Mage's Blood

26

Patterns Burnt into Air

Runes

There are certain aspects of the gnosis that are common to all magi. These are the ‘tools of the trade’, so to speak: the erecting of protective wards, the ability to send and block gnosis-contact, the sealing of barriers and portals, and many other applications. Each has been assigned a Rune – a symbol from the language of the old Yothic peoples of Schlessen – to identify it. Hence the phrase casting a rune has passed into magi speech along with terms like spells and wards and the like.

ARDO ACTIUM, SCHOLAR, BRES 518

Norostein, Noros, on the continent of Yuros

Maicin 928

2 months until the Moontide

‘Master Mercer,’ the quiet voice hailed Alaron as he scurried through the twilight streets of Norostein, his hood up to avoid recognition. He had left his illegal periapt at home in case some over-diligent guardsman searched him before he entered the council library. With so many gone eastwards, as legionaries or in the vast supply trains, the streets felt oddly empty. The wind was rising and high clouds were scudding across the face of the crescent moon. The summer was in full bloom, its humid heat sapping strength and alertness.

Alaron stiffened as Jeris Muhren detached himself from a wall a few feet away. The rough-hewn watchman looked dangerous in the half-light. Alaron knew he should salute the captain, but he hadn’t fully forgiven him. Under his arm was a notebook filled with hundreds of the more arcane runes he’d found in the library, but he still hadn’t found the one Jarius Langstrit had burned in the air last week.

‘How are you faring, lad?’ Muhren asked.

Alaron found his forced softness irritating, but answered, ‘Well enough. We’ve been forced to sell our country house and my mother is so ill that my father has had to take her in again even though they separated years ago. Father is so in debt thanks to my failure at college that he must go east to try and trade his way out of impending bankruptcy. Meanwhile I cannot practise the art I trained in, or show my face in most of the city for fear of been assaulted. So life is just wonderful. Thank you for asking.’

Muhren winced at the sarcasm. ‘I have said I am sorry, young man, but you left me no choice—’

‘No choice? Who was going to believe me? You could have just laughed it off – they’d have forgotten anything I said within ten minutes.’

Muhren shook his head. ‘Lad, the councilmen listening had their ears flapping madly. And it wasn’t that which condemned you – I spoke to Gavius afterwards and he assured me that my disagreement with your theories wouldn’t fail you. He gave me his word.’

‘His word,’ spat Alaron. ‘Lucien Gavius’ word?’ He threw up his hands. ‘You must be—’ He stopped. Keep your mouth shut for once, Alaron: it’s already done. You’ve got a periapt, you’re alive and you have other secrets to protect.

‘Lad, they were set to pass you; Gavius promised me that. But a week later you threw a punch at Eli Besko. Did you not think that might have consequences?’

‘But that fat creep—’

Muhren stopped him with a peremptory gesture. ‘That “fat creep” is now acting-governor. The council approves all graduation, you know that. Even if he richly deserved your blow, which he probably did, you should have had more sense. I’m not your enemy, boy and I’ve given my support to having the decision overturned.’

‘Much good that’s done so far,’ Alaron observed bitterly. He shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Anyway, have you got something to say or can I go?’

Muhren looked to be wishing he could bawl Alaron out like one of his guards. ‘You’re a difficult little sod, aren’t you? All spikes and prickles, just like your Aunt Elena. Yes, I have something to say. You may have heard that there is a search on for a missing old man?’

Alaron stiffened. ‘I have heard, sir.’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘No. Why, should I?’ he added truculently.

Muhren looked skywards as if searching for patience. ‘If a watchman gave me even half as much lip he’d be in the stocks. No, there is no particular reason that you should know, except that old man has some connection to your thesis. He played a prominent role in your thinking, and I have been wondering why he should go missing at more or less the same time. I’m just exploring connections.’

Alaron licked his lips. ‘I don’t know anything, sir. Who is he?’

Muhren shook his head. ‘Best you don’t know – but if you do find something, please, come to me. Don’t go to the council.’

So you know his name: that’s interesting. ‘I thought you were the council.’

Muhren glared angrily. ‘On your way, boy – and don’t think you can talk like that to everyone. I’m being soft on you for Vann’s sake. Yes, perhaps I could have handled things better – but you would do yourself more good if you kept a respectful tongue in your head.’

Alaron glowered at him. As he stomped away he heard the captain sigh and head off in the opposite direction.

Back home, Alaron joined Ramon and Cym in the living room. Mother was in bed, fighting off a cold, and Langstrit was dozing in an armchair. The general’s condition was unchanged. Alaron and his friends tended to each, feeding them, cleaning up afterward and settling them for the night. Vann Mercer was out finalising a shipment. He had already sent three wagon-loads east, and was trying to confirm the final load that he himself would drive to Pontus. He would be leaving soon, and he was visibly worried for Alaron and Tesla. The presence of the general was no doubt gnawing at him too.

‘Did you find anything?’ Ramon asked Alaron as he sipped the Silacian wine he had bought in town. The red liquid made Cym’s lips fuller, more enticing – but she looked like she would slap anyone who said so. Alaron drifted off into a reverie, wishing he and Cym were alone.

‘Hello, Urte to Alaron – did you find anything today?’ Ramon asked loudly.

Alaron blinked and swallowed a mouthful of beer to cover his confusion. ‘Huh?’ The small table in front of him was covered with books from his mother’s library, and were full of rune-variants they had never heard of. ‘Oh, yeah – um, the last book I went through was by Rohinius of Pallas. I’m not sure it’s helpful. Many magi don’t use runes, or make up their own to obfuscate how they operate. The symbol Cym copied could be unique to whoever cast it.’ He sucked on his bottom lip. ‘It’s hopeless.’

Ramon steepled his fingers. ‘It’s certainly not simple. Cym could have traced the thing wrong, or it could just be a rare rune we’ve not yet found – or it could even be a common rune that everyone knows, but disguised by the caster. I agree, it’s not simple, but it’s still the only clue we’ve got.’

They fell silent. The moments dragged on until Cym looked thoughtful. ‘I know I’ve not had your formal training, but here’s a suggestion. Instead of focusing on the rune, why not look at what it seems to have done to the general?’

Alaron looked at her admiringly. ‘That’s actually a good idea.’

‘What do you mean “actually”, ginger-mop?’ Cym enquired with a mix of whimsy and danger.

‘What he meant to say was “that’s not a bad idea, for a girl”,’ Ramon threw in cheekily.

‘No, that’s not what I meant at all—’ Alaron threw a malevolent look at Ramon. ‘You’re washing up tonight, familioso boy.’

‘Guests don’t have to wash up,’ Ramon replied quickly.

Cym arched an eyebrow. ‘So what about my suggestion, rat-face?’

‘Uh, yeah, good idea, as I was just saying.’

Alaron leaned forward. ‘Yeah, it’s brilliant.’

Cym preened. ‘Si, I’m brilliant.’

Ramon laughed. ‘All right, okay, so let’s think: the general has no memory of who he was. Is there a rune for that? We weren’t taught any.’

Alaron leaned and picked up a slim volume. ‘Yes, here, in Rohinius: Rune of Erasure – but it’s on the forbidden list, which is why we didn’t learn it. You’ve got to apprentice to a Church mage to be taught this stuff. Blanking someone’s mind is Mysticism: it takes a lot of training. And it’s illegal.’

Ramon whistled softly. ‘Whoever did it meant business, then,’ he murmured.

‘But he’s also got his unconscious use of the gnosis,’ Alaron pointed out. ‘What would cause that?’

‘Maybe it’s the amnesia?’ Ramon wondered. ‘Maybe he’s forgotten he can do gnosis, but does it anyway by instinct.’ They all glanced at Langstrit, who stirred and looked up at them, and for a second Alaron thought he was about to say or do something … but his face remained blank.

‘I sometimes think he’s just on the verge, and then it goes again,’ Cym whispered, putting all their thoughts into words. ‘It gives me the willies.’

‘But why can’t we detect any gnosis-traces? We’ve all tried.’ Alaron folded his arms, trying to think, then said suddenly, ‘Hang on; what if it’s a Rune of the Chain, but too weak to entirely suppress his gnosis – wouldn’t that leave him able to do some workings?’

‘Perhaps, yes,’ Ramon agreed. ‘I’ll tell you something else, too. We’ve tried to scry him and got nothing. What if there’s a Rune of Hiding cloaking him?’

‘Can one rune do all of that?’ Cym asked.

‘If a trance-mage cast it, I imagine so,’ Ramon replied. ‘A trance-mage can do several workings at once. If there’s a Hiding-rune over him, that would explain why the council can’t find him. If he’s under both Chain and Hiding runes, he would be invisible to scrying, or any sign of the gnosis.’

Alaron tapped the table. ‘Okay, so we’re guessing runes of Memory-Erasure, Hiding and the Chain.’ He pulled out his notebook. ‘Everyone knows the Hiding-Rune, it’s basic stuff.’ He sketched it out.

‘And the Chain is well-known,’ Ramon added. ‘We got taught it in Year Six – remember when you got asked to demonstrate it and Malevorn blew out of it in twenty seconds?’

Alaron scowled. ‘I’ve been trying to blank that name from my memory. Thanks for ruining three months of hard work.’

‘Try a Rune of Erasure,’ Cym offered. ‘Apparently they’re very effective.’ She peered at Alaron’s notes. ‘Does your Rohinius tell us how to cast it?’

‘No, he just says what it does.’ Alaron tapped his empty glass. ‘The actual rune-shape means nothing, it’s just a symbol used to represent a gnosis-working, in the same way that a letter of the alphabet represents a sound. It’s the act of will and the mental training that makes the gnosis work. So the pattern is essentially meaningless.’

‘Then why did it appear at all?’ Cym asked.

Alaron leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Now that’s a thought. Why not think about “why?”’

‘I suppose we can,’ Ramon said tiredly. ‘We’ve tried “what symbol” and “what effect”, so why not “why” for a bit? According to the official stories, the general suffered a breakdown after Robler’s final surrender in Knebb Valley, but Alaron’s thesis has him wandering aimlessly in Lower Town, arrested and vanished. If his memory was erased, it presumably happened prior to his arrest – but why?’

Alaron put up a hand. ‘Because he knew about the Scytale of Corineus.’

Ramon rolled his eyes. ‘You and your damned thesis—’

Cym leaned forward. ‘No, Ramon, we should at least consider it: let’s say he knew where the Scytale was, and so when he surrendered someone wiped his mind to remove that knowledge.’

‘Why would they do that? Surely they would have wanted to learn where it was?’

‘Perhaps they did, then they erased his knowledge so they were the only ones left who knew.’

‘You have a devious mind,’ Ramon said approvingly.

‘Why thank you, sir.’

Alaron considered. ‘It’s possible: Langstrit goes to meet someone, who turns on him and erases his memory. That way only the other man knows what happened.’

Cym stroked her chin. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier and safer for the mystery man to just kill him?’

Ramon nodded. ‘Yes, I’d have just killed him.’

‘Spoken like a true Silacian,’ Cym snickered, ‘but I do think we’re onto something. Someone wanted to silence the general. It might not even be to do with the Scytale – we don’t know for certain it’s missing. But it could be what’s behind it all. If we could return his memory, perhaps we could find it – imagine that—’

Alaron couldn’t pretend it hadn’t crossed his mind: to find the Scytale and become an Ascendant; what wouldn’t he be able to do then? He’d have real, world-changing power … He found himself looking at Cym and Ramon with different eyes. They were of Rimoni stock; what would they do with the Scytale if they found it? Restore the lost empire, throw off the yoke of Rondian rule? If he had the power to change the world, wouldn’t he want to free Noros from the empire?

If it truly was the Scytale they were hunting, it could be the beginning of a war like no other.

They were all silent, lost in their thoughts.

Finally Alaron said, ‘We don’t know for sure it is the Scytale. I could’ve been wrong about so many things. But we can’t hide the general for ever, and we can’t just leave him as he is. He’s almost helpless – he even needs to be reminded to eat and drink. If we can do something to help him, we should. We owe it to him.’

‘No one’s suggesting we give him up, Alaron. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ said Ramon, ‘but you’re right to have raised this. What do we do if the most powerful artefact in the history of the world falls into our laps? Of course I’d love to see the Rondians thrown out of Silacia and the Rimoni Empire reborn, but I can’t think of a single Silacian I’d trust with that much power, much less a Rimoni.’ He glanced at Cym and coloured slightly. ‘No offence meant.’

‘Some taken nevertheless,’ glowered Cym.

Alaron put up his hand placatingly. ‘We should make an oath. If we find the Scytale, we will keep it a secret and only tell people each one of us agrees to tell. What do you think?’

Ramon stared at Alaron and Cym. ‘All right.’

The two boys looked at Cym. ‘Of course,’ she said lightly. ‘Let us swear.’

They clasped hands solemnly. Ramon elected himself spokesman. ‘We three hereby undertake that should we gain the Scytale of Corineus, we will limit its use to those whose admittance we all three agree. We will act only in ways agreed by us all. The friends of one are the friends of all. The enemies of one are the enemies of all. Our fellowship will never be broken, unto death. This I swear.’

‘I so swear,’ said Alaron, feeling a surprise welling of emotion that thickened his voice. These are my dearest friends, and we are bound unto death. He blinked back tears.

‘I so swear,’ Cym chimed in a second later, with a small note of hesitancy that caught Alaron’s attention. He looked at her, but her face was the same as always: lovely, unreadable, mysterious. She winked at him and his mind eased.

They toasted themselves awkwardly and sat. ‘Of course, we’re putting the cart well before the horse, but at least we’re prepared,’ Ramon said. He looked down at the three runes they’d drawn, then pulled out the paper with the fiery lines Langstrit had projected and said excitedly, ‘What if this is a whole series of Runes, all displaying at once? Look, the Hiding-rune could go here – no, hang on, yes: if it was backwards – look!’ He sketched quickly, then held up what he’d drawn. ‘See, Cym had it round the wrong way round—’

‘I did not copy it wrongly,’ Cym grumbled as they all leaned forward. Ramon traced his finger through the tangle of lines and yes, there was a Rune of Hiding. They all began making suggestions as they realised that this way round, the pattern could also accommodate a version of the Chain-rune.

‘But there’s no Erasure-rune in what’s left,’ groaned Cym.

‘Then maybe it isn’t the Erasure-rune,’ Alaron suggested hesitantly. ‘Look, see the lines through here and here, those are part of the Chain-rune and the Hiding-rune; imagine they aren’t there. That leaves this line and that squiggle and a curve there … All we need to do is find a rune that includes that shape—’

‘Or more than one rune,’ added Cym. ‘We might still be looking for more than just one.’ She looked out the window. ‘It’s midnight – I heard six bells a few minutes ago.’ She yawned. ‘We should finish this in the morning—’

‘No, not when we’re on a roll,’ Alaron said briskly. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

‘All right. I’ll get the coffee, Alaron, you two get the general to bed.’ Cym got up, stretched and sashayed downstairs, watched wistfully by the two young men.

‘Mind on the job, Alaron,’ whispered Ramon, handing him a book. ‘Her father would gut you.’

After an hour of working through the piles of notes and roughly copied runes they had to admit they’d got no further. Cym groaned, and yawned again. ‘Now what do we do? Can we sleep yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Ramon answered, his ferret-like face alert and his voice still lively. ‘Just because the poor general has been struck by two common runes, it doesn’t mean the other one or two aren’t from a Study. It’d have to be something Theurgic or Sorcerous – it wouldn’t be Elemental, although I suppose it could be Hermetic.’ He reached down to another pile of books and started flipping through them. ‘Every spell is represented by a rune, so let’s go – should only take us an hour or so.’

In fact it was less than half an hour when Alaron blinked, looked back and forth a couple of times to make sure, then whispered, ‘Look, I’ve got it: the line from this symbol fits that line, and the other lines overlay these two. It’s a Spiritualism spell called “Transfer Recall” – listen to this. It takes the consciousness of the person and sends it into something else, usually a crystal.’ He looked at them. ‘So what do you think?’

‘It fits,’ Ramon agreed. ‘I’ve never heard of it before, but it could be the one.’

‘The Church hoards all the most powerful knowledge,’ Alaron said. His mother always said that. ‘So it looks like whatever was cast upon the general was a multiple-casting: this Transfer Recall spell, plus a weak or flawed Chain-rune and a Hiding-rune. That must be it.’ He clenched his fist in victory.

‘Why would anyone do that to him?’ Cym asked.

Ramon looked thoughtful. ‘Let’s think … Perhaps he and a friend know about the Scytale. The army has surrendered, the Rondians are closing in, so they make a run for it, but his friend needs to cover his own tracks: no one knows of his involvement, but the general is very well-known. He can’t bear to kill his friend, so instead he steals his memories, leaves him on the streets to be taken care of by the people and makes a run for it.’

Cym frowned. ‘Okay, so that’s a possibility – but if so, where is this mysterious friend now?’

‘Who knows?’ Ramon said, stretching. ‘Maybe he sold it back to the Rondians?’

Aaron was struggling with a new thought. ‘Why did we see the runes at all?’

‘Not this again,’ grumped Ramon impatiently. ‘We’ve been over that—’

‘No, listen: he made those symbols appear – but why display the spells someone’s cast upon you?’

Ramon put a finger up. ‘Maybe it’s the last thing he remembers?’

Alaron nodded emphatically. ‘Exactly what I’m thinking: when someone uses a rune, they trace it in the air and it leaves a trail of light, right? So that rune-pattern – or patterns, in fact – were the last thing Langstrit saw as his memory got fried, right?’

His friends nodded in unison.

Alaron felt inspired, and the words poured from him. ‘A multilayered rune like that would take a trance-mage, right? But since when does a trance-mage even need to trace a rune? Those guys can do it all with a thought; no words, no gestures, it’s just will and execution. You saw Malevorn – the bastard had outgrown using visible runes and audible words by Year Four. Yet whoever cast that multi-rune had to be a trance-mage, and he used the standard symbols that are universally taught, writ large in fire – as if he wanted them to be seen. And think about this: why is it the wrong way round?’

Cym and Ramon were nodding thoughtfully. ‘Okay, why was it the wrong way round?’ Cym said.

Alaron thumped the table triumphantly. ‘You were standing in front of the general, but what you copied turned out to be the wrong way around. So if the caster was the person who left those runemarks … then the caster was General Langstrit himself!’

Ramon reached out and shook Alaron’s hand. ‘You’re right, amici – you must be. The poor bastard did it to himself – and you know what? That means if he left those rune-marks to be found, then they are meant as clues and he wants someone to undo it.’ He puffed up importantly. ‘And that means us.’