Chapter 14

Ruxson and company arrive in Lightwater, and its protectors are divided in their views of the westerners. Onvolio sees his power begin to take root in another.

Chapter 14

            It had been a rough few days. Ruxson wanted to carry on through the nights, but it was impossible with both the elderly and the young in tow. He often wondered what possessed him to bring them all along. The same result still could have been achieved with only one or two men. Ruxson could have traveled alone with Fengar, or even sent Archael to attempt to treat with the adepts. But they had come too far to send anyone back. They had come too far for Ruxson to start traveling with doubt. He led them as best he could, and rested with reluctance.

            It was foolish to try and set up camp while they were still in the Marshlands. The ground they slept on was soggy, on the prong of an intersection where various rivers and streams met. Ruxson would have found a safe crossing point, as due east as possible, but they were losing light and energy. Two nights they spent in the wetlands, waking up caked in mud only to have to spend the first hour of daylight washing off the muck. The first day trekking through the inundated land was hard going as it rained nearly the entire time. Mud suctioned around their leather footwear. They all took considerable time trying to save their boots or sandals. The second day was drier, and the breezes were not as steady as they were in the Whisperwinds. It was clear to them all that they were nearing the border of Lightwater.

            Woods to the south, the Footlands to Lightwater residents, separated the flatlands from the great mountains. They were by no means dense, and venturing too far into them would only take them further off course than the maze of the Marshlands already had. Ruxson had them journey through the woods, but they hugged the tree line and could still see the flatlands laid out before them. Occasionally they saw a small village or some farmlands in the distance. The closest they came to anything manmade was a small, free-standing abode with wheat silos surrounding it. When night fell at the end of their fourth day, Ruxson took them a bit deeper into the woods, where he felt it safer to start a fire and assemble more comfortable sleeping conditions. They pitched small tents and hunted slow game to cook.

            The first few hours of that night found them sitting around the fire. Few words were spoken, but their collective hunger was evident. They picked each critter right down to the bones. They sucked their water skins dry. Morning would come and the children would fill them again as the others packed up the camp. Six of them laid down for the night. Jazella, with Tatello tight by her side, looked up between the leafless branches at the stars in the clear night sky. Onvolio took a place close to the fire, the cold of night able to penetrate his frailness much quicker than the others. Ruxson, Fengar and another wind mage slept on either side of the old man and the children while Archael and the last mage stood guard for the first half of the night’s deepest and deadest hours.

            Archael thought of his sister often. Her death motivated him to leave Windhaven in the first place, and it motivated him to carry on east with the rising of each new sun. He paced back and forth around his half of the camp, looking to the north and east, mostly deeper into the woods. He couldn’t make out much further than about ten feet beyond the perimeter he created. What lurked in the darkness of these woods was a mystery to him, and he hadn’t the stomach to ask the wise old windseer. Surely there were foul creatures to snatch up the smaller, slower ones on which they fed earlier. Whether they were foul enough to attack men was not something he cared to learn.

            So he looked out into the darkness, keeping his mind fixed on his sister and his companions and his journey and the things he knew. Occasionally he turned to watch everyone fast asleep, their chests rising and falling as they breathed in the crisp clear air of the region. Jazella and Tatello had finally separated and slept on opposite sides, their backs only inches apart. Archael looked up from the group and spotted his fellow watchman. He was pacing the other half of the perimeter, looking out into the dark nothing much like Archael.

            Within the beating of a heart, the guard was on his back. He convulsed for a moment, and then ceased moving altogether. Archael turned to face the downed man fully. He only turned back around to face the darkness when he heard a twig snap behind him. A small group of archers had surrounded him on all sides, and as Archael looked around he found that even more archers had done the same around the entire camp. One man with a Lightstaff instead of a bow walked out of the darkness with purpose. He approached Archael and held out a shortsword, the point of which poked at the throat, before Archael could pull out any sort of weapon. It all had happened so quickly, the shock so real, he wasn’t sure what to do.

            “RUXSON!” he shouted, and the man with the Lightstaff lifted it off the ground to send the butt of it into Archael’s head, knocking the wind mage to the ground in an unconscious heap.

            Fengar was the first to wake. It was not a normal waking, no, but rather one of achiness and uncertainty. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. And he was certain he wasn’t in the same place where he had fallen asleep. A few minutes allowed him to recall the happenings of the night. Archael’s shout woke them, a fierce one of fearful warning. But by the time Fengar and Ruxson and the others had gotten to their feet, they were surrounded, each with arrows aimed at their hearts, each with targets painted on their chests. There was no use in trying to fight. And so they stood there, useless, as they were all hooded. Dreamdust took them after their first breath.

            To Fengar’s left the children slept. They looked peaceful, and unharmed, and for that he was thankful. Beyond them laid Onvolio, a red knot on his bald head. Archael and a fourth wind mage were heaped together in another corner. Ruxson lay right next to Fengar. He prodded the defective captain and watched him jump to clarity.

            “Fengar…” he muttered. “Where are we?”

            “You,” a loud voice came from outside their cramped cell, “are in the realm of Lightwater. Trespassers, you are, and so you were brought here.”

            “Where is our other man?” Fengar asked. The others in the cell began to rouse.

            “An unfortunate casualty. I asked my men to approach with caution and only use weapons if absolutely necessary. Your man drew his whip, and posed a threat, and so he was killed. Unfortunately for him, he had stronger vision than your other guard. Swealey spared you, young man.” The man on the other side of the bars looked at Archael. The mage had a black eye and dried blood across his face. He looked back at his captor with disgust.

            “We’ve committed no crimes,” Onvolio said calmly.

            “No, old man, you have not,” the man responded in a similar tone. “Nor have the children you sit next to. But these men you travel with, they are the enemy. No mage is permitted to enter Lightwater. We do not make enemies of the elderly and the young, but we do of them.”

            “Our business does not concern you,” Ruxson stated.

            “It concerned me the moment you crossed the Marshlands. We’ve tracked you since, hoping you’d turn back. Yet you delved deeper and deeper into our region, the region I’m sworn to protect. Your business is your own, yes, but it will not continue so long as I say.”

            “We only wish an audience with the Waterlord,” Jazella said, rising to her feet and stepping towards the bars. She was the first to do so.

            The man opposite them stepped closer to the bars as well. “And you think that can be achieved simply by walking through the populous, guarded lands of Lightwater… through the charged waters of The Tear… and to the throne of the most powerful man in the realm?”

            “The Whisperwinds are a land divided,” Jazella said. “You’d be a fool to not let us deliver this news to your lord, or at least do so on your own.”

            “A land divided? By what force?” he asked, uninterested.

            “Morality,” Archael said, standing. “And justice.”

            “For whom?”

            “We waste precious time as long as we stay in this cell and don’t continue east,” Onvolio said, standing next. Soon the only one still seated was Tatello. The boy had his face in his hands.

            “You want me to send you on your way to my lord?” the man prodded. “Four wind mages? And you expect me to believe that Whisperwinds has changed allegiance, forsaken the Greatmage and finally found reason?”

            “Not all of it,” Ruxson said. “I am the former Captain of Windhaven, betrayer of vows for the simple opportunity to right a small fraction of the wrongs committed by my previous leaders and help shape a better future for my region.”

            The man pondered for a minute, hearing the sincerity in Ruxson’s voice. “I will keep your weapons. And I will keep your mages. And I will keep you all, for at least another night. In the morning, if I still trust your words, the old man and the children will be freed. I will arrange their safe passage to The Tear, and I will try my hardest to grant them an audience with Lord Constance. Until such time, I will have them bring you food and drink.”

            “And what of us?” Fengar asked, staring pointedly at their captor.

            “Your fate will be tied to the success of your harmless companions,” he said as he turned to walk away, his back to them. “Or their failure…”     

            Northton climbed the uneven steps along the inner walls of Marshfort and spotted Quocco on the western balustrade. With his Lightstaff back in his grasp, Northton already felt stronger. He didn’t fear the men and children in their cell, but he felt weaker without his staff. Everyone at Marshfort agreed that bringing the weapon down into the small prison would be foolish. The imprisoned would only see it as a reminder of his power and be less likely to talk. Northton had waited some time for them to wake, standing on the other side of the bars and testing his patience. He didn’t fret or yell to bring them out of their slumber. Instead, he studied them. One by one, he tried to read their faces and their bodies. He thought he knew them quite well by the time they woke.

            “What’s their story?” Quocco asked as he heard the Lightstaff clicking against the stone behind him. He looked out over the Marshlands in the distance. It was one of the few places in Lightwater from which you could see them, and the only fort. Often fog veiled the marshes, especially in the early hours of the morning. Quocco imagined that’s when the invaders had crossed over into their land. Either that or he had to replace one of the sentinels on the western walls with one who had sharper eyes.

            “They were not aggressive,” Northton answered. “Perhaps they were upset over the loss of their comrade, but they were otherwise calm.”

            “Their temperaments are of no concern to me,” Quocco said, turning. His scimitar was sheathed, but the turquoise stone set in its handle caught the light and glimmered a bit. “What was their objective?”

            “They meant to reach The Tear.”

            “An assassination attempt?” Quocco scoffed. “Fools, those westerners. I suppose they thought we would just let them stroll across our lands without resistance.”

            “They seek audience with Lord Constance.”

            “You’re speaking as if you believe that, Northton,” Quocco walked closer to his fellow forthead. “Nothing west of those marshes has a heart. They have no conscience. They are animals, heathens. Their moral compass lost its way long ago, when they joined the Greatmage.”

            “Isn’t it possible,” Northton started, looking over Quocco’s shoulder to the shimmering waters beyond, “that some westerners think different than the majority?”

            “In what way?” Quocco asked. He turned back around and walked to the half-wall again. To his left and right, the wall rose to greater heights before dipping back down again in either direction, square teeth against the cloudy blue sky.

            “They say Whisperwinds has become a land divided,” Northton answered, pacing forward to join Quocco as they gazed westward.

            “Divided, eh? Seven against thousands? Hardly worth our lord’s time.”

            “Your lord,” Northton muttered.

            Quocco ignored him. “Did you learn who they are? Their names?”

            “Not all. Four are wind mages, one of whom claims to be a former captain under the Windlord. One is old, dressed in the garbs of a seer. Two are children.”

            “I’d heard as much from Swealey when he brought them in. We’ll put the children to work around the fort… perhaps the old man, too, if he’s up to it. The mages can rot.”

            “I was thinking of letting the old man and the children carry on. Surely you don’t think they could really pose a threat.”

            “Of course not. But they don’t belong on our land, and they don’t belong in our cells. They can settle for a happy median.”

            “The laws of our lands are strict in the apprehension of mages. If we start imprisoning the elderly and young, and putting them to work as slaves, we’re hardly better than the Greatmage himself. We should keep the mages, until we hear word from The Tear on their fate.”

            Quocco turned to meet Northton’s eyes. “We are charged with the overseeing of this fort together, one of the water and one of the light, as it is across the lands. We are equals here. But if you are asking me to let these three roam across Lightwater, I cannot agree to it.”

            “I’ll go with them,” Northton said. “Perhaps Lord Constance will want nothing to do with them. Or perhaps he’ll want to listen. Perhaps his mind will be more open than yours to the idea that a world can change just as much as one individual can. If nothing else, the old man and the children deserve better conditions than the cell that is a servant’s life.”

            Quocco was looking out towards the marshes again. He stayed silent for some time. “I’ve tripled the scout outriders. It was a failure on our part that this group managed to penetrate Lightwater as deeply as they did. If our scouts find more mages, what few cells we have will soon fill.” Quocco looked at Northton. “It’s the only reason I can find to send them with you.”

            “You are a paranoid man, Quocco,” Northton told him. “The westerners learned long ago that the most foolish way to penetrate Lightwater was by way of the marshes.”

            “But in small, undetectable groups, over a long period of time, it can add up to something much bigger. The children may only be diversions to sway us towards sympathy.”

            “These people swear by the fire no more,” Northton said firmly, having heard enough. “I can see it in their eyes, each one of them.”

            “Part of me hopes you are right. It would be a pity for you to lose your position over something so simple as daring to circumvent protocol.”

            Northton looked offended. He glared at Quocco, the visible side of his face a wrinkled canvas that suggested an age far beyond the actual. “I’ll set out with them in the morning.”

            “Marshfort will be left in capable hands,” Quocco quipped underhandedly. He spotted his understudy approaching, a young lad of the water with urgency in his steps.

            “Adept Nord!” Bullion yelled, and Northton turned and took a few steps to meet him.

            “What is it?” he asked, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.

            “Your father,” he said breathlessly. “He’s been hurt… stabbed. A messenger just arrived from Lightning Bay.”

            “How badly?”

            “He will make it, but they would like you to return for a visit. Lord Venyo’s request.”

            “How did this happen?”

            “I’ll fill you in on the details,” an older man said, walking up behind the guard. He had to be the messenger. “We must ride out immediately.”

            “Tell me,” Northton demanded.

            “There was a traitor in Lightning Bay,” the man started. “He was an engineer, by the name of Carter Libson.”

            “I know of him,” Northton said. “He tried to kill my father?”

            “Your father tried to apprehend him. Libson killed a guard and nearly Adept Nord. The Greatmage poisoned his mind. Libson was no longer an engineer of Lightning Bay, but a pawn of some great, unseen magic born from the fire.”

            Northton looked at young Bullion and the old messenger. The first was eager to see his response while the other only wanted to finish his job and bring Northton back to his birthplace. Northton turned and looked at Quocco. “Libson was one against hundreds in Lightning Bay. A man can change as much as a land and its people.”

            Quocco was left alone on the balustrade after that. Northton hurried down the steps, the messenger and the water adept behind him. He looked to the west one last time, and wished he could see beyond the marshes. He had never been to Whisperwinds. The closest he’d been to it was watching the blood of its people seep into the grounds of Lightwater. “You there!” Quocco shouted down. “Come take this post!”

            The guard on the ground hurried up to relieve his forthead. When Quocco reached the bottom of the stairs himself, one of his servants returned to his side. “Lunch, now. Quail with pear sauce,” he said as the servant bowed. “And arrange my meeting with the prisoners with the master of keys.” The young woman walked away towards the kitchens. Quocco stood still on the dirt, looking around at the business of the fort, servants and guards and workmen. He looked up into the blue sky. A single blackbird flew overhead, circling the fort once before flying north.

            Their cell was small to begin with, and made even smaller by the seven bodies inhabiting it. No one considered it an issue at first. But as the hours passed, the bitterness grew, and so did the tension. Conversations were rare and lasted no more than a few exchanges. They all knew there was little to talk about. None of them were skilled enough to harness their powers in this stifling room without a windwhip in their hands. And they were all wise enough to know that the wind wouldn’t help them down here. It couldn’t bend the iron of the bars and it couldn’t kill the men on the other side. They were helpless, at the whim of the adepts, and that realization stewed in all their minds.

            “We could be walking through the breeze and gazing at Tempestia’s likeness in Windhaven right now,” said one of them. The day must have reached its midpoint.

            “No one forced you on this journey, Lazlo,” Archael said.

            “We all knew the risks before we set out,” Onvolio contributed. “I thought it likely we’d run into a situation just like this.”

            “Thinking and knowing are two different things,” Lazlo said. He sat by himself in a corner by the door of the cell. “It seems you’ve lost your touch, seer.”

            “We can only hope they see reason,” Onvolio said, ignoring the frustrated mage.

            “It’s foolish to hope,” Lazlo snorted. “These men would rather chop our heads off than let us take another step in their land.”      

            “Then you had better get that awful grimace off your face,” Archael snapped. “We are no longer the long-reaching flames of fire they think we are, but you still look engulfed in anger.”

            “Perhaps you’re right,” Lazlo said. “The only fool here is me, for leaving comfort and sanity behind.”

            “Such things only exist in the minds of the ignorant,” Onvolio said. “The world is changing, and this is where we belong right now, even if it’s in a cell, so long as Whisperwinds remains in the hands of men who wish to mold it into a place of immorality.”

            “Shh,” Tatello hushed. “Someone’s coming.”

            The six others looked at him, shocked. None of them could recall the last time they had heard the boy speak. A few of them had never heard his voice at all. Each of them listened themselves, but heard nothing. Onvolio looked at the boy the most intently, and the two met eyes from their spots along opposite walls. They were different colors, the boy’s green and the seer’s grey. But they were both deep, and in the green Onvolio saw depths that looked eerily similar to those he saw in his own reflection. A few minutes passed, and those that held their breaths had started breathing again, stretching and groaning. Then they heard a door open. Steel boots stepped across the stone floor until a man stood in front of their cell. He was already tall and broad, even more so in his armor. The scimitar at his waist held a turquoise, as did his ornately carved chest piece.

            “My name is Quocco Klemons. Along with the adept you spoke to earlier, I oversee this fort and ensure the safety of the lands to its east. You are prisoners at the Marshfort, the westernmost stronghold in Lightwater. You were captured because you have no business here, and your presence is not welcomed. Whoever amongst you is your leader, please stand.”

            It didn’t take long for Ruxson to oblige. He was sitting in the corner across from Lazlo, whose back was against the bars.

            Quocco eyed up the wind mage. “And you are?”

            “I am Ruxson Chadwick.”

            “What is your position?”

            “I have none.”

            “In Whisperwinds, what is your rank?”

            Ruxson turned his head a bit and looked at Onvolio. The old man nodded once before Ruxson turned back to Quocco. “I am the former Captain of Windhaven, having served under Lord Evest Enzio. That man there,” Ruxson motioned towards the bed, “is Onvolio, Grandseer of Whisperwinds, also formerly under the charge of Lord Enzio. Next to him sits Jazella, and there is her younger brother, Tatello. They were the survivors of an abduction and subsequent outburst by fire mages that burnt an entire village and killed the rest of its inhabitants. One of the victims was this man’s sister. His name is Archael, and he holds the same rank as that mage there in the corner, Lazlo. They were wind mages under former General Fengar, there. And the man you killed was�"”

            “You there,” Quocco cut him off. He was looking at all the faces in the cell as Ruxson pointed to them. He stopped on Lazlo’s. “You are glaring at this man who claims to be your leader. You are oozing discontent. Does he lie, this wind mage?”

            Lazlo kept his position seated on the ground. He only turned his head and looked up at the adept addressing him. “He speaks too much truth. But we are in too deep now to have a chance of reciting the vows we’ve broken of regaining the positions we’ve abandoned.”

            Quocco looked at Lazlo, intrigued. He nodded a couple of times. “There are few things in this world more honest than a man filled with anger and regret.”

            “I only regret not turning back the moment my feet first touched your forsaken waters.”

            “Yet here you are, suffering the same fate as your companions,” Quocco said, no longer interested in Lazlo. He turned his focus to Onvolio.

            “My equal, Northton Nord, tells me you sought audience with good Lord Constance. Is that the truth of it?”

            “We came to tell your lord the same story you just heard, in hopes that he will understand the plight of many in Whisperwinds, and understand that we are the few with the courage and ambition to do something about it. We hope you find the same reason.”

            “Should I ask the angry, honest man to once again validate what you say?” Quocco said, looking at Lazlo. The bitter wind mage only nodded.

            “Northton Nord is some distance from here by now, riding on the speed of a lightsteed that will return him to his home of Lightning Bay, where his father was stabbed and nearly killed by a traitor under the influence of the Greatmage. What do you know of this?”

            “I know that the Greatmage is more sorcerer than man these days,” Onvolio said. “And it would be foolish to keep the idea of new allies from your lord while the Greatmage’s power grows in ways that were once thought to be the things of legends.”

            “Have you ever lost someone you loved, sir?” Jazella said, and everyone looked at her, shocked she would say anything in this pivotal situation.

            “Of course,” Quocco answered, about to look over her to ask someone else another question. But the girl persisted.

            “Was that someone burned to death, alongside dozens of others, by the same fires that swore to strengthen and protect you? Have you ever been betrayed by something you’ve never even seen, by a faceless ally turned enemy so quickly and intensely that your blood still boils at the thought of revenge, and the only thing keeping you from completely boiling over is the coolness of the wind and faith in Tempestia and the idea that there is still good in this world?”

            Quocco blinked a few times before he was able to take his eyes off Jazella. He let them wander to Tatello, still sitting on the floor. Tears sat in the boy’s eyes, and the mixture of fear and anger and sadness behind them was enough to drown him. It was then, for the first time, that Quocco saw the water that was said to be in all people, but he never believed to be in the westerners. He looked from face to face, and he saw the same water in all of them, water boiling with emotions of sadness or fury or revenge or justice. They all had change in their eyes, too. Whether it was still in motion or already complete was irrelevant. It was present nonetheless.

            “It would be dangerous, for yourselves and for me, to send you on your way,” Quocco said. “That would be, as a whole. Adept Nord was ready to travel with the old man and the children to The Tear and present you to our lord. I can say that we’ve come to the same conclusion, regardless of how much longer it took me. I can’t abandon my post and accompany you to The Tear, not while the Greatmage is growing and the world is changing. And I can hardly afford to spare another adept. I can, however, offer steeds to you three, and offer more comforts to the rest.”

            Ruxson looked back at the group scattered around the cell. No one seemed to want to object. “When can they go?”

            “In the morning. I will have one of my scouts draw up a map with the quickest and quietest route to The Tear. And I will have others put together food and water.”

            “We are gracious,” Onvolio said.

            “Perhaps,” Ruxson started, “we could assist you as guards, and help you in defense of this fort if such a need arises.”

            “Perhaps,” Quocco said. “In time. I will split you into different cells in hopes that you will get a better night’s rest. And in the morning, the old man and the children will ride out. And also, I would like to get to know you better. I will have you at breakfast.”

            Lazlo made a noise of disgust. The rest of the room ignored him.

            “Yes, of course,” Ruxson told him. “I should like to get to know you more, too, Quocco.”

            Quocco nodded, and turned, and walked out of the room just as quickly as he had entered. Ruxson turned around, away from the bars, and looked at Archael and Fengar. They had new confidence behind their eyes. Jazella stood up to go sit with her brother on the ground. She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him in closer. Ruxson crossed the cell to sit next to Onvolio. The windseer didn’t say a word. He only nodded once, all he ever needed to, when he looked at Ruxson. The cell fell into deep silence again.

Onvolio could tell the children were unsure of continuing their journey with only him. The windseer had always been competent and certain of his abilities. He was never a coward, and rarely a failure. In this situation, though, he wasn’t at all sure what to expect. It was common for all seers to have a working knowledge of every region within the realm. Onvolio knew plenty about the history of Lightwater, its people and its leaders, even its landscape and prosperity. The people, he had learned in one night, seemed untrusting of anyone from outside their borders. This was understandable, but still unnerving. If the first people they came across killed one of them and imprisoned the rest, it was scary to think what others might do. The men of this fort were following orders. What could happen when a common citizen, frightful at the simple sight of those from the west, came across them? All it would take was a man with a crude weapon or a strong hand. Onvolio, Jazella and Tatello would be no better at defending themselves than Ruxson would be at seeing the future.

            “Onvolio,” Tatello said, his horse trotting alongside the windseer’s as Jazella rode a few steps ahead. “Can you see far? Can you see The Tear?”

            The old man grinned. “Can you, Tatello?” The boy was more comfortable talking to Onvolio than anyone else in their group, save his sister.

            “No. But I can’t see the future like you can, either.”

            “You saw Quocco before he came to our cell.”

            “I heard him. I didn’t see him.”

            “Noise travels on the air, you see,” Onvolio said, looking up at the sky and down at grass. They were only in the cell for little more than a day, but it had hurt their spirits in a way that only the wind could heal. “Just like the past, and the future.”

            Onvolio smirked again when he looked at the boy’s reaction. Even though Tatello was quite young to start down this path, the first step was still always disbelief. Tatello thought for a moment, and scrunched his face together in confusion. “Have you ever been to The Tear? I hear it’s huge, and guarded by a wall of water all around like a bubble.”

            “That is true,” Onvolio said. “But no, I have never seen it, not with my own eyes. I’ve sensed it, which is all. I’ve never been in Lightwater. Every step forward is a new one for me, just like it is for you.”

            “It is a beautiful land,” Tatello commented.

            “Beautiful, and prosperous.”

            “It makes me feel much better,” Tatello said. “It makes me feel good.”

            “That is the future you feel.”