13 Talisman

People could talk about privilege all that they wanted, but being hot, sweaty and not knowing when your next bath would come while putting one plodding footstep before the other in robes that were a comfort in the morning before the sun had warmed the chill air but were too heavy in the afternoon. Then, privilege did very little to assuage any discomfort.

He could calm the heart, take longer breaths, slow the blood and cool the body so as not to let the heat discomfit him so, but it would have taken more concentration and attention than he deemed warranted. Such measured control did not come easily to him as it did to healers or those vain in pursuit of an artificially propped reserve. It was rational, effective, but not for him. Instead of focusing his attention on being comfortable or, alternately, letting frustration wash over him because of his discomfort, he welcomed the sensations of the heat that powered the motions of his body, the discomfort that let him know he was alive, the smell that invigorated his senses and connected him to the earth in ways deeper and more profound than reason or concentration. It was the same sense of belonging Poe had for his homeland which with each passing year, each passing generation, was experiencing a growing dissolution of the bonds that connected the New Land to the old.

It had taken generations and the establishments of seats of power to give the New Land its own sovereign identity. In large part, the course and growth of the New Land had mirrored the growth of the School under the stewardship of Master Giles. The Magister horded that responsibility like a miser hoarded gold, and while he had been able to maintain a certain independence for the School and this land, it was coming under threat from those suspicious of this land’s growing wealth and independence, and the Schools influence. It was in part to draw some of the pressure being exerted on the School from the Academe and other factions that Poe had gone to Dalmatia before he desired to take The Oaths and affirm the bonds between the School and the Academe so as blunt that distrust and suspicion.

            Dalmatia by the Sea, with its tall glittering spires and gabled roofs, trellised parks and gilded mansions, was the seat of the Academe. Poe had passed through many cities and powerful Duchies to get there, but nothing could rival Dalmatia or prepare him for its spectacle when he first saw the glittering jewel spread out in the basin before him. There was the lacquered Dome of Healers at the city’s heart, gleaming in gold and ebony. The crystal spire of the Palace of Magi reflecting from its faceted surface a kaleidoscope of color, and beyond that a sea of endless blue whose surface seemed to catch pearls of sunlight as it stretched from the bay to the far horizon.

“All roads led to Dalmatia,” was the saying of the Merchant’s Guild because of the ships that bestrode the deep in a constant procession, arriving and departing between two granite towers that had long since lost any martial significance, and the caravans following the curving road cut into the face of a mountain worn by wind and salt. There was nothing in which Dalmatia did not deal. Knowledge, women, men, death, they were all available for a price.

            Poe had gone to that busy port to take the Oath before the Peers, to be accepted among the community of Magi, to be a Guide. He was the first of his generation to be sent, to be raised up and Acknowledged; the first, but certainly not the last. He was in truth four years past due but had put off the trip because of the potential he had seen in the new students and his desire to nurture that potential. Other Magi had grown frustrated with trying to persuade the “head strong, intractable youth, arrogant in your land and its conventions,” as one Master had put it to him, to go to Dalmatia to take the Oaths. He smiled to remember their arguments, their pleadings, their demands. He had stayed for the students, to see them grow into individuals of character and honor. He had no thought of tired blandishments to old and stale traditions. It was not until the Magister had commanded him to go that he left. It was what he had least expected. He had always intended to go, but the Magister was the last person he would suspect to undermine him so. The Magister ever proved to be a man of many contradictory faces. When challenged, the Magister had replied, “It is your duty. We are only a Charter from the Academy. It is something to be respected. You must go. There are things that can only be learned there,” and that was all. So, he had gone.

On his he had seen the stark contrast between the Old World and the New. He had seen firsthand how the people suffered, the limits caste and class imposed, the squalor that deadened feeling. In the gleam of hope that flared in the eyes of peasants when he told of his homeland, he had truly come to understand the dream of opportunity the New Land represented and the dangerous course the Magister had set himself. It made Poe come to realize that though the Magister had not lit the flame that could turn into a conflagration, he was the one trying to control that fire, to direct it so that it did not consume them all.

Poe shook his head to dispel reflections from the past that were a comforting distraction, and, instead, turned his thoughts to what lay ahead, to the boy. He was dirty foul, with the stench of weeks caked in knotted locks and dirt that covered him like clothing. Feral, everything about him was more animal than man. Doing some research on the subject, Poe had learned of instances where human children surviving in the wild, as animals might survive, lost some of their humanity. But there was more to the child. Poe had sensed it across the link they had briefly shared: intellect and abilities beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

What was the nature of those abilities? Sorcery? Possibly. But not any Sorcery he understood. How was he boy able to shield his ki?

That normally required a measure of training, that boy had not exhibited. How could he plot a strategy if he could not sense the boy’s presence?

Later, the vibrations through the soles of his boots that gave him a clue to an answer and alerted him that something, or someone, was approaching. Not too long afterwards Poe was overtaken by the grinding of wheels on stone, the clop clop of shod hooves, the clink of metal, and the smell of horses and sweating men carried on the breeze. A figure outpaced the rest and soon the Captain of the Guard reigned in his horse, that whinnied at the nettlesome restriction, to match Poe’s pace. 

            “Would you mind a little company? The conversation of soldiers gets rather tiresome: women, wine, death,” he said.

            “I would welcome it. The conversation gets a little stale traveling alone as well.”

            “How far do you go?”

            “Not as far as you.”

Poe was envious of the approaching wagons and the string of guardsmen riding two abreast on their horses. “You deliver provisions?”

            “Yes, to Land’s End. We are relief for the current garrison. The rest of the supplies are several days behind.”

            “More town than garrison, from what I hear.”

            “Yes, it has grown quickly.”

            The outpost, which had originally been a small fort atop a hill, overlooked a confluence of tree, plain, and river. The fort had grown from the remote outpost garrisoned to keep people from crossing the river and violating the treaty established with the Dine, to a town that traded with the Dine and cultivated the fertile confluence of terrain in the area on their side of the river.

            “There is a school established,” the Captain said with not a little pride. “My girls attend.”

            “Is it a large?”

            “It has grown apace with the town. Each year new students are added as the town grows and new settlers arrive and leisure becomes less the exception.”

            Poe knew it to be one of the few settlements—along with the Lake District—that had any type of established school. He would have to go there to assess the Ability of the children. As yet, the School had not received a candidate from that far province. Most of the students came from provinces closer to the School or from the Old World.

            “What of you, Magus? What brings you so far, so early, into the territories?”

            “Exploring, finding the lay of the land and its people, checking the way stations and the road.”

            “Your kind normally does not venture beyond the steep climbs of the mountain or the Lake District. Usually, you forward the reports on the road’s conditions from the Guard to Free Hold.” He paused before continuing. “It’s a welcome sight.”

            “It is long past due that we gauge reaches of the Land, of the Dine.”

            “The Dine?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing more than the usual.”

“No tensions or concerns at the expanding settlement?”

“They have little. We do not quit the agreed boundaries and do not hinder their movement to their wintering grounds. They trade as usual and seem to be as curious of us as we are of them.”

“And still we know so little of them.”

The Captain shrugged from his high perch atop his dapple stallion. “We know enough. We know that strife and hardship are their lot. That scars are common to man and animal. They are fierce warriors, curious and private. We know that those we call the Dine are but one group from a number of drifting communities scattered among the plains and that there are people in the land beyond the plain that the Dine sometime speak of.”

“What if the Dine ever come to see us as threatening their way of life? What do you think would be their response?” Poe asked, although he knew the answer.

“The same response we would give if someone threatened us.” The Captain turned blunt, assessing eyes down upon Poe.

“Let us hope that never happens.”

“But it already has. Not in the way that you would think, but in more subtle, less obvious ways. It is in the way the people see themselves and this New Land not as an end, but as a beginning. It is in the meeting and exchanging of goods. They are learning about us just as we are learning about them. They cannot help but be curious. One day this territory will grow too small to contain the flow of settlers. When the pressure to move beyond the Four Provinces cannot be stopped . . . ,” Poe gave the Captain his own pointed glance, “where will the Dine stand at our crossroads?”

The Captain blinked his eyes as if to dispel a flash of light. “Interesting questions you pose, but none that we will find answers to here, now,” the Captain drolly replied. “I do not know where the Dine will stand, but I know where I will . . . and that is enough. Deeds are the measure of a man’s honor and the actions we take shape who and what we are, not the questions we ask or pose.”

“I agree with you—to an extent—but there is also great power in words, in the hope they inspire, the dreams they engender. Words can raise a man to summits that he might otherwise not have thought to reach,” Poe softly said. “There is strength in deeds and blood and hands.” Poe closed his own hand when he said the last as if to trap those claims in his closed fist. “But there is even greater possibility in hope, it can change the world and shape the mind to new realities. And this land is a place of hope.”

“Do you speak from experience or from what you have been taught, Mage?”

“From what I believe. And some say that is greater than hope.”

“Yes, belief can change many things. I am testament to that. . . .” he said, voice trailing off.

As they talked, the train of wagons and Guardsmen caught up to them, and Poe was offered a seat on one of the wagons as the rode to the way station. It was a small square building constructed of stone and mud with a rough rectangle in the front with a door hinged by heavy leather straps. There was a hole at the top that vented smoke and heat from the small hearth at the back wall. Two windows were cut into the building on opposite walls with wooden shutters.  It was drab and plain but functional. Behind the building were a pump and a trough for watering the horses and a small corral where two of the wagon drivers after seeing to their cargo and the horses began were making rough repairs to the fences.

            Entering, the smell was overpowering—the musky taint of animals, rotted food, dead things and droppings. Scuttling could be heard as the light from the open door sent the invaders into retreat.

            “The seals on this place have been broken,” the Captain said beneath a furrowed nose.

            “And some time ago from the signs,” Poe said in agreement.

            The Captain grabbed one of the stools as he walked back outside. Poe followed.  Placing the stool at the entrance to the way station he stood on it and inspected the lintel above the door. A disc, inscribed with a sigil of power and surrounded by two outer rings, had been set there to ward the station. It had failed. Taking a dagger from his belt, he pried loose the talisman above the door and the clay circle split neatly down the middle of the sigil. The Captain cast the crumbling relic to the dirt and went to his horse to pull another disc from the satchel at its side. Lifting his canteen to his mouth, he swirled a gulp of water in his mouth before spraying it onto the disc to wash away the dust. He recited an incantation and made a few passes across the face of the disc as he placed it in the recess above the lintel. Whatever arcane mechanism charged the device also caused it to seal itself into the hole above the door.

“I have never seen the ritual performed,” Poe said as he stooped to pick up the discarded disc and stuffed it into one of the pockets hidden in his cloak as the Captain finished his work.

The Captain turned to Poe before replying. “It has been my charge, from the first, to see to the maintenance and upkeep of the wards. I’ve been doing it since the way stations were first constructed.”

That would make him over five decades in age. Poe was a little surprised. His ki was strong but there were no indications that had any of the Skill, but there were many who had come to settle the New Land with shrouded pasts.

“You are one of the Brethren?”

The Captain laughed.  “No.”

“What is to happen next?” Poe asked.

“Nothing dramatic. Slowly, the place will begin to clear and soon there will be no sign of vermin within a good ten paces. Look there!” He pointed to a small gap where ground and wall met. Poe could see a line of ants moving from the building. Poe saw the exodus swell until that corner became a swarm of small writhing bodies hurrying to leave.

“It is a strange charge you accept,” Poe finally said.

The man shrugged and went back into the building. “I have accepted stranger. After my failure at the Trail, I stayed on for a while to develop a skill, but the only one I seemed suited to was martial. Disappointed and devastated by my lack of worth,” he said, smiling derisively, “I left and let failure guide me. I did some things in my wondering that I regret, but do not dwell on. Eventually, I found my way to this land and found here something to give me hope and purpose. Accepting this new charge is the least I will do to keep true to that purpose.”

The Captain began to oversee to his men’s duties. They opened shutters to let fresh air cleanse the staleness of the place and began to stock the way station with provisions. Poe went over and sat on one of the stools around the table. He pulled the split disk from his pocket and sat it on the center of the table.  

The sigil was a curious design unfamiliar to Poe. He touched the cold ridges with his fingertips. Curious, Poe touched the hardened clay with his ki. He was able to perceive contours and pitted hollows that could not be seen with the naked eye. He pushed his perception of the disc deeper. The pitted hollows of the disc grew and widened until Poe was seeing even farther into the gaps between. If he wanted he could broaden those gaps, loosen the fabric that made the disc hard and solid, making it crumble to dust. It was a powerful, but limited talent that only worked on small things. If the disc had been half again as large, Poe would not have been able to affect it so. But that is not what he was after. He was probing to unravel the mystery of the disc, its power.

“Don’t do that!” the Captain shouted, but by then it was too late.

Flame spurted from the table, a rising conflagration that sent Poe reeling, crashing to the floor. The shapeless column of black flame rose to the roof making it sweat and darken. Door and shutters slammed shut trapping them inside. Everyone inside was stunned into stillness.

The flame turned away the sunlight making it hard to see. Poe scurried on hands and knees from the table as two fingers of flame shot from the dark column. One caught the driver exiting the back pantry through the torso. It seared flesh and smoke rose from the hole in his chest. The stench was horrible but no less than the body lifted from the floor and made to caper and dance like a marionette puppet. The other finger of flame pierced the wall where the Captain had stood and cut a long, jagged scar through which the cries of the men outside could be heard.

 Poe extended his ki as if it were a blade and severed the finger of flame holding the driver aloft. He touched something cold and foul in that brief contact and the driver fell to the ground with a thud.

The flame slowed in its gyrations and seemed to bend forward as if looking for the source of the interference. Tendrils of flame shot toward Poe and sprayed against a translucent shield raised against the dark fire. Staggering to his feet, Poe spied through the flame that splashed against his shield the Captain, eyes ringed in fear, smashing the pommel of his dagger onto the two halves of the disc shattering them to pieces.

There was a concussive blast and Poe closed his eyes and raised his forearm to the blinding light. When he took his forearm away, men spilled into the room through the open door, weapons drawn.

The Captain gestured for them to stand down.

Poe went to check on the driver. Beneath the charred tunic his flesh was blackened and puckered. Surprisingly he was still alive. The finger of flame had missed his vitals and cauterized the lung. Poe was no healer. It had never been his strength, but he did what he could to lessen the pain and set the man’s body to the mending of his wounds. There was a chance he would survive. 

“If you have a healer at your post, I suggest you offload the stores swiftly and get your man there,” Poe said.

The men gathered up their fallen comrade and took him from the room. The Captain followed and directed them as they quickly offloaded the rest of the supplies. He returned a few moments later to ask Poe the very same thing he was thinking. “What happened?”

“I thought you could suggest answers to that question,” was Poe’s tart response.

The Captain appraised the arrogant, callow youth and chose to take another tact, but still he could not let the other’s tone go by without offering some correction. “It was not I who brought this conflagration upon us.”

A chagrined Poe turned his head away. “I apologize. Fear, regret, stupidity made me react as I did. You did not deserve that.”

The Captain inwardly smiled. He was not all arrogance and bluff after all.

“As to what we just witnessed, I don’t know,” he said. “The disc is charged and sealed under sorcerous wards. I once saw another overly curious Mage attempt what you did. The two aspects of the Source conjoined in that act did not react well. The result of that mingling was an explosion and the scar across my brow.” The Captain lifted his helm from his head and pulled back his hair to expose the high diagonal scar across his brow that disappeared into his hairline.

“That was more than the mingling of two strains of power.” Poe brushed the table top with his fingers leaving steaks in the debris. It was cold. Poe sifted the dust on his fingertips, sniffed at it.

“Anything?”

“No,” Poe said wiping the dust from his fingers. Prolonged contact made his flesh sting.

“Why did you shatter the disc?”

“A hope. I was told of a way to dispel the charge was  by shattering the disk.”

“Luckily, it worked.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a Guardsmen at the door who informed the Captain of their readiness to depart. The Captain said his goodbyes, leaving Poe to the darkened ceiling, dust on the table and his thoughts.