JESSAN - A TALE OF WIZARDRY Chapter 21
Copyright 2006 Trewin Greenaway All Rights Reserved
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Part Five <> Hezzakal
Chapter 21
ON THE STARBOARD SIDE, the sea stretched to the horizon, a shimmering field of blue, flecked with bits of white. To the port, at a distance, was the broken, barren coastline that stretched south of Gedd all the way to distant Pharros. It held no farms or fishing villages. The land was rock-strewn and deserted, the shore a jumbled mass of ledge and cliff, the sea below a treacherous labyrinth of shoals, cross currents, and riptides, erupting here and there with bursts of sea spume. The boom of the surf breaking hard on the rocks could be faintly heard even here where we sailed well out to sea.
Even so, to me, as I squinted in the sun to make out these details, our distance from it made the dangers, like the heady salt air, all part of the excitement of being on a true ocean voyage. I felt a pure happiness that was never mine on land. A fresh breeze was blowing, the sail was taut, the riggings groaned, and league followed league as we hurried our way south.
The Tejj, the boat Orien had purchased, was barely large enough to make such a journey. It was a large fishing boat, upon which a fragile structure had been erected--little more than a flimsy roof supported by poles--to serve as shelter and to provide a storage place for our gear and supplies. However, the room meant for us was mostly crammed with bales of hay for Dwinsa, a mule Alfrund had bought and insisted on bringing with us.
It had been decided that we would be better not sailing all the way to Heref, but to disembark the Tejj at night somewhere along the shore before we reached that city. That being the case, Alfrund argued, we would need Dwinsa to carry our supplies--and make it less likely anyone we encountered would suspect we were just off a boat--and more likely to accept that we were just a small party of traders who had lost their way. Certainly it provided us with a passenger who hated being at sea even more than Alfrund did.
Dwinsa was a sturdy animal, raised to carry sacks of salt up to the Gates of Karn and down again into the kingdom proper. When I could do so without being observed, I slipped her a piece of dried fruit or a carrot. Otherwise, I contented myself with scratching between her ears and stroking her nose.
Although I'd spent more time at sea than anyone else onboard, I'd never sailed in such a craft as the Tejj. Fishing boats were designed to go out to sea and back to shore, but trading ships sailed along the shore from port to port. And since the wind usually moves either onshore or offshore, it would be mostly blowing sideways at the ship, rather than from behind.
Because of this, the Tejj was constructed with a short mast, held up with much rigging, to which a very long yard was affixed with loops of rope, and from which hung a great triangular sail. It was shaped thus because to catch the wind the yard was tilted upwards. And so, if the sail were square, one end or the other would always be dipping into the sea.
A rope was attached to each end of the yard, long enough to reach the deck. Depending on which way the wind was blowing, one or the other of those ropes was pulled in to swing the yard around, allowing the sail to catch the wind. Then the rope was secured and that was that, until the wind shifted again.
I could go on and on about the Tejj, its planking and cordage and ballast and night sail and all the rest of its parts. From the moment we were out at sea I'd climbed over every inch of her, then pestered Wendma and Hestal--the two apprentices of Festal's who were sailing it--with endless questions until they threatened to throw me overboard.
Wendma tolerated my presence more than Hestal, and I'd come and sit with her when she held the tiller. She'd been born in the Faïward Islands, about which I knew nothing at all.
"They're the main reason our kingdom has a navy," she said, "that and to keep down the pirates who prey on ships that ply this route. The Faïward Islands are seven towering mountains that rise out of the sea about a hundred leagues from Gedd. Great forests cover their lower reaches, after which they become sharp spires of naked rock, so high that snow clings to them well into the summer."
"I wish Sondaram had been built there," I said. "It sounds like a marvelous place."
She smiled. "I wish so, too," she answered. "For there could be no better site for the home of the Spirit of Water. But when the Four and the One appeared, the kingdom hadn't yet claimed the islands, which were only discovered four hundred years ago. And, even then, few chose to live there until gold was found, and the precious metal mythrad, every bit of which The Unnameable One claims for himself."
"Really!" I said. "Do you know anything about it? Have you ever seen it?"
"No and no," she replied, laughing. "Those were the easiest of all your many questions to answer. Your friend Orien may know something of it, but none of us islanders are permitted to set foot on Lydvel, the island where it is mined. The great war galleys were built to transport it from there to Gedd, where it's then transported over the mountain guarded well by a special armed force answerable to The Unnameable One alone."
An errant gust of wind shook the sail and the boat heeled strongly in response. "That's what comes when the ship master is distracted by talking, especially in a beam sea," Wendma said, ashamed at being caught off guard. "Leave me now, and go chat with Dwinsa, who's as idle as yourself."
"I'm sorry, Wendma," I said with downcast eyes, mostly to make her regret her sour words. I did give the mule a caress as I passed her, but my destination was Orien, who was standing at the prow, scanning the ocean ahead.
"Are you in the mood to answer some questions?" I asked.
He looked at me and nodded. "It's about time your curiosity started ranging beyond the adjustment of rigging on this boat and the sort of knot used to secure its stays," he replied. "Come and sit with me in the sun."
Once we had settled onto the deck, I said, "Most of all, I want to know about my twin. Can you tell me anything about him? His name? Where he was first found?"
Orien shook his head. "I'm sorry Jessan," he replied. "It's natural for you to wonder about these things, and it might even be helpful for you to know them. But I doubt that even Anisor knows those answers. The Circle is intentionally divided between those who seek you and those who seek your twin. Thus, if The Unnameable One seizes one of us, even if we break under torture, there's only so much we can reveal."
When he saw how downcast this statement made me, he added, "Even though Anisor won't know the name, he'll at least know the person to ask. And that person will tell you all you want to know without hesitation."
"And do you at least know who that is?" I asked.
Orien glanced around to be sure no one was attending to our talk. "No," he said, "but I suspect that it's the high master alchemist, Porphoras. Since your twin takes his power from the spirits of fire and earth, he is, in a sense, the alchemists' patron demiurge--as you, who take your power from air and water, are the same to herbalists, healers, and other practitioners of the white magicks."
I thought about this. "There must be some way that I can contact him--my twin--directly," I said.
"There may well be," he answered, "but I don't know what it is. Once we know your twin's name, I can help you, for that's the only thing that makes my sort of magic possible. But without it...." He shrugged his shoulders. "We might walk right past him on a crowded street and never know it, unless you were both actively looking for each other."
I nodded. I was actively looking for him already, casting out my thoughts for some trace of his presence. But, so far, it had all been wasted effort.
"Well, then," I said "here's an easy question. I watched you while Alfrund shaved you this morning, not only your beard but your pate as well. I thought that it was a mark of a Mage to have a great beard and a matching mane of hair."
Orien looked at me sternly. "If your other queries are of this caliber, I think I'll soon be taking my nap. Not that it's a foolish question, but that the answer is obvious. Given that what you say is mostly true, what conclusion do you draw about the absence of such on me?"
I thought a bit and blushed. "You're right," I answered, "it was a silly thing to ask. The Unnameable One has no love of mages; for your own safety as well as mine, you chose to cut it off."
"Good," Orien said. "That's exactly right. However, there are some things I can't pretend to hide. Caelas told me he had recognized me on the streets of Gedd in part because of my gravitas. If so, that simply can't be helped. I know no way of assuming the visage of a fool."
I recalled the words that Caelas had actually used and repressed a smile. "I've another question that will again reveal my ignorance but isn't so easy to answer. Are you familiar with a metal called mythrad that's mined on Lydvel, one of the Faïward Islands?"
Orien raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I am," he replied, "although I'm astonished that you do. Little, it seems, escapes your curious eyes... or, rather, your wagging ears."
This time I did smile. "Wendma comes from those islands and has heard rumors of it. Have you seen it? Why does The Unnameable One covet it so?"
"Ah, Him," Orien said. "That reminds me." He leaned over and whispered in my ear, " 'R' as in 'ruthless.' Bury that letter carefully away and I'll give you some answers."
"Very well," I responded, after I had done so.
"A few days ago," Orien continued, "I'd have replied 'no' to your first question and offered only the vaguest sort of answer to your second. But I've recently come upon a piece. Go get my bag and I'll show it to you."
I made my way into the hutch and pulled Orien's bag from where it was stashed with all the others. It was quite heavy and, as I brought it back, I thought of someone his age carrying such a burden on his long journeys. He continued to amaze me.
Orien opened the pack, rummaged through its contents and brought out a package neatly wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. He undid all this and removed a circular disk, not much larger than a large coin, but shaped to be slightly concave.
"Can you guess how I obtained this?" he asked.
I shook my head. "How could I?" I replied.
"Because you continually reveal yourself to be smarter than I expect you to be," he said. "Think a bit. It came into my possession only yesterday, and then after a struggle--and, I should add, overcoming some squeamishness."
I sifted through the events of the last few days. When was Orien involved in a struggle? But even as I was shaking my head, the answer came to me and I stared at the thing with horror. My glance passed from it to Orien, who saw from my expression that I knew the answer.
"Yes," he said. "I pried it from the head of the Summoner with the point of a dagger. As I had already suspected, he had been trepanned, and this was sutured over the hole that had been drilled into his skull."
"But why?" I stammered.
"Well," Orien answered, "that brings us to your second question. We of the Circle of Guardians had, of course, become aware of mythrad and the great care taken by The Unnameable One to secure every bit of it for Himself. And so we set our spies to discover what purpose it served Him."
He sighed. "Nothing about Him is easy to learn and for a long time we despaired that the purpose of mythrad would elude us entirely. But, eventually, fortune came our way. To turn it to His purpose, He requires the assistance of a master alchemist--and not one of those pathetic specimens he had corrupted and taken into his service."
"Porphoras?" I asked.
Orien smiled grimly. "Porphoras is far too wise to come into such close contact with the Enemy. No, it was someone who'd studied under Porphoras but hadn't the character to be initiated into the Circle. This was most fortunate, because he had nothing to reveal if, while under His employ, The Unnameable One decided to probe his mind.
"Or," he corrected himself, "when He did--since it beggars belief that He wouldn't have availed himself of the opportunity. Discreetly, perhaps, but thoroughly. In any case, after the task was done, The Unnameable One cast a spell and sealed away the memory."
Orien smiled slyly. "Well, He may have powers that we do not, but such spells can be made unbreakable only after careful study--something that those with the higher powers"--here he glanced primly at me-- "sometimes think beneath them."
"So you broke the spell?" I said, in great excitement.
"I did," he said, "and I'll confess it wasn't the hardest bit of magic I've performed in my life. A very sloppy job."
"You're truly a wondrous mage," I said, at the same time meaning it and knowing it would please him.
Orien made a modest gesture, which fooled neither of us, and continued. "The full use of mythrad was, of course not revealed to our friend. But much could be learned with what he was called upon to do. The higher alchemists have created a device that they call the 'infinite edge of sharpness.' To use it, they produce a thin filament of force, in substance possessing less thickness than a single hair, but it burns so brightly spectacles of darkened glass must be worn to avoid being blinded when wielding it.
"They use this to cut through metal so cleanly that it doesn't know it's been cut. So, suppose you used it to divide a piece of gold. Then, years later, you fit the two halves back together. The moment you did so, they would meld into a single whole again as if they had never been severed apart."
I caught my breath. "That's a marvel, indeed."
Orien nodded in agreement. "This is what the alchemist was asked to do with mythrad, not once but several times. And, I suspect, other alchemists have been summoned to repeat this same process more times than we know."
He picked up the small disk and held it up. "I now understand," he said, "that the particular qualities of mythrad allows the passage of magic power unimpeded from one half of the cut metal to the other as if they were still a single whole. This has allowed the Unnamed One to create such creatures as the Summoner, and use them to extend his power."
"Can I examine it?" I asked.
Orien hesitated. "Well," he said, "it's true that I feel only the slightest pulse of power when I touch it. For a human to fall under his power, the disc must actually come in contact with the brain. Otherwise there would have been no need to perform something as dangerous as a trephination on the Summoner. But you're much more sensitive than we are, and I've no idea as to the effect it will have on you."
"With the Summoner," I said, "The Unnameable One was consciously focusing his power through the mythrad. It seems unlikely he is spending his days and nights holding the other half of this, on the chance I might pick it up."
Orien smiled. "True enough," he admitted. "Still it's very dangerous. Take it gingerly and be ready to cast it away if you even sense a presence on the other side." Hesitatingly, he reached over and offered it to me.
The moment my fingers touched it, however, it adhered to them, as a limpet to a rock. A vortex opened within me, sucking all power, all life from my body. My eyes clouded over, all thought drained from my brain, all feeling from my body, all magic from my essential being. Even as I tried to free the disk from my fingers, I collapsed senseless, lifeless, onto the deck.