in relief. "That's it."
The two boys were ushered inside where Lord Nikides was waiting for them. "Alsuin, you're late," he reproved. "I thought your Master taught you better than that."
The two boys were led upstairs by a manservant where they were given clean clothes of silk and the finest wool. Neriam had never worn such clothes, and they fit him perfectly. He stared at Alsuin in amazement, who shrugged nonchalantly. "Come on, we're going to be late."
They went back down and into the main dining hall, where several pen and women were standing, drinking an amber liquid from crystalline glasses. The boys were given a glass and Neriam hesitantly took a sip. The fiery liquor burned his throat but in a pleasing manner, and he quickly downed the rest of it, feeling the rush of the alcohol in his head.
The rest of the dinner passed all too quickly for Neriam, who constantly found his glass refilled. Alsuin and Nikides were discussing things about the politics of the Good Land since Alsuin's disappearance. As he had no clue what they were talking about, he paid no attention, and soon found himself laughing softly as the room spun around him.
He opened his eyes the next morning in a large, down-filled bed. His head was pounding, and he felt as though his eyes would explode at any moment. As his vision cleared, he looked around the room. He was alone in a four-poster bed that was easily large enough for four of him. It was furnished with dark, polished wooden furniture: a desk, wardrobe and several padded leather chairs, as well as the bed. A thick woolen carpet covered nearly all the floor, and a pair of clothes lay on the other side of the bed. He rose slowly, trying to clear his head to no avail. He grabbed the clothes: soft light-blue woolen hose and a royal blue silk shirt along with soft shoes and dressed. With every movement, his head throbbed, but he fought the pain and eventually finished.
Once dressed, he moved downstairs, only to hear the sound of a harp down in the sitting room. He winced as the sound increased his headache, but he continued.
On a large couch, Alsuin lounged indolently with a pale wood harp in his hands. He plucked the strings lazily, singing quietly. A few feet away, Nikides sat, listening to Alsuin play.
"The loveliest song was one of pain, and ever after, through the pain, his tears would fall like silver rain. They'd dot the ground like silver rain," he ended the song.
"Well played, Alsuin. Well played."
"Thank you, my lord. This is a lovely instrument."
"I had it made for my daughter when she was born, but..."
"Yes, I understand. Sorry to bring out such a painful memory."
"It's nothing," the nobleman said with a look of pain in his eyes. He looked up and caught sight of Neriam. "Ah, Alsuin," he said with a grin, "it seems your friend has finally woken."
Alsuin turned around. "About time," he added good-naturedly.
Neriam winced at the volume of his voice. "Could you tone it down a little," he complained.
Alsuin grinned maliciously. "It's your fault. You should know not to drink so much."
"Shut up, Alsuin," Neriam replied flatly.
The grin widened, but he said nothing. After a few moments of silence, Lord Nikides spoke to Neriam. "So, Alsuin here tells me that you rescued him from slavery. I'm sure Elmar will be happy to repay you for your services rendered."
"Unnecessary, my Lord," he responded hesitantly, unsure of where this conversation was going.
"So, how is it one so young as you is so skilled at combat, then? Is your father a soldier?"
"I don't know my father, sir. I was raised at the monastery of Araman in southern Melkor. I learned my skills there."
"Araman, you say. And an orphan?" There was an open interest in the man's eyes that Neriam didn't recognize.
"It's not uncommon. Many of my peers came from similar situations. Some of them are the youngest sons of noblemen or merchants or are the children of peasants who could not afford to feed them." He shrugged. "Once we enter the Monastery, we become our own family."
"Sounds like a rather tough thing to do to children."
"Life is tough. At least we learn how to deal with it," Neriam responded flatly.
Hearing the defensive tone, Nikides deftly changed the subject. "So, what do you think of our city, Neriam?"
"Very nice, my Lord. With your permission, I'll go out again today."
Nikides hesitated. "I'm not as understanding of politics as Alsuin, and I can take care of myself in the streets. I feel more comfortable there," he added hastily.
The nobleman nodded his assent, and after getting a searching look from Alsuin, Neriam left to explore the streets of the city.
Only a few minutes after leaving Nikides' manor, Neriam came across Opius who was sitting quietly on the ground with a dreamy smile on his face.
"Ah, boy," he called out before Neriam was closer than fifteen feet, "out for another pleasure stroll?"
"Hello, Opius," he greeted. "You're looking well. How did you know it was me?"
The old man laughed gleefully. "Still asking the simple questions, eh?"
"How is it so simple? I know I don't make a lot of noise, even for a blind man to hear."
"I felt you, boy. Simple."
"What do you mean, you felt me."
The old face took on an expression of shock. "You didn't know?"
"Know what?" Neriam was somewhat frightened at the sudden change in the expression.
"You radiate power, boy. Anyone attuned to the feel of magic can tell where you are from a mile away."
"Huh?"
"You have a natural ability, my friend. The only one I've ever come across with such potential." He paused. "Concerned? Confused?"
"Well..."
"I understand. Let me help you. That's my calling in life." He smiled gently.
"All right," he agreed. "I need to do some thinking."
"Walk with me, then," Opius commanded.
Neriam shrugged, forgetting that the priest could not see the gesture and accompanied him as he strode across the main road. They soon entered a simple park where the trees grew tall. Opius sat at the base of a large oak and smiled at Neriam. "So, what do you need to think about, child? Do you know what magic is?"
"No. What is it anyway? And what do you mean I radiate power? I don't understand any of this! Sorcery is just...I was forbidden any knowledge of it from the Masters at the monastery and I just don't understand."
"Well, let me see...magic is a force of nature. It is an energy that is created by life and by the world itself. Every living being, people, trees or even insects generate a field of energy. This field is small individually, but it builds upon itself with each new life created."
"But what about when a creature dies," Neriam interjected.
"Death is a part of life. The natural order of life demands that death occurs. To each being in its own time. Death does not diminish this field of energy unless their very energy is sucked away by a slayer. The demons, in particular, are good at this. But as I was saying: magic. You know, of course, that many clerics of the gods have access to magic."
Neriam nodded.
"I don't know if it has been explained to you, but almost every person has the ability to tap into this energy source we call magic. Each person, however, has different talents in that field. There are many who can barely touch it, whereas others have the power to move mountains. Naturally, this ability to touch and, more importantly, control magic improves with practice, but it is proscribed by natural ability. Do you understand?"
"I think so."
"Good boy," he grinned. "I've had students for years who just never seemed able to grasp the concept."
Neriam flushed.
"The priests are able to touch this power-the power of the gods themselves-through the grace of their god, who takes an active interest. For it is worship that keeps a god alive and give him his power. If a god were no longer worshipped, he would fade into obscurity, and eventually, disappear forever. To insure their survival, the gods have granted their more profoundly faithful with power to alter the world around them. I myself have been blessed both with a natural ability to tap into this source and a god who was willing to let me. I follow the Lord Magius, who has shown me his grace in many ways. I can do things impossible to many priests, and I can do it because of my faith and from long years of arduous study."
"I understand. But what of wizards?"
Opius smiled. "Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter. Wizards are people who, somehow have the ability to touch magic without the aid of a god. They have been taught how to do so, and, like priests, improve with study but are limited by their natural ability. Once, they were common, and archmages of amazing power changed the face of the earth. They embedded their power into weapons or rings and their wars ranged across the continent. And in the end, they killed themselves in their war of power."
He sighed sadly. "Once, their power was so common that there were those born with the power to wield magic untaught. Ever since the War of the Magi-the assault by the Ghuls-such things have become uncommon, and their control over magic waned. They have been hunted down by the frightened people."
Neriam listened as Opius lay down the history of magi and their children of power and the fall of power.
"Can you teach me?"
The old man's face lit up joyfully. "That is what I have always dreamed of doing! I will do my best, my boy. Come tomorrow to this same place. We will begin your training and pray."
Neriam nodded and returned to the manor. The sky had darkened noticeably while he listened to the cleric's histories.
"Have a good day," Alsuin asked as Neriam approached. He'd been tuning his harp, playing a small, rippling melody with his fingertips.
"It was interesting," Neriam replied dryly. "When do you plan on returning to Reardon?"
"I think in a few more days. I'm waiting for word from Elmar on the political circumstances of my disappearance and return."
"Oh. All right. Good night."
Alsuin's large, dark eyes held many questions as he watched his friend ascend the stairs to his guest room.
Later that night, Alsuin heard a melody more complex than he'd ever heard coming from Neriam's room. He quietly stole down to his friend's room and opened the door silently. His eyes widened. Neriam slept peacefully and a light shone from his face as he lay. But it was the sound surrounding him that made Alusin stop and stare. As he listened, he heard a very subtle harmony, one that bespoke of peace-a simple chord in major thirds-then rose slightly to clash wickedly. In the clash of the harmony, Alsuin heard battle and death and as he watched, the light in Neriam's face darkened, taking on a reddish hue. Slowly, the melody split into five different companions, each a different tone-bass to coloratura-and Alsuin felt like collapsing to his knees in wonder at the source of power. He closed his eyes to listen to the most amazing sound he'd ever heard and let the music sweep him away. He saw himself flying across the continent, seeing sights unseen before by anyone else: the tops of the highest mountains, the secret, hidden lakes and valleys, the oases in the deadliest deserts. He opened his eyes reluctantly to see Neriam's body surrounded by bright white light and lifted several inches off the down-filled mattress. The light seemed to solidify for a moment then cut off, gently lowering Neriam back to the bed.
Shaken, Alsuin returned to bed, the magical melody already fading from his head despite his attempts to retain it.
The next morning, Neriam, dressed carefully in silver-blue, descended the stairs to find Alsuin hard at work over his harp, both hands working rapidly over a melody more complex than Neriam had ever heard him play.
"Damn," he swore, rubbing his hands. "That's not quite right."
"Alsuin? I'm going out again today."
Alsuin stared at the strings, his head nodding in time to some beat in his head as he waved a hand dismissively.
Neriam met Opius under the same oak tree, and the two of them began Neriam's instruction in the way of magic. Despite repeated efforts, Neriam could make no progress in his control.
For two days, the routine was the same. And still he made no progress.
"I don't understand," Opius confessed once more. "You have more naked talent and power than I've come across in my entire life, but you don't seem able to control it. What were you thinking this time?"
"I was trying to concentrate on the heat in the air around me and focusing it into heat, like you said," Neriam answered, dejected. "Maybe I'm doing something wrong. I must admit I've never taught a non- priest before. I think it's me. Perhaps the Elves," he mused. "I don't-" he saw some movement behind Opus and broke off immediately.
"What is it," the blind man asked.
"Some men behind you. I think they're trying to creep up behind you. They seem to want to avoid notice."
The wizened cleric chuckled. "Clever boy." He turned to face the men just as the three of them rushed forward with weapons in their hands. They bore no finery, and their weapons were simple and crude. Neriam stepped up, ready to defend his old friend.
"No need, boy," discouraged Opius. "I'll deal with them." He flicked his hand and a tree next to the man reached down and grabbed him in a firm-branched bear hug. The man struggled and wailed, but could not free himself from the arboreal hold. "Stop," he spoke quietly, nonchalantly. Another man froze in place, his eyes obviously shocked. The old man's face hardened slightly. "Coralmathe gredel pa!" The final attacker violently flew backwards, hurled away by the force of Opius' spell.
The old man turned to the boy and grinned. "See? I know how to defend myself against the small-minded big-" he stopped, his face a mask of pain. His eyes opened wide as he looked into the face of Neriam, who caught him as he pitched forward. Neriam looked and saw the same garrulous old man who had attacked him outside Opius' inn. And in his aged friend's back protruded the hilt of a dagger.
"Opius, no," he gasped as he looked into his friend's face. The old man looked up, bringing his face close to Neriam's. To Neriam's astonishment, the white film melted like hot wax from Opius' bright blue eyes, which widened as he gasped. He stared at Neriam's face with an amazing intensity before closing his eyes and sighing, seemingly at peace. His chest rose no more, and Neriam felt a burning anger join with his loss. He stood and focused his gaze on the man who'd just slain his friend. The assassin, probably sensing his danger, turned to run. Neriam fueled his anger and felt his palms begin to burn. He instinctively thrust them down at his sides and felt the energy flaring up. His right hand glowed a malevolent green which flickered like flame up to his elbow and his left a deep bloodred. With a shout, he clenched his fists and solidified the light into a pair of spheres about four inches in diameter and hurled both spheres at the fleeing man.
The green ball hit the man first, who screamed as smoke rose from his melting clothes and flesh. Great gaping holes appeared in his skin, causing his flesh to run like ink down the rest of his body before the red orb struck, igniting him into a pillar of bright flame. His scream went up an octave, becoming an horrendous shriek above and beyond the realm of human hearing before he collapsed to the ground, still smoking. Neriam stumbled towards the corpse, not even tired after expending his energy in such an explosive manner. He looked at the fallen form of his friend, tears sparkling in his eyes. As he watched, the body turned into glowing motes of light and they rose off the ground in a glowing triangle, shooting off into the bright blue sky. A silver chain with a platinum medallion lay on the ground where Opius had lain. Neriam picked it up and felt a tingle in his hand. He reverently placed it into his money purse and walked towards Lord Nikides' manor, the tears flowing freely down his face. People parted as he walked by completely unaware that doors slammed open or closed as he passed them and that windows shattered at every sob.