Chapter 10: We Must Not Fail

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 10: We Must Not Fail

         Seph-Immarian gazed hard at the Full Assembly as he spoke. “The defection and disappearance of Deth-Rezkelion has caused us no end of trouble.” He shook his fist near his jaw. “At least fifty others have defected since. We must act immediately to find them.”

         One of the Guides shouted, “What about bloodwerking?”

         “Yes, bloodwerking,” Immarian said pointing in the general direction of the shout. He couldn’t tell who had spoken with the present number of Chairs and Guides.

         “Rezkelion, like his ancestors, is a seedviler.” A chorus of disapproving hisses and gasps arose.

         “He twists the seeds of life to spawn creatures that aren’t meant to be. The jennah are nothing compared to what he can do. We must stop him.”

         “Yes, yes,” came the hissing response. The Elders remained silent. Immarian paused, waiting just enough time.

         “Each dawning brings us closer to disaster. Maghra forbid that he should awaken Morbidity, taint the Tree, and kill us all.” A clamor echoed through the cavernous chamber.

         “We must send Admonishers to Aralon. Only in this way will we find where he is hiding. Magnhemistry is in disorder. We have ignored it far too long. We must find Rezkelion and fix magnhemistry.”

         The chamber resounded with “yeses” as most of the rulers cheered. Immarian smiled. How could the Elders go against him now? With this much support, they were sure to yield.

         “Be that as it may, Seph-Immarian, the wisdom of the Elders in establishing the Art of Magnhemistry to control the jennah’s use of magnevity has certainly withstood the test of time. As is well known to all, the Means caution us against the use of Admonishers. The Means have always guided us in preserving our control of magnevity and have ensured our survival.”

         It was Titch-Keneriol, a long-time Guide who was widely regarded as the next to be raised to an Elder. Immarian had never liked him. Keneriol was a pleaser, only interested in saying the right things to impress the Elders. He never took a stand on anything except what the Elders wanted.

         Some of the rulers gave their “yes yeses” to Keneriol, the rest of the pleasers.

         “The Means were written to guide us in the preservation of magnhemistry,” Immarian said. “Had we been applying them properly, magnhemistry would not be in its present state of chaos.”

         “Enough,” said the High Lord, Elder Ajh-Cryphlossmozhen, hushing the assembly with a wave of his arm. “The Means caution us against interfering with natural events. We must let magnhemistry evolve into its own self-sustaining system, rooting itself deeply in jennah culture. Only then will it survive as an established reality for them, and continue to exert its restraint.”

         Immarian knew that most of the rulers opposed this stance, including at least two of the nine Elders. They could see that magnhemistry had already deteriorated far too much. However, the High Lord, backed by six of the Elders, carried such weight that progress could not be made on the issue in neither the League of Guides nor in the Prime Council.

         The High Lord continued, “I bring to task the Elders to establish a board of twenty-seven from among the Guides, three to be chosen by each Elder, to search out this matter of retrieval. The Retrieval Board will report to the Full Assembly in a thirdspan with a plan of action. That will be all for this issue this session.”

         Immarian sat down in his chair and recorded the information in his zoid. He would need to canvass support for his position and he intended to meet with this new Retrieval Board immediately. Time was running out. Rezkelion’s power grew. Defections increased by the thirdspan. No one knew where Rezkelion went, nor where the defectors were going. The Elders needed to send an Admonisher. But if the Elders failed to make it happen, he would.

         The Officiator of the Assembly motioned to proceed to the next item. Immarian let it go. The High Lord himself put it to rest. It would not be wise to belabor the point. The Assembly proceeded in its discussions, which included reports on the status of every jennah province.

         Vestuvia remained faithful to the Order of Magnhemistry as given in the Writings. Being the gateway of the salt trade from Aralon to Ghalensa, and the entry point for Tree goods, it was important that this province function accurately.

         Sylvhen had formed into a conglomeration of a number of parcel-states, called Proficums, in a feudal arrangement. The Bower of Sylvhen still functioned as the center of magnhemistry within the province, but independently of the various Proficums.

         Yarowglan still functioned within the confines of magnhemistry, but much more loosely than Vestuvia. A growing body of Progressionists was having more and more influence in Bower matters. As long as the magnhemists maintained control, however, the assembly was happy. Immarian clenched his teeth, groaning within. He did all he could to remain silent. The alarming reports and the casual response of the Elders ate him up.

         Covant completely abandoned magnhemistry many circuits earlier, becoming the Kingdom of Valorda, named after an ancient jennah kingdom that once existed in the area. King Calindred concocted a puppet regime of magnhemists which carried out his orders to exert his control throughout his kingdom.

         Rudivia still functioned according to the Order of Magnhemistry, but two distinct and well organized schools of thought existed. The Progressionist movement grew, but the Preservationists still maintained solid control.

         “As long as the Preservationists remain in control,” the assembly concluded, “Rudivia will be an aid.”

         The Provinces of Rykor and Brugundia united under one banner as the Realm of Boravia, recalling the name of another ancient jennah kingdom. Magnhemists were free to function in the realm, but carried little ruling or judicial authority. Boravia and Valorda frequently warred against each other. The Elders maintained that the Realm of Boravia was a necessary regional counterbalance to the power of Valorda.

         The magnhemists of Dyram changed their province into the Magnabulary of Dyram. They propounded strict adherence to the Books of Magnhemistry. The Elders applauded the efforts of Dyram in influencing all provinces to remain true to the Order of Magnhemistry. Dyram had initiated and established the Brotherhood of Purists, an organization dedicated to eliminating the vagrant, independent orders of magnhemistry that operated in every province, especially the powerful Society of Galamandyrs.

         The last province, Pelaroon, kept secretly to itself. All the better since it fostered some bizarre practices, such as the swoon hunts carried out by the Society of the Sea. The loose practice of magnhemistry in Pelaroon generated many of the wild ideas that were embraced by the Society of Galamandyrs. That was as far as its influence went, however, since all the other provinces regarded Pelaroon to be eccentric. The Elders regarded Pelaroon to be an insignificant threat to the stability of magnhemistry.

         Immarian could hardly hold himself back from crying out in despair. He burned hot with desperate anger. These insane views were ludicrous. Could they not see the idiocy of their positions? Their dangerous views made Ghalensa vulnerable. He had so much work to do. He needed to convince more Guides of the precarious position they were in, especially with the renegade Rezkelion running loose, wherever he was.

         Even their tremendous intelligence web of urlani salt traders, who operated throughout all Aralon, could not find Rezkelion. Neither could the Sifters with their closely monitored network of Tholes and Bowers? Nothing of significance ever escaped the Agency of Sifters. Yet, not so much as a hint of even one maghren operating anywhere in all the land had even surfaced. Rezkelion’s disappearance especially alarmed him considering how difficult any one of his people found it to survive away from the Tree for such a lengthy period. He must have discovered a way to survive on Aralon, perhaps by bloodwerking.

         Perhaps the urlani salt traders would eventually find Rezkelion. Immarian had great confidence and respect for the urlani, for the ones that remained faithful Tenders, that is. The loyal and dedicated Tenders of the Tree nourished it with its needed salt so that it could thrive. Immarian knew the very survival of his people hinged on their loyalty in carrying out their sworn duties. Their work tending the Tree kept it in health, allowing it to produce life-sustaining magnevic energy.

         The field of Magnevics thrilled him, especially the process of parchrenosynthesis by which the Tree transformed the interwoven fabric of time, space, and matter into magnevic energy, the power of the Tree, the power his ancestors learned to harness, develop, and use. The records were incomplete, ruined an age ago by the rebellious Deth-Synar of the same despicable lineage as Rezkelion. Immarian continued in his lifelong search of surviving fragments of knowledge whenever he could. He studied it minutely, bringing all the pieces together, compiling them into a single volume. He needed to finish that book. If he could only find the time. His service on as a ruler in the League of Guides kept him highly involved in the governing affairs of his people. He had to cut that back first. But his people needed him. Someone had to stand up for the Means. The position the Elders held on the subject would be their undoing as a race if things did not change.

         Woph-Gylan, one of Immarian’s dedicated Chairs, leaned close and said, “Can you believe this nonsense? What are we going to do?”

         “There is much to do. Get all the Chairs out and about to meet with our allies. We must all work together to persuade at least half of the rest of the Chairs who still oppose sending an Admonisher.”

         “That’s a lot of Chairs,” Gylan said, “about thirty-three.”

         “Yes, but as soon as you convince three of any group of Chairs, let me know so I can meet with and convince their Guide. That will give us six Chairs and a Guide. We only need twenty-eight out of the thirty-six Guides, which means we only need six more. Can you do it?”

         “We have to do it, if we are to preserve our way,” Gylan said. “Failure is not an option.”

         “Well spoken,” Immarian said clasping his friend’s shoulder. His blazing red eyes glossed. He shifted his focus back to the issues at hand.

         The Agency of Sifters reported on the aberrants, the certain few powerful jennah that somehow overrode the spor’s safeguard to become full fledged magnhemists operating in their Bowers. The spor not only rejected jennah with no ability, it was warded to also reject those with too much, lest they discover powers better left unknown.

         The Agency did what they could to keep the aberrants from advancing, and to prevent them from discovering realities outside the dictates of the Writings. So far, the vigilance of the Sifters had assured that nothing ever came of these aberrant jennah. That, and the fact that none of these aberrants ever strayed too far from the confines of the Order of Magnhemistry. But there was some concern over a certain Magnhem in Rudivia, the one who had caused the spor to change colors.

         Immarian drifted back to his own thoughts. How could he convince more Guides to join his cause? He had to stop Rezkelion. That far outweighed the concerns with the aberrant jennah. Sending Admonishers would solve all their problems. Admonishers could revoke these aberrants and any other troublesome magnhemists.

         “This aberrant,” the speaker said, “is the ringleader of the progressionist movement in his province.”

         Immarian thought how these progressionist movements could all be squelched by Admonishers. Why wouldn’t they just send Admonishers?

         The Sifter droned on about the dangers of these deplorable progressive ideologies, and of this certain aberrant stumbling into discoveries that could remake magnhemistry and lead to the eventual undoing of maghren control.

         Immarian shook his head with a start, sat upright on the bench, and riveted himself to the speaker. The undoing of maghren control? The remaking of magnhemistry? Who was this magnhemist? What province was he from? His people could not lose control of magnhemistry. That would destroy them.

         Woph-Gylan’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Immarian turned and regarded his friend. He saw that familiar look in his eyes that told him Gylan knew exactly what he was thinking.

         “Garrold,” Gylan said, “Magnhem Garrold of Rudivia.”

*      *      *

         Omarr Qintar warmed his feet by the fire while Dinnis paced back and forth grilling him over and over with the same questions about Garrold’s flight. It was not a frantic pacing, but a deliberate, cognitive one. Dinnis smacked his fist into his palm again and again. It soothed him, somehow.

         “I told you everything we know,” Omarr said with a deep, nasal voice, shivering. “Dad said that ever since the secret visitors arrived seven dawns yonder, the whole Bower seemed heavy, subdued. Apparently the Grand Holder went to arrest Garrold for withholding information that the Bower was in danger, something about a dispatch from Yarowglan. Dad thinks it has something to do with the visitors. Garrold somehow found out soon enough to escape. He used our climbing equipment to get over the wall.”

         Omarr cupped his nose in his hands. “Aheahhh,” the air shook with his sneeze. He sniffled and went on. “The hounds were sent out after him. Dad sent me out on horseback within a few hours of that. When I left there was still no sign of him anywhere.”

         “Garrold would not flee without good reason,” Dinnis said. “We can only assume these visitors must mean no good and that the Bower is unaware of their intentions.”

         Omarr cleared his throat and said, “Are we in danger?”

         All eyes were focused on him. He wanted to say no, that everybody should remain calm, that they should wait to see what would happen or to hear further news. But no matter how much he wanted to say that and believe it, he knew it wasn’t true. The light in his lightstone had changed of late. It wasn’t something everybody would notice, but he had a special talent with Tree goods, an ability to sense the well-being of the power that worked in them, and it hadn’t felt so well in recent months. There was a certain sadness in it, an expectant woe. That’s all he could tell.

         At first he thought it was his own mind or mood. But the sensation remained, even gaining clarity over the past few dawns. Now this, strange visitors, his son fled, his wife’s father sent to arrest him. All his experience, all his knowledge, all his good sense, all the history he knew, everything in him screamed, the land is in peril. But what could he do? He was just a local merchant past his physical prime. Sure, he had some connections, but not with any magnhemists.

         The eyes bore through him, waiting, pulling, wanting an answer. His daughter Drianna held a pot of tea, she had stopped pouring. His wife Taura came from the kitchen and stood in the doorway. His good friend, Bersivol, a recently retired Regent of the army, stood as a stone statue, a stoic look frozen on his weathered face. Omarr stirred not except for his occasional shivers.

         They all must have known, or did it just seem they did. Or maybe they were looking for a leader. He had dreaded that this dawn would come to the land. They had long enjoyed peace. But the clues, the events, the history all pointed to the inevitability of this time. He always half-expected it, thought about it, even imagined what he would do when it came. Yet he favored the idea that he might escape it in his life. It would not be so.

         “We are not in immediate danger,” he said, “but our lives will change. There will be a great war. We must prepare ourselves with or without the sanction of the Bower. We must not expect the Proficum to be with us. Revealing our plans to him will most likely compromise us.”

         Drianna burst into tears. Taura swept over to their daughter, securing the pot of tea before wrapping her arm around the jenni. She held her tight, letting her own strength and resolve seep into her daughter. Dinnis knew Taura would be right there with him, ready to help in any matter.

         “We must not panic nor faint in our hearts. We will gather a militia and prepare strongholds and hide-outs in the hills for our families. We will defend ourselves whatever the cost, whatever the enemy. It may not always be clear who the enemy is. But we will stand together until we are joined by friends, by allies, and we will grow in strength while the enemy falters. For the land’s sake, we must prevail. By Maghra, we must not fail.”

 Next  "Chapter 11: Choices"