Bellica Read online

  Then, while making the rounds in the hospitalis, a piercing pain had seized her mind and she'd fallen to her knees, clutching her head in agony.

  Two acolytes and Jera had rushed to her aid and helped her to a chair, where she'd sat, rocking back and forth, making no sound despite the rippling waves of pain that gripped her.

  When it had passed, the terrible, frightening clarity was back and she knew the block had worn off completely. She cursed her own stubbornness and fear, excusing herself for the day. She needed training--right now.

  ~

  The way to the Tower was dusty with disuse and neglect. The Tower had been closed off for almost three hundred years. Not for the first time, Ghia wondered what she was getting herself into.

  The hallway was littered with portraits of ancient Queens Ghia had never heard of: Sagea the Visionary, Anala the Strong (which Ghia found fitting for the present Anala), Zardria the Divine--that one made her laugh out loud. The Queens wore a strange style of dress, and the portraits were in surprisingly good condition for their age. The placards dated them as far back as the First Age. Fleetingly, Ghia wondered what manner of material kept them so well preserved.

  She came to the entrance to the first floor of the North Tower, the staircase to the left leading up to other rooms. She suddenly realised she had no idea what floor she sought and would have to search the rooms until she found what she was looking for. Which is what, Ghia? She'd seen only eyes and heard the voice. She had no idea what this being looked like. I guess I'll just have to trust that she'll recognise me.

  Hesitantly, she placed her hand on the door's handle but did not turn it. She stood, feeling that this was one of those moments in which an entire world changed, that no matter what happened after this, her life would be different.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and went inside.

  ~

  She stood in an empty room. Except that tree, she noted, wondering why there was a tree in the middle of an empty room. I wonder if this is the source of the voice? she thought flippantly, but dismissed the thought. Trees couldn't talk aloud, let alone mentally. Looking at the rest of the room, she saw no one and nothing, and was about to leave to search the next floor when she belatedly realised that the voice was probably invisible again.

  "Hello?" she said to the empty room.

  The tree turned and looked at her.

  Ghia wanted to faint but she was more sensible than that; so she settled for saying "That's interesting," before falling to sit with a thunk on the floor.

  The tree walked up to her. She could see it was not a tree at all but a woman with brown skin--no, that's bark--arms like branches, fingers like limbs, and green, leafy hair. Before she could decide what was strangest, the feeling of home came back and she could have wept with the joy of it. She almost wanted to ask Are you my mother? Suddenly self-conscious, she didn't. Her sensible mind was just using silliness to deal with the illogical situation.

  No, I am not, said a voice in her head, the same voice from the night of the banquet. The tree-woman looked perplexed. Ghia remembered she was dealing with another being with powers like hers.

  She held back a fit of hysterical giggles and managed to look the being in the eye as she stood up slowly. The tree-person was taller than any human she'd ever seen, even Yarrow or Caelum, but exceptionally short for any tree. The eyes were the same--ever-changing, earthy, still flickering with scores of emotions. This time Ghia could read a few: confusion, resignation, and, just barely, hope.

  She forced the mental voice cowering in the back of her mind to form a sentence.

  Forgive my reaction. I've never seen a tree do that.

  I am not a tree, said the being without offence, but, Ghia sensed, with a hint of pride. I am a Magi.

  A what-eye?

  A Magi. Third race to inhabit this continent, possessor of "freakish" magekal powers, ancient, long-lived, and I am the last of my kind. You know. Same old Saga.

  Ghia frowned. Something tickled her memory, something from her early education in the history of magek. One of her books had mentioned a Magea Rosa--one of the fabled Magi. Was this being...?

  I am she, Rosa answered, and Ghia blinked.

  But I didn't even project....

  You did not need to. You are an open book to me; all Terrans are.

  That doesn't seem ethical, she started to say before her mind snagged on the strange word again, like a thread on a nail. What does that mean?

  Terran? It refers to a member of your species; what you called yourselves when you first arrived here. But here I am teaching history when you need to be trained. How rude of me. Step further into the room, and close the door--it wouldn't do for other castle denizens to see you talking to a tree.

  Ghia was about to say, I thought you were a Magi, but realised the Magea had a sense of humour and smiled as she closed the door, following Rosa further into the room.

  So...do all Magi look like trees? She couldn't help but ask, as she took a seat in front of Rosa, who, sitting, was still very tall.

  No. Only those of us bound to the Earth--the Corasin--and of those, only the ones bound to trees. I am bound to the Kash tree, and so am rather short for my race.

  Ghia nodded, in a daze.

  This doesn't seem real to you, does it? the Magea asked.

  No.

  The Magea nodded in understanding. There is not much I could do or say that would prove how real this is. I trust you'll come to accept it in time. I do have a small question for you, however.

  Ask away.

  What is today's date?

  Ghia thought this a strange question but answered without hesitation. Jourd'Muerta, the 28th of Novena, 4019 of the Third Age.

  There was a pause, then: I see.

  May I ask you a question?

  Only one?

  For now. How old are you?

  The Magea smiled, completely transforming her face. As if there were seasons to her expressions, her face changed from winter to summer.

  I am sure I've lost count of the years, was what she said, but Ghia saw through the lie.

  Somehow I doubt that.

  You're sharp. Good. Let us just say I was middle-aged when your kind arrived here.

  Which was when, exactly?

  That's two questions.

  And now has become then. But I'll leave it alone. About the training?

  Rosa's face turned serious. Yes, we should get down to that.

  What do you expect from me?

  Concentration. Focus. Effort. The will to use your powers for good.

  Ghia frowned. And just what is the extent of my powers?

  The Magea laughed mentally and it sounded like a wind through the forest, rustling the leaves and grass. We shall have to test you...and see.

  The Divide

  When the world was young and people new to it, twins played in the forest.

  They ran and laughed, jumping over logs and through the brush, revelling in the innocence that defined them.

  They came to a clearing.

  Sunlight danced off the grass in this clearing. The fire-headed twin stepped forward, entranced.

  "Kore," called her sister with the wheat-colored tresses, "come back. There's a cave we can explore!"

  Kore did not hear her sister. She kept walking, until she stood under the full force of the sun. She felt a lazy ecstasy cover her entire self as her skin drank up the light. She reached for her twin.

  "The light is beautiful, Umbra," she called. "Join me!"

  Umbra looked fearfully up at the light. It did not seem welcoming to her, but she went everywhere with her twin. They were one.

  She took a few steps into the clearing, intent on joining Kore. The sunlight was hot. Too hot.

  "It burns!" she cried, as blisters appeared on her arms. She jumped back into the welcoming safety of the shady forest. "Kore, come back, let's play again."

  But Kore was already half gone. Her face was turned to the sun, enraptured
. She did not hear her twin. Horrified, Umbra watched as Kore floated up into the sky, beyond sight, beyond reach.

  Her twin was lost.

  She ran back, back towards the cave, where she hid until all daylight had faded from the earth. In the pitch black she emerged, a new sort of creature. Her pupils fully dilated to let in all light made her eyes black, to any who could see. Black membranous wings sprouted from her back, and claws and fangs dotted her hands and mouth.

  She could not remember the day; could not remember the light. She did not know what life was outside the darkness. Into this well she spun, forgetting all human form, until she lost herself completely.

  She flew off, looking for other beings as mad as she.

  Earth

  Jules

  Jourd'Umbra, 18th Decima

  A month of leave passed all too swiftly, Jules reflected as he said his farewells to his family. At least I got to see them again, he thought. His father had aged considerably since Jules' last visit; with all likelihood the man wouldn't live through next winter.

  But he's not that old, Jules had protested to Nathaniel one night as the brothers sat by the fire.

  Da took mom's death hard. He's been getting weaker each year.

  Jules heard the unspoken accusation: if you came home more often, you'da noticed.

  He was stung, but there'd been nothing to say. They'd sat, staring at the fire, until late in the night, when Nathaniel retired to his bedroom and Jules curled up on his bed in the common room.

  When Tania had died, her wife Eric had sold the family house and moved in with his younger son and daughter-in-law. It was a small house, and quarters were cramped, but Alanea and Nathaniel bore it with good grace, for they knew it wouldn't last forever.

  Nothing is forever, thought Jules, and suddenly wished he wasn't in the military so he could spend more time with his father before Muerta's appointment with Eric.

  The wish was futile, and he'd turned over and gone to sleep.

  Now, riding back to Atherton with the mail caravan, he wished it again, and more passionately. He was absolutely blessed with his family -- I just want a chance to enjoy what's left of it.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Suki's snort. He looked in the direction she was yanking the reins and saw two distant figures, riders, coming upon them. The rest of the caravan hadn't noticed.

  "Hold!" he called, and the caravan slowly ground to a stop. The lead rider looked back at him, questioningly, and Jules indicated the riders.

  The members of the caravan took up defensive positions quickly, readying themselves for a fight. Jules swallowed and put his hand on his sword, ready to draw and fight if need be. He had hoped not to run into trouble this trip, but Athering had lost peace and safety in the past decade, and bandits on the roads were commonplace. Wishful thinking.

  The riders were closer, and Jules felt a spark of recognition as their features became more distinguishable.

  The lead rider called out a challenge and the approaching figures slowed their horses to a walk. There was a silent conference between them and the more broad-shouldered one answered: "Bellica Anala and Major Aro of the second regiment, looking for safety in numbers!"

  Jules let out a bark of relieved laughter and assured the dubious leader -- Pazil was his name -- that these people were his friends. For lack of a better word, he added mentally as he rode out a bit to greet the bellica and major.

  "Ho, officers," he called as Suki let out a welcoming whinny. "What brings you to join the Atton caravan?"

  Anala and Aro, both looking as if they could use a night's rest and a bath, exchanged careful glances. Aro answered, again. "Roads are dangerous. We decided our luck had held out long enough and to play the last leg of our journey safe."

  Jules nodded in understanding and led them back to the caravan, where Pazil was waiting impatiently. "Begging your pardons, Dama, monsieurs, but we have quite a bit of land to cover before we break for camp, so I'd like to get moving again."

  The officers silently moved into place with the other riders. "Proceed," Aro said.

  Pazil cracked the whip and they were off.

  Anala

  There was no one occupying the main wagon's sleeping area, so with consent from Pazil, Anala crawled in and lay down to take a nap.

  The month of leave had exhausted her, and she was sure Aro was tired as well. She wasn't sure what had possessed him to agree to come along -- she hadn't known his devotion to his bellica would stretch so far.

  They'd packed nothing but civvies and headed for Aeril first. They had agreed to travel incognito, adopting aliases so as not to attract attention, and brought their own meagre supply of gold and silver along -- charging to a military account wouldn't work for Selina deMaya and Evan deKama, a humble pair of travellers.

  Aeril was dilapidated and colder than usual -- since the death of Lady Nia Ylfen and subsequent ascension of her court-educated daughter, Danika, things had fallen into disrepair.

  Danika had spent her education in Atherton, as was the custom with heirs to township posts in the country. Any good that may have been in the girl was pushed out, and now she spent all the town's money on her own pleasures and luxury, ignoring the needs of her subjects in the grand tradition Zanny had established.

  Aeril was the perfect place to find a spark of rebellion.

  They'd booked a room in an inn and spent their three days among the townspeople, gathering the general attitude of the populace.

  Gathering information.

  Anala didn't yet know for whom, or when, but since her visit with her aunt she'd privately vowed to help as much as she dared when the time came, as she knew it must. History showed that all tyrannies fell. Anala wanted to make sure history remained true.

  She wasn't sure how Aro felt about such treasonous doings, and when she asked him he had simply replied, "You're my bellica. I swore to follow you, and I remain true to that vow." She had left it at that, glad to have an ally.

  It seemed there would be more allies for rebellion in Aeril. Most of the people she'd talked to, while cautious with their words, were obviously mired in malcontent. Only one person had been less than cautious--a girl who felt she had nothing left to lose.

  Molly deRosie was eighteen, and one of the bitterest people Anala had ever met. She was the daughter of the innkeeper, and had served up their third night's supper with a thunk and a smile that never reached her eyes.

  "Eat well, Dama, monsieur," she'd bitten out, and turned to go.

  "I'm of a mind ta think we will, if'n ye cooked it yesself, child," Anala had replied. She'd found her accent to be of a benefit to her here. No one would expect someone from court to speak so.

  Molly turned and looked upon Anala with unmatched malice. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

  "Which part?" Anala tried to get a rise out of the girl. She had sensed a great unrest in Molly and in that, great potential.

  "Think you truly that a child with such a disability as this," she gestured to her unbending leg, "could be so useful? Waste not your mocking on me, Dama. I'll not be fooled."

  "I'd not be mocking ye." Anala had looked the girl directly in the eye. "I've a right to call ye child. Ye're a full ten years me junior, and ye'd be a minor. And such a disability would liken to impair yer fightin', not yer cookin, I reckon."

  She'd struck a nerve. Molly had clamped her jaw shut and Anala could hear her teeth grinding. "Call me if you need anything," the girl said, through her teeth, and limped off.

  "Dangerous, Selina," Aro said softly when the girl was out of earshot.

  "No more than whatever else we'd be doing here, Evan." Her reply was just as quiet. "She's of a mind to come back," she'd added as they turned to their food.

  The hours wore on and the tavern emptied, Anala and Aro continuing to sit in their corner, barely touching their drinks, for all that his was non-alcoholic and she had a strong head for wine, when they heard the unmistakable thunk-step, thunk-step that signalled Molly's approac
h.

  The girl sat down unceremoniously on the bench across from them, mug of ale in hand. She noted Anala looking at it and gave her a silent challenge, daring her to call out her underage drinking. Anala had met her eyes but said nothing.

  "So," the girl said in a low voice, "What do you want with an old cripple like me?" Her tone held no humour, nor her smile.

  "What would give ye the idea that we'd be wanting ye, child?"

  Molly glared. "Now I'm sure you're mocking me. I'm not so blind as the rest of the townspeople. I see right through you."

  "And what is it ye see?"

  Molly was thrown off balance but took it in stride, answering with only a moment's pause. "You're not so poor as you pretend to be, nor so humble. You walk too proudly. You spend as if you have no worries to your next batch of coin. I'd even go so far to say," she dropped her voice even lower, "that you're spies from the empress' court. In which case, she's slipping, because you're the worst spies I've ever encountered."

  Anala had raised her eyebrows slightly. She and Aro would have to be more careful from now on. An angry tension pulsed in Aro's thigh against her own, and she'd placed a hand on his. His eyes met hers. Peace, her face had counselled him. He calmed down.

  Molly watched the exchange with interest. Ignoring it, Anala had pointed out, "If'n ye're so knowledgeable as to the nature of spies, then ye ken we'd not be any, or ye wouldna said what ye just did."

  Molly shrugged. "I suppose that if it was all a careful ruse to trick me into revealing something, it worked, and I'll be watched carefully by that supplicating bitch-pup we call Lady of this city -- and for this statement, I'll be killed. So, let us talk openly."

  "Ye'd be quite reckless with yer life for one sa young as yer years."

  Molly took a swig of her ale and shrugged again. "Life's not worth much if you can't work to pull in a decent living. I'll be stuck in this tavern till I die, so there's no difference as to if it's today or when I'm old and barren as the southern desert." She paused. "I applied to join the military."