The Archmage unbound

Chapter 5

Moira Centyr, or rather the creature I called Moira, watched me for a long moment, waiting for her words to sink in. I blinked several times as my own experiences over the past year shifted within my mind, reorganizing in light of what she had just told me. Several things clicked into place as I looked back, and my memory of the voice of the wind and the sensation I had had… of losing my ‘self’… stood out clearly in my mind.

Just a few days ago I had nearly taken to the skies… just to track a man a few miles further than my regular senses would follow. What if I hadn’t come back? What if Ariadne hadn’t gotten my attention? Would I have become a zephyr? A part of the wind… lost forever between the clouds, with no memory of my prior life? The implications were startling.

“Could that happen with the wind?” I asked her suddenly.

“An archmage can become anything,” she replied, “It is both a blessing and a curse… a strength and a weakness.”

“I think it nearly happened to me the other day,” I added.

“I am not surprised,” she said.

“Why?”

“You are particularly sensitive, in my time you would have been guarded carefully by a meillte,” she said. The word meillte was familiar to me already, it being the Lycian word for ‘watcher’.

“What did these ‘meillte’ do?” I asked.

“Their job was to make sure an archmage did not go too far. Most of them were mages of limited ability. If the one they were watching became lost they could speak to them directly, mind to mind, to try and draw them back to the world of men,” she explained.

“Did you have watchers? And if so… why didn’t they bring you back?” Even before I said it I wondered if the question might be too sensitive, but I had to ask anyway.

“I did, but some things cannot be undone. I knew the price and I made my choice, which is why I tried to preserve my knowledge for the future, before I lost myself.” She answered plainly, and if the question bothered her she gave no sign of it.

“You say I am ‘sensitive’, what does that have to do with it?”

“Everything… sensitivity is the way we used to look for possible talents in this regard. In general, once a young mage first showed his power he would be watched carefully. After a year we would test his sensitivity, primarily by checking the range of his mage-sight,” Moira said.

“Does that range or sensitivity give an indication of a mage’s power?”

“Not really. Many powerful wizards were too lacking in sensitivity to become archmages… most of them in fact. Conversely, some archmages were fairly mediocre in terms of pure wizardry. I myself was only considered a ‘moderate’ when my personal power was tested, but my sensitivity was very high. I was closely watched from the time my power first manifested until the time I chose to surrender my life in the attempt to stop Balinthor.” She said this with a certain amount of pride.

Needless to say the conversation had taken a fascinating turn for me. I had read about things such as ‘emittance’ and ‘capacitance’ being used to characterize the differences between wizards and channelers, stoics and prophets… but what Moira was discussing was more particular to my own situation. “How did you measure sensitivity?” I asked her directly.

“The most common test was to see how far away a mage could sense a particular object or person. Anything over five hundred yards was considered ‘very sensitive’. Individuals that tested in that range would be watched carefully to make sure they did no harm to themselves before they could learn to control their abilities. Those judged to be extremely sensitive would be watched throughout their lives… to ensure their own safety.”

“Was that really for their safety, or the safety of others?” I questioned pointedly. I was a bit sore on the topic of not being trusted purely because of one’s magical ability.

“For their own safety… most archmages that go too far do not endanger anyone, they merely lose themselves.”

“What is that like?”

The elemental being stared into me with penetrating eyes, “I was created before my namesake joined the earth completely, so I don’t know, but I have her memories of near ‘misses’ during her life before that day. Becoming something like the earth, or the wind, is too far beyond human experience for it to make sense anyway. Everything you know, everything you are, would be erased, replaced by a vast uncaring reality. There would be no ‘memory’ of such a thing; memory itself ceases to have meaning when discussing something such as the ‘earth’ or ‘wind’.”

“This ability sounds almost useless,” I commented.

“That is because we have only discussed the dangers. There are many advantages you have not discovered yet,” she informed me.

“And what are those?”

“Before we get that far… you’ll need to share some information with me. How far away can you sense a specific individual?” As she asked I could feel the focus of her beautiful gem-like eyes boring into my own. She seemed particularly intent on this question.

“How far were you able to sense a person?” I retorted.

“Nearly a thousand yards,” she replied instantly. “Don’t avoid the question. I need to know, to assess what you will be capable of learning.”

“Fine,” I replied. “I can sense a specific person out to a distance of a little over half a mile, probably over eight or nine hundred yards,” I lied. The truth was I could sense someone at twice that distance, now that the bond had been broken. I wasn’t sure what that might mean in terms of my abilities, but I wasn’t about to give the information away without being sure of the motives of the person that wanted to know.

“I suspected as much. Even in my day that was exceptional, especially for an Illeniel,” she remarked.

That smacked of an insult. “What does that mean?” I demanded.

She laughed. “Despite their historical honor as the first ‘great’ line of wizards the Illeniels did not produce many archmages. The Illeniel lineage was renowned for producing powerful wizards but not many of them were exceptional in terms of sensitivity.

Our conversation had begun to fill me with a frustrated energy. To work some of it off I stood and began to pace, hoping to relax my body. I was relieved to finally be getting some answers, but I wasn’t sure I liked what they implied. Finally I spoke again, “I still don’t really understand why ‘sensitivity’ is important for archmages.”

She walked beside me as she answered, “It isn’t important Mordecai. It is everything. An archmage listens and by listening he understands. Through understanding he becomes. The ‘ears’ that you use to listen are a byproduct of wizardry. The same sense that allows you to perceive magic allows you to listen to the world itself… to become the world itself. Does that make it clearer?”

“Yes, but this power sounds too dangerous to use.”

“That is because I have been telling you of the most dangerous uses. An archmage can listen to many less dangerous things, things more similar to his own, human nature. He can also listen in a more limited manner. Power can be gained without passing the threshold. You have caused the earth to shake several times already haven’t you? Yet you retained your humanity.” She stopped and reached down, into the earth beneath our feet and when she straightened up again she held a dense glassy stone in her hand. “Here take this,” she said, handing it to me.

“What is this for?” I asked in surprise.

“A lesson,” she replied. “Do exactly as I say and perhaps you will understand better. Crush the stone with your hand.” I gave her an odd look but decided to humor her. With a word I encased the stone in my hand with a shield of invisible force and then I began to contract it as I squeezed with my hand. She put her hand on my arm before I could accomplish her request. “Stop,” she told me.

“What?”

“Use your hand, not a shield.”

“My hand isn’t strong enough,” I said.

“Channel the energy into your muscles and bones,” she explained.

I gave her a stern look. I had seen the effects of physical power on the human body already, mostly by watching what it did to Penelope when she had been my Anath’Meridum. She had once stopped a mace in full swing with her bare hand. To be charitable she had done it to save my life, but it had resulted in a multitude of broken bones in her hand. “No,” I said, clenching my jaw.

Moira looked at me with an expression of surprise. “Why not?”

“I would destroy my hand doing that,” I said with a flat stare in her direction.

“Too bad, that lesson had two parts, the first being a crash course in healing yourself. Obviously you’ve spent a lot of time applying your powers in various situations. In my time a mage of your age was usually a lot less experienced in such matters.”

“I’ve been forced by circumstances,” I told her.

She smiled, “That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Very well let’s move to the more practical application. Listen to the stone… and pay attention to it carefully.”

Despite what I had already undergone with the voices of the wind and the earth it hadn’t really occurred to me that something as small and innocuous as a rock might have its own voice. Some of the books I had found in my father’s library had discussed the matter of sentience and existence… concluding that the very nature of ‘existing’ included a certain amount of awareness. Inanimate objects were alive in a sense, which is why the earth had a voice, though its awareness was completely foreign to the human mind.

What I hadn’t really considered was the full ramifications of that fact… it meant that even small objects, such as this stone, had their own limited awareness… though it might be very minimal. I stared at the rock for several moments before asking, “Is that possible, to hear something so small?”

Her blue stone eyes reflected the light of the afternoon sun, giving her an eerie look for a moment. “Yes it is possible. You must be careful in how you do it though; listen and make the stone a part of yourself, like an extra hand or arm. Do not let yourself become the stone. You must make it a part of you, not the whole of you.”

I laughed at the thought. “Surely I couldn’t become something like this.”

There was no humor in her expression. “You could.”

“Is it difficult to return from a state like that?” I asked. Her seriousness was sobering.

“What do you think the chances are that the stone in your hand will suddenly decide to become a human being?” she replied.

“Oh.”

“Stop thinking about it and listen. Clear your mind and focus on the stone. Don’t be dismayed if it takes a while, just listen,” she repeated.

I did as I was told. Hopefully no one would tell Penny that, she might take it as a hopeful sign. The most difficult part was ‘clearing’ my mind. In the past when I had listened to the earth, or even the wind, it wasn’t very hard. Both of those things were large and in their own way very loud… finding the voice of one small stone, amidst the background noise of everything around me… that was a different matter entirely. I never did succeed in clearing my mind, not completely anyway, but I didn’t need to. Soon after I began to focus and clear my mind of its usual clutter I started to hear the voice of the stone in my hand. It wasn’t particularly well defined, but once I started paying attention it was fairly easy to find. “I can hear it,” I announced.

“Are you sure?” my strange companion asked.

“Yes, I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t,” I replied in annoyance.

“Listen carefully and include its voice within your own. Make it a part of your own self. Once you can identify with it I want you to change it,” she said.

“Change it in what way?”

“Any way you wish,” she clarified.

Typical, I thought. “Thanks for your guidance,” I said dryly, and then I got serious. Focusing I listened until the stone did indeed feel as if it were an extension of my own being. It was a curious sensation, but it felt completely natural. It was only afterward, when I had withdrawn myself that it seemed strange to me.

Once I had made the stone a part of myself I tried to think of something interesting to do with it. The most obvious thing would be to cause it to relax… which would result in it falling apart like sand. I think that is what my new ‘teacher’ expected. Given my contrary nature I decided to try and surprise her. Drawing on past experiences I thought of the first time I had experienced my gifts as a mage, the day I had saved Star from the river. On a whim I coaxed the stone into reshaping itself, molding it to resemble my memory of the beautiful horse. It was a shape far more delicate than you might expect to see in stone, especially at that scale.

I had done similar things frequently with metal, using my power to help shape the metal in my hands but this was different. It still required the use of my imagination, but there was no sensation of effort. I did not force the change myself, I asked… no I showed the stone my vision and it obliged me by taking that form for itself. When I had finished I looked up to see Moira’s reaction. “How is that?”

Her face was impassive, “Very good, better than most when they first attempt it.” Though she gave little outward sign I could sense a feeling of shock in her. She hadn’t expected what I had done. More importantly, she was trying to avoid letting me know I had surprised her.

“How good?” I asked pointedly.

“Too good,” she admitted. “You’re a danger to yourself.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I chuckled wryly. “I didn’t like it then and I still don’t.”

“This is no laughing matter. You need a meillte, several in fact, so they can rest. In my day someone like you would have at least three,” she declared.

“Why three? I don’t see the advantage of having more than one.”

“There isn’t for you. It gives them the opportunity to rest. Three would be enough that one could keep an eye on your mental state at all times, even while you slept,” she explained.

“That seems excessive, what would I do while sleeping?”

“Probably nothing, but possibly anything.”

“How many of these ‘miellte’ did you have?” I asked.

“Two… I wasn’t judged sensitive enough to warrant a watcher while I slept. The last archmage to require three was my friend, Gareth Gaelyn,” she said promptly.

That seemed odd. Gareth Gaelyn had supposedly been defeated in battle with Balinthor, while Moira later went on to defeat the dark god, yet he had required more watchers? That doesn’t make sense, I thought. “If he was more powerful why did he fail… where you succeeded?” As I said it I immediately realized it was rude, but sometimes my mouth gets the best of me.

“Power… you have to stop thinking like that! An archmage does not possess power! He becomes power. Because of this no archmage is intrinsically more powerful than another; the difference lies in the ease with which they can adapt themselves. Gareth’s talent made him a brilliant shape-shifter, something most archmages avoid. It also made it easy for him to attempt something that would have daunted a mage with more caution, someone more aware of their own limits!” she spat out angrily.

“I did not meant to offend,” I hastily apologized. At the same time I was mentally reviewing what she had said. Shape-shifting wasn’t something I had read of in the few books I had had a chance to study so far. The term was intriguing, while also being frightening in its implications. I stayed silent for a while before speaking again, “If you don’t mind telling me… what did he do?”

She watched me for a moment, as if considering her words. “We were being driven from the Kingdom of Garulon. It was the first time we had met the shiggreth and they were something of a surprise for us. Balinthor had kept them hidden from us until that day and they overwhelmed our defense of the capital. Because we had not faced such creatures before we had no idea what they could do… or how to fight them. We lost the city and the army routed. Thousands died in the span of a few hours and those of us still able to keep order withdrew, seeking to escape the chaos. The fear and despair drove Gareth to attempt something radical. He was desperate or he would never have done it.” She stopped then and turned her back on me, as if to hide her face. Despite her alien body her demeanor was entirely human, as were the emotions I felt running through her.

I waited.

“He became a dragon,” she said at last.

Apparently I had used up my supply of ‘wisdom’ because in my surprise I interrupted, “I thought dragons were only fairy tales.”

“They are, or rather, they were… until that day. Gareth had always been fascinated with the stories. In a moment of desperation he sought to create the beasts he had dreamed of from the stories of childhood. I am not sure if his fear and anger twisted his imagination, or if it was purely a foolish thing to begin with, but the dragon he became was a creature of fury and destruction. It tore into the enemy, tossing them about as if they were dolls, incinerating those it could not reach with its claws. Very few of the shiggreth that had come against us survived, and even the avatar of Balinthor left the field, rather than face the dragon directly.”

“The history book I found did not mention any of this,” I said.

“I doubt any of the scholars would have written of it. The shame of it stained his memory. Before that day Gareth had been well respected and loved by all that knew him,” she replied.

“But it sounds as if he succeeded. What went wrong?” I already had a fair inkling of what she might tell me, but I wanted to hear it in her own words.

“After he had killed as many of the enemy as he could find he turned on what was left of the defenders of Garulon. He slaughtered friend and foe alike. Few survived, apart from those I was able to hide.”

I had expected something tragic. If anything it helped put my own experiences in perspective, especially the end of the recent war with Gododdin. At least I didn’t kill my own people, I thought. “What happened after that?” I asked finally.

“We hid for days, waiting for the dragon to leave, but the creature was cunning. Like a cat it waited, catching those who revealed themselves. Eventually, when I felt him leave I emerged from my hiding place in the earth and gathered up those few others who had managed to escape. The dragon that had been Gareth was gone. Whether it still lives or died long ago I have no idea.”

We talked for a short while after that, but our conversation had taken on a dark tone and I had lost my enthusiasm for it. Eventually I decided to return to the castle. I had had enough of dark tales and tragic endings. My own life had nearly become one after all.

“I need to return, do you mind if we continue talking at another time?” I asked.

“No need to be polite Mordecai. I am only an echo, turn your attention aside and I practically cease to exist. Call me when you would speak again,” she answered. With a wry smile she sank into the earth and as quickly as she had come, she was gone again.

Dusting the leaves from my trousers I headed back toward the keep, people would be looking for me by now.