Svordens."
Syliva nodded. She found a rag and dampened it, then began
wiping the dried blood from her son's upper lip.
"I don't know when I'll be back. Send word if you need
me, but not by that fool we raised." And he stomped away into the early
twilight.
Farlo moved closer, spoke quietly. "You said that you remembered this sky boat?"
Jonn nodded vigorously. "I saw it last year, just
before the first snow. I was up on the west ridge at sunrise, and I saw it fly
up from the sea."
Farlo looked at Reyin then back to Jonn. "Where did it
go, lad?."
Jonn pointed to the Skialfanmir. The sharp, horn-shaped
peak stood black against the red afterglow of the western sky. "Up
there. The highest place."
"Why is it so important for you to tell the
stranger?"
Jonn looked directly at Reyin. "Because he knows
secret things."
2nd INTERLUDE: The Supplicants of the
Final Grammarie
The man known to the society as Ephemeris told the mate to
anchor near the place they called the Sea Gate, and went to his little cabin to
pack his robes and ceremonial accoutrements. It was considered rude to arrive
in travelling clothes, but he wasn't going to walk across the Black Tongue
wearing traditional dress. His own heavily wrinkled eyes looked at him from
the tarnished silver mirror. He would soon wear the white mask as one of the inner
circle if he played this correctly.
The two-masted felucca began rocking in the swells as
headway ceased and the anchor dropped. Always gusty here, Ephemeris thought.
He wished he could quickly perform the incantation for dismissing the wind, but
there was a rule against weather magic anywhere near the Temple of
Supplication. Temple. He rarely used that name when he thought of it — in his
mind it was still the Sardonyx Tower, the name he and his novice friends had called
it when he first came here.
He went back onto the deck, and looked across the lava field
to where the tower rose out of wind-carved desolation. Not really made of sard
and onyx, still it had that appearance with its layers of white and reddish
brown. It was rather large to have been a watch tower, large enough to house,
on three of its seven levels, a meeting hall, a library, and a set of
apartments for the inner circle. No one knew why the builder, some
long-forgotten sea king, chose to make it from two different sets of stone, but
from far out on the ocean the tower stood perfectly camouflaged, disappearing
into the strata of the buttes and bizarre rock formations that formed the
backdrop to this volcanic coastline.
Twenty years had passed since the night he had stood on the
very top of the tower in a driving rainstorm and attained the essence of the
magician. He remembered how lightning had struck the tops of the distant
cinder cones. Calling the lightning — that was how he had forged his essence.
"Any student of magic can learn to call lightning out of a storm,"
Cipher had told him. "The real art comes in making it strike what you
want." In an epiphany born of his impatience, in an ecstasy rising from
his desire, Ephemeris had called the lightning upon himself.
He was not killed. And all who had the sight could see that
he was now connected to the Essa. Before he had even recovered, the inner circle
awarded him the brown robes of the initiate, making him a true supplicant. But
it was the lightning, being touched by the Unknowable Forces, that made him
believe that one day the final grammarie would be revealed.
The mate knuckled his forehead and said, "Your boat 's
ready, Cap'n."
They crew knew something of the truth about him, as much as
they needed. But he had put the eye of glamour upon all nine of them,
including the cook — these types were simply unreliable without it. And he
wanted to make sure they did their best to maintain the ruse. When he went out
into the world he was nothing more than a trader captain from eastern Jakavia.
The jolly-boat pitched and
Syliva nodded. She found a rag and dampened it, then began
wiping the dried blood from her son's upper lip.
"I don't know when I'll be back. Send word if you need
me, but not by that fool we raised." And he stomped away into the early
twilight.
Farlo moved closer, spoke quietly. "You said that you remembered this sky boat?"
Jonn nodded vigorously. "I saw it last year, just
before the first snow. I was up on the west ridge at sunrise, and I saw it fly
up from the sea."
Farlo looked at Reyin then back to Jonn. "Where did it
go, lad?."
Jonn pointed to the Skialfanmir. The sharp, horn-shaped
peak stood black against the red afterglow of the western sky. "Up
there. The highest place."
"Why is it so important for you to tell the
stranger?"
Jonn looked directly at Reyin. "Because he knows
secret things."
2nd INTERLUDE: The Supplicants of the
Final Grammarie
The man known to the society as Ephemeris told the mate to
anchor near the place they called the Sea Gate, and went to his little cabin to
pack his robes and ceremonial accoutrements. It was considered rude to arrive
in travelling clothes, but he wasn't going to walk across the Black Tongue
wearing traditional dress. His own heavily wrinkled eyes looked at him from
the tarnished silver mirror. He would soon wear the white mask as one of the inner
circle if he played this correctly.
The two-masted felucca began rocking in the swells as
headway ceased and the anchor dropped. Always gusty here, Ephemeris thought.
He wished he could quickly perform the incantation for dismissing the wind, but
there was a rule against weather magic anywhere near the Temple of
Supplication. Temple. He rarely used that name when he thought of it — in his
mind it was still the Sardonyx Tower, the name he and his novice friends had called
it when he first came here.
He went back onto the deck, and looked across the lava field
to where the tower rose out of wind-carved desolation. Not really made of sard
and onyx, still it had that appearance with its layers of white and reddish
brown. It was rather large to have been a watch tower, large enough to house,
on three of its seven levels, a meeting hall, a library, and a set of
apartments for the inner circle. No one knew why the builder, some
long-forgotten sea king, chose to make it from two different sets of stone, but
from far out on the ocean the tower stood perfectly camouflaged, disappearing
into the strata of the buttes and bizarre rock formations that formed the
backdrop to this volcanic coastline.
Twenty years had passed since the night he had stood on the
very top of the tower in a driving rainstorm and attained the essence of the
magician. He remembered how lightning had struck the tops of the distant
cinder cones. Calling the lightning — that was how he had forged his essence.
"Any student of magic can learn to call lightning out of a storm,"
Cipher had told him. "The real art comes in making it strike what you
want." In an epiphany born of his impatience, in an ecstasy rising from
his desire, Ephemeris had called the lightning upon himself.
He was not killed. And all who had the sight could see that
he was now connected to the Essa. Before he had even recovered, the inner circle
awarded him the brown robes of the initiate, making him a true supplicant. But
it was the lightning, being touched by the Unknowable Forces, that made him
believe that one day the final grammarie would be revealed.
The mate knuckled his forehead and said, "Your boat 's
ready, Cap'n."
They crew knew something of the truth about him, as much as
they needed. But he had put the eye of glamour upon all nine of them,
including the cook — these types were simply unreliable without it. And he
wanted to make sure they did their best to maintain the ruse. When he went out
into the world he was nothing more than a trader captain from eastern Jakavia.
The jolly-boat pitched and
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