With that last bit, the marks were born. Astarael could feel marks in the air, see the marks around her, and marvel at the glowing gold marks. Her marks, marks she helped to create.
"Wow," Ranna murmured quietly. She reached into the air as if she could touch the shapes the put out a golden glow with the presence of the first seven mages. Ranna's whiskers twitched slightly, responding to the magical feel of the air around them. In the dim golden light, Ranna the young woman looked the most beautiful, although long whiskers had sprouted from her smooth, pale cheeks and almost touched her long red hair. She looked slightly like a rabbit, with her long whiskers. Ranna the red rabbit, Astarael thought with amusement.
Ranna's one word hung in the air for a moment until a girl her age could reply.
"To think we were the ones who made it all," Saraneth murmured quietly, her eyes shining with the same proud awe as Ranna's.
"It's truly a wonder," Astarael agreed.
"So, what do you want to call these?" Dyrim spoke up, his voice tinted with worry at the idea of flying, as he had started floating a few inches above the ground. Adding to Dyrim's uncertainties, red feathers had sprouted from his perfectly-toned arms, so he had started to look like a parrot.
"Let's call these marks the Belgaer!" the conceited Belgaer suggested. Dyrim's elder brother, but also identical in appearance, Belgaer had almost complete control over his younger sibling. So Dyrim, the stronger and more talkative of the two brothers, was under the spell of his brother.
"No!" Saraneth blurted out angrily. "We will not call these beautiful gold marks the Belgaer!"
That seemed to convince everyone except Ranna and Belgaer, who demanded Saraneth come up with a better name. Ranna could only nod and agree with Belgaer, refusing to speak much until she received a glare from Saraneth.
"But the Belgaer sounds great!" Ranna protested. "Why don't we put the idea to a vote?"
"Wait!" Kibeth blurted out. She rose from a sitting position in an instant and started to pace back and forth. As she moved, the young teenager's short, dark hair bounced with every step.
"Yes?" the old Mosrael asked, not moving from a meditative pose. Although he was both old and frail, his voice rang out. It was always heard by whoever was in the vicinity, and when they heard it, they remembered.
Kibeth ignored him, which Astarael realized must have been difficult. Kibeth's silvery brooch glowed with golden marks as she thought harder for a better name than the Belgaer, and looking at it, Astarael noticed that it looked slightly like collars seen on guard dogs. It gave Kibeth an aura of resentment, because while her brooch seemed to bind her so strongly, her eyes glowed with boundless energy. Once Kibeth turned for her seventh completed lap, she took two steps and then stopped abruptly.
"That's it!" Kibeth exclaimed wildly, her eyes wide with the greatness of her new discovery. After taking a moment to cast a smug look in Belgaer's direction, she announced, "I know what to call these marks!"
"Finally," Yael muttered loudly from his place, bound to a spot high off the ground.
"Quiet, traitor!" Dyrim spat angrily, his gold-stained eyes glaring in Yrael's direction. Those words, although few, said so much, even Astarael was taken aback by the force of Dyrim's raw emotions. Getting the same feeling, Yrael complied.
"Well, Kibeth?" Saraneth prompted, eyes shining. Suddenly, it was no longer a battle of what to call this magic, rather than defeating Belgaer and his intentions.
"We'll call it the Charter!" Kibeth suggested proudly. She placed her hands on her hips decisively and waited for the reactions. There were none.
"Let's vote," Belgaer snarled. "Now remember, Belgaer sounds so pleasing to the ear. Besides, even if you vote this magic the Belgaer, doesn't give me any higher power over it!"
Astarel nodded in acknowledgement, as did the other four that were to vote. Belgaer sounded as if he had really thought out his suggestion.
"Still," Saraneth argued. "The Charter sounds ambiguous, which could be a great thing. If the vote turns out that the Belgaer is to be the name for this magic, then what would happen to you, Belgaer, if one were to use 'the Belgaer' for evil?"
As Saraneth made her argument, Astarael turned it over in her head. It was a great point. If someone were to use that magic to wreak havoc, then Astarael sure wouldn't want her name to be the name of such a magic.
"Well, the way to use it is up to those who use it," Belgaer replied simply. "Beauty, magic, and many other things are in the eyes of the beholder."
Quite a lot of beauty when Belgaer comes to mind, Astarael mused internally. But once Belgaer and Kibeth had gone to opposite sides of the hill they stood upon, Saraneth promptly stood up and moved towards Kibeth. Her golden-stained hair glided through the sea of golden marks that populated the air around the seven who created them, and Astarael's mind was suddenly made up. She followed her blonde sister, her dark dress making small swishes, midnight hair standing out in an ocean of gold.
Belgaer began to look worried. Two of the five had not voted for his choice of name. However, his dejected expression became a happier one when Ranna stood up and strode in his direction. As she stood beside him, Ranna cast Belgaer a comforting look, and then slowly took his hand and held it.
Old Mosrael had listened closely to Saraneth's premonition of using this magic for evil. He had always thought of Belgaer as a fool, and chuckled as he thought of a deathly demise for the conceited pinhead. With a crafty expression on his face, he glided over to Belgaer's side, dark thoughts in mind.
Dyrim was the last to choose. On one hand, Belgaer was his older brother, and Dyrim owed him some loyalty. But on the other hand, Saraneth had a certain power over him. He couldn't identify it, but she seemed to be pulling him over.
"Come here," Belgaer encouraged his brother gently. But any words of his were no match for the opposing side.
"Long live the Charter," Saraneth mumbled almost inaudibly. It was not mean to be heard by anyone but herself, but she still spoke those words, and Dyrim still heard them. His face suddenly turned to one of a brainwashed person. He glided, as he was floating slightly, but he joined Saraneth. With that it was decided...almost.
"That's not fair!" Belgaer protested immediately. "Dyrim only picked 'the Charter' because of Saraneth!"
"Well, at least he went for a good reason!" Saraneth scoffed lightly. "Besides, how do you even know he wanted to come to your side?"
"Because I know everything," Belgaer answered. "Besides, saying he went for a good reason is rather conceited."
"Well, at least I had no intention of calling the Charter 'the Saraneth', unlike somebody here," Saraneth spat, shooting a derogatory glare in Belgaer's direction.
"That's because 'the Saraneth' sounds horrible! Besides, what if it was used for evil?" Belgaer accused.
"Do you honestly believe that 'the Belgaer' sounds any better?" Saraneth snapped. Her eyes widened and seemed to get sharper, like a hawk's. Around her, the glowing marks started to back away from the two that argued, as if they, too, were affronted.
"Quiet!" Mosrael yelled loudly. His natural yell coupled with the fact that he was screaming, made it obvious that he was about to get his wish.
"Thank you," Ranna murmured to Mosrael, and then spoke louder. "We've already voted, and as disappointed as I am with the vote, it's four to three. Kibeth gets her wish, and these marks are now to be called the Charter."
"Yes!" Kibeth cheered loudly, gleefully punching the air above her head, not affecting the Charter marks she was punching through.
"Now that that's settled, let's go to sleep," Ranna yawned, cutting Kibeth off. "I'm tired."
"Good idea," Saraneth agreed. She settled down on the grass under her feet, stained gold by the millions of Charter marks that glowed overhead.
