Chapter 3: Two of a Kind

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 3: Two of a Kind

         Garrold didn’t know whether to be excited, alarmed, or both. To be stealthily accosted within the Bower compound was bizarre enough, but for it to be by Providers, that was from the empty places between worlds. He’d never actually heard a Provider before, but the written records clearly spoke of their raspy voices. It just wasn’t right, yet they told him the Ancients had noted his ability. That could be good, might be good. How he wanted it to be good, but it was too good to be true. Questions riddled his mind. How did they know his name and so much about him? Could they be Admonishers? False Admonishers, Maghra forbid? Why would they hide? Nothing in the Writings supported that behavior. Neither did the Writings support death threats.

         He had to warn Haknem, and Kurdevon. They said Kurdevon would die. It was absolute. Sentence had already been passed. But by whom? It couldn’t be Providers. Providers just wouldn’t act that way. Not if the Writings were correct. And what about this “he who comes with the hordes?” He’d never heard nor read any such thing in connection with Providers or Ancients. Yet they claimed to be preparing the Paths of the Ancients. Would the archgates be activated? Were the Ancients really coming to right the wrongs of magnhemistry?

         No one had warned them. There were no Admonishers. The Writings were clear. The Book of Projections specifically asserted that the Ancients would only come in wrath if the Admonishers had not been heeded. Were the hooded messengers Admonishers? They hadn’t given Aralon a chance. They hadn’t spoken until now. It just couldn’t be.

         Garrold reached into the folds of his robe and cupped his orb for comfort. There was something about the smoothness and coolness of an orb that soothed him. It gave him access to power as a magnhemist. When he held it, he didn’t feel quite so helpless.

         Power surged in his hand. The familiar thrum reverberated in his body as he entered Olrhom, the realm of the orb, the realm between realms. How could this be? He had not activated his orb himself. He thought to drop it into his pocket when he sensed a presence in Olrhom, a sentience of great power. There was no threat, no confusion, no animosity, no danger, only quiet. The presence did not alarm him.

         Listen Garrold, he felt the words in his mind. They came with no voice, only in the thoughts of his mind, though he knew it was the sentience who spoke. These are the defectors of Ghalensa come to do evil. Malevolence is in motion, and it’s moving fast. The whole world is changing. Evil power rises in Vikzyrn with Rezkelion, a renegade of the Ancients, he who comes with the hordes. He is born of a foul and wretched taint. He quietly draws strength from the Tree waiting to once again give the dark Heart of Morbidity the strength to beat its vile blood throughout the land. He must be defeated.

         “Who are you?” Garrold asked.

         I am a propagation, an energization, a creature formed of the power. I can only live within the power and it is the power that gives me being. It is too much to explain now. I cannot stay in one place very long or I will be found and destroyed.

         An Imitor, Garrold thought, a creature of fable.

         We are not of fable, Garrold, but know this, I was formed to help you stand against the Dark Heart, and it is for this purpose I exist. I will speak to you again, and aid you when I can, but for now I must go, the Ravers draw near to terminate me. Speak to no one of my existence.

          “Wait!” Garrold grasped at the creature, “Why me?”

         The voice trailed off, The spor, Garrold, because of the spor, and the prizmhata.

         “But I am nothing,” he objected, “no one listens to me, I have no authority.” There was silence. He stood waiting, squeezing the orb, not wanting to leave Olrhom until the Imitor came back to explain. Nothing came. He returned to the shadowy night of the Bower complex.

         What a strange dawn this was, from the dispatch, to news of Kurdevon, to the confrontation with Temmolin, to the accosting by the hooded figures, now an encounter with an Imitor, fabled creatures of the power. The foreboding weight of impending peril descended upon him and he felt helpless.

         How could he stand against the Dark Heart? He was nothing. What could one little, unpopular, squelched magnhemist from Rudivia do? This exceeded his scope and ability. He could not bear this. Kurdevon would handle it. His wisdom and ability were legendary. He had access to incredible resources. Kurdevon would know what to do. He would tell Kurdevon.

         The Green Bower revoked Kurdevon from magnhemistry and exiled him from Rudivia years ago out of political expediency and jealousy. A group of Preservationists rose up against him and concocted evidence claiming he taught things against Writings. Temmolin ignored the facts of the defense, sacrificed his own integrity, and passed an unfair judgement against the Seer. In a rare case of injustice, Temmolin sold out on principle to please his constituents and seek their advantage. It showed what he was capable of when it came to the preservationist ideology.

         Garrold arrived at home, paused at his door, and took a deep breath. He called out to Elya before entering to avoid startling her. She had been waiting for him and rushed to his side. He closed the door behind them.

         “My heart-holder,” she said “what is wrong? What has shaken you so?” She already knew he was disturbed. She was perceptive that way.

         “Oh my love,” he squeezed her in a tight hug, “all is not well in the world.”

         He stepped back rubbing his wiry beard thinking how to say what he needed to say. Elya’s starry green eyes shone intently from deep within their sockets, urging him on. She leaned forward.

         “A few months ago Discerner Jaggeryn reported a problem to the Amalgama Council. He said that he and the Watchers had noted an irregularity in the pattern of the power such as has never been seen before.”

         “What do you mean? What kind of irregularity?”

         “There is a disturbance at the remotest edges of the power, farthest from each Bower and Thole. It is more prominent the farther north you go, away from the Highbower. The power is being drawn away somewhere.”

         “From the Bower of Ghalensa?” She queried.

         “Yes, where it exerts its weakest control.”

         “Could they explain it?”

         “No, but they were told to track it and report back as needed.”

         “So what came of it?”

         “With each passing thirdspan, the penetration of the drawing away moves closer to each Bower and Thole. It is stronger in the upper provinces of Covant, Rykor and Brugundia.”

         Her eyes widened. “You mean the Kingdom of Valorda and the Realm of Boravia.”

         Garrold cringed. He hated hearing them called by their self-proclaimed names.“That’s one of the problems,” he said, “there should be no separate kingdoms. They are rightfully provinces of Aralon. They have disturbed the power of the Tree. King Calindred restrains the true magnhemists and runs his own false order. Meanwhile, High Lord Shivaul and his Council of Seven use magnhemistry to support their own rule. That’s why they have been warring against each other for years, there is no order between them.”

         “Have they caused these disturbances?”

         “Maybe. They could have triggered it, or been a catalyst to it.”

         “How bad is it? Are we in danger?”

         “Jaggeryn reports that the drawing away seems to be focused in Vikzyrn just across the Void, somewhere deep in the Spitting Mountains.”

         “What does this mean, Garrold? Why haven’t the Providers responded?”

         “We don’t know, Elya, it’s troubling especially because we don’t have answers. We don’t fully understand it. Though the reach of the draw increases, the magnitude of the power does not. The drawn power is not reorganizing anywhere, it simply seems to vanish into the mountains, like its filling a big empty black hole.”

         “Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

         “Well, there’s a lot more to all this.” Garrold stopped to collect his thoughts and figure out how to present it all to her. Elya backed into the couch and sat. She probably needed the support to continue listening.

         Garrold’s chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. He slowly exhaled the full volume to relax himself, then continued, “I received a dispatch from Haknem telling me that the Seer Kurdevon warned him about a concentration of power in central Vikzyrn in the midst of the Gozim Desert in addition to the draw in upper Vikzyrn. He warned that there is a taint to it. He also told of dissension in the ranks of the Providers, that some have defected and others are seeking them. Perhaps that is why the Providers do not respond at this time.”

         “You’re not going to talk to that renegade Kurdevon, are you?”

         “Whatever gave you– Elya? You’ve spoken to your father, haven’t you?”

         Elya turned her head away, “He stopped by earlier.”

         Garrold sped across the room, took his wife’s arms, stood her up, and looked her in the eyes, “What did he want?”

         “Oh Garrold, it’s dangerous to meddle where you don’t belong. You could be charged with disrupting the Bower, and your ideas are unpopular. I just don’t want to see you hurt, I love you.”

         “I love you too, Elya, you know that, but I can’t have you consorting with your father behind my back. He is a crafty jen and he fills your head with ideas against me. He brings contention into our home. How can I be sure of your absolute support of me and agreement with me?”

         “I don’t always have to agree with you.”

         “That’s not what I meant.” He let her go and she sat again as he stepped aside. “I don’t mind when you disagree and we discuss matters. I respect your counsel and your views. You have always been a help to me in the past. It’s just that when you talk to him, how can I be sure it is your disagreement and not his? How do I know if you have seen a flaw in my thinking or if it is the flaw your father put there?”

         “I think for myself, Garrold, I don’t just echo him. My ideas are my own. Do you think me a fool?”

         “Elya, no, that’s not it. You don’t get it. I’m not saying that.” He turned toward her, rubbed his face in both palms, dropped his arms, and went on, “He’s crafty. Sometimes he gets me believing something from the three moons. Only after much introspection and self-debate do I even realize how he planted his ideas in my head with craft and guile.”

         “Like how?”

         “Well, like, for instance, he got me believing the other month that I didn’t deserve to be elevated, that others deserved it more and would contribute more to the Bower than I could. I about convinced myself of it until I logically evaluated his arguments. I’m not one to compare myself with others, but I deserve to be elevated. I’ve deserved it for quite some time, actually.”

         “But your thoughts, this progressionist stuff, it gets you into trouble.”

         “So do you think I’m wrong? Do the things I tell you about magnhemistry, about the Bower, about the Writings, do they not make sense?”

         “I believe you have good ideas, but your approach— can’t you be more accepting of the decisions made by the Bower Council? You might gain better access if you were supportive.”

         “I’ve told you before, Elya, I’d have to compromise on the standards and principles I believe in and then my integrity would be breached. I’d be a politician, not a servant of Rudivia. You know I’m willing to compromise on personal issues and matters of interaction, but not on principles and standards which define who I am.”

         Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re just as pig-headed as he is, Garrold. You and my father, you’re two of a kind. Why are the two most important jennah in my life so much the same and yet wholly against each other? Why can’t you both just get along?” She sounded like she pleaded with her father too.

         He tried to pull her up to hug and comfort her as she sobbed into the crook of her arm, but she jerked away. So he eased himself beside her and wrapped his right arm around her. He didn’t know what to say, which was okay, because silence was probably the best thing at the moment. He soothed her to help her get it out. She often cried after a visit from her father. Garrold wished she would recognize it. If he said anything about it they would just end up arguing the point making her cry again.

         This had not gone where he expected. He never got to tell her about the surprise threats from the hooded figures, nor the encounter with the Imitor. He couldn’t add it to this mess now. It would only fuel a fire he did not want to stoke.

         He loved her greatly. She was smart, loving, caring, very resourceful, and very beautiful. Well respected in the Bower, she proved herself a capable jenni. He was a fortunate jen to have such a wife. But her love for her father clouded her thinking, and Temmolin knew it. He despised his gin-son so much that he was willing to manipulate his own daughter against him. What a disgrace.

         “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he finally said.

         “Can you get me some tea?” Her nose sounded plugged.

         He agreed and went to steep the tea in hot water from the hearth kettle. He served her and sat quietly in his favorite chair, sipping his own soothing blend in silence. He waited for the right moment.

         “Is there anything he wanted me to know or anything you think I should know?”

         She sighed and nodded, “Yes, he said some wonderful things are going to happen in the Bower, that he was part of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that magnhemistry would be healed and unified. He warned me that the renegade Kurdevon was opposed to this opportunity and was already speaking against it to sow discord and disrupt the process. There will be some changes, he said, even as they have already started, and some will not like it. Some will say it is evil and has the taint in it.”

         Garrold gritted his teeth, felt fire rise in his eyes, and fumed out his flared nostrils, but he held his mouth. Something was terribly wrong. The taint was a step ahead of everybody.

         “Those who openly oppose it will be revoked.” She continued. “He said to tell you the twilight of progressionist ideology is upon us and a new dawning of preserved magnhemistry will arise to bring new hope to the land. All who help will reap the benefits, the rest will be driven from it. Do you see why I am concerned for you?”

         Her words cut his heart like a sharpened blade, twisting. But they were not her words, they were Temmolin’s. No, not even Temmolin’s, but the hooded messengers of the one who comes with the hordes. Was this it then? Had the Bower already been taken in deceit? Was it time to run? To hide? What treachery had been wrought while magnhemistry slept? How could he have missed it all so completely? Why was the Imitor so late? Who then was on his side and who would take him?

         “Oh Garrold, what will you do?”

         Her question lingered in the air. Only then did he recognize something else that also lingered there. Faint, hiding in the background, it was a familiar smell. The smell of Temmolin.

         “I plan to have a part in it,” he said. And with that he drew a long sip from his cup. Somehow, someway, he had to meet with Kurdevon, if he could get there first.

 Next  "Chapter 4: Fire Bludgeons"