Chapter Six: Punishment
Two tall forms materialized on the outskirts of a settlement nestled in the crevices of a giant pinnacle of rock carved from long years of wind and snow. Graceful and fluted buildings built of the bones of the mountain rose before the two figures. The Sage strode towards them, keeping his eyes fixed forward and trusting the other to follow. The warrior did so, falling into stride behind the elder with steps that were silent and cat-like, an unconscious reflex from his many days patrolling the far expanse of wild territory. He wore an expression that mirrored the hardness of the rock around him, masking the wild flow of his thoughts. His mind was a frenzy of activity that whirled around one subject: the child.
He could almost hear the child's whisper again. Sihrr. The boy had known his name. How? He had not given it nor had it been uttered in the unconscious child's presence. While the logical part of his mind twisted infinite possibilities, something tugged at his chest close to his heart. Turning his senses inward, he almost stumbled at what he saw but caught himself quickly by virtue of well-honed reflexes. He glanced at the elder to see if he had noticed the break in the smooth gait. He had not. Feeling a small measure of relief, Sihrr gazed inward again. He saw a golden thread, stretched tautly as if connected to something. It had no beginning or end, a vibrant loop of tangible energy that danced around his inner self, yet Sihrr felt it was connected to a familiar presence.
The child, it had to be him.
It was the same aura of innocence and magic that he had sensed from the moment he had rescued the child. The golden cord hummed and shimmered, tempting him to reach out and let it pull him to its other end. Again, there was a faint echo of the child's voice calling him by name. Sihrr. The young magician's hand was a breath away from the thread when he felt the presence of many elders suddenly manifest in the heart of the city where they were heading towards. With great reluctance, the warrior returned to his surface self. There were more pressing matters that needed to be addressed first.
The two purple-clad figures arrived at their destination, a tall crystal formation that rose to meet the violet ash sky in sharp spires of lustrous black. Careful work with magic had cultured the crystal for architectural purposes, though its creation and evolution had mainly been left to the natural forces of wind and water. Like the powers that had shaped it, the structure held a rich raw power of Elemental Magic. The only overtly visible work was intricately designed windows chipped from the crystal that let light filter inside through shimmering panes of magic sustained by charms carved directly into the structure. Doors were unnecessary.
The Sage and the warrior approached a mural inlaid with flecks of brilliant jewels arranged to form an entire wall of runes. Azrak touched it, murmuring the required spell to allow the both of them access to teleport through the crystal palace's magical barrier.
Sihrr suddenly found himself in a small amphitheatre with a high ceiling of translucent crystal. The weak twilight glow of the indigo sky lit the floor of a slightly raised stage with a hard polish of black rock. Seated on chairs of the same hard stone, arranged concentrically about the circular stage was the Council of Elders. The various Sages had their gazes fixed on the center of the circle and were engaged in telepathic discussion. A heated one at that, Sihrr noted with growing discomfort, judging from the flinty glare of several Elders. Rarely did the council convene outside of annual gatherings to discuss business, and only under special or dire circumstances that necessitated quick and sure wisdom. The imposing group turned ten sets of piercing purple eyes at him and Sihrr felt naked under the intense scrutiny. He wrapped his thoughts away carefully and shuttered his eyes to his mind. Refusing to let the Elders see his anxiety, he held his head high. Let them mistaken it for insolence; a true warrior deferred to no one, especially to those he did not respect. Azrak motioned and the circle shifted subtly to allow for the addition of an extra chair in its midst. The warrior sat down. The king's Guardian then took his place among the Elders.
A venerable Sage wearing robes of royal purple spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Karrah." The warrior bristled, but kept a stoic expression. "The Council has been notified of your misconduct concerning the son of an Elder's Partner. You have violated the boundaries of both Realms, entered the Seat of a human's Ba unbidden and grossly overstepped the rights of your position. Your actions merit punishment."
"If you would allow me to explain," growled the warrior.
To the younger Magician's slight satisfaction, the Sage looked faintly annoyed at the disrespect shown by what was in his eyes a dishonoured warrior but deigned to answer him. "There is nothing to explain. There is no denying what has happened."
"I am not trying to deny anything."
"Then what is there left to explain?"
"Many things. At the least, allow me to defend my honour, for I did nothing wrong." A few Elders raised their eyebrows but kept silent. Azrak leaned forward slightly and opened a private link with the leader of the Council.
/Rahmah, allow the boy to tell his story. There is more to this matter than meets the eye./ The other Elder took a moment to contemplate on the Sage's advice while assessing the youth with a hard glance.
"You may defend your honour." The warrior let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He looked into the face of each Elder, aware of the subtle weavings of a truth discernment spell. He had to be careful with his words; the spell was a trap, activated by dishonesty. Judging from the denseness of the magic, it was a powerful spell set to hair-trigger sensitivity. There was no hesitation in his speech. He simply lent a voice to the truth.
"I am a warrior in training of the line of Azima and as such, it is my duty to patrol the wilds of Sahrae to keep these borders safe. I was hunting the fell creatures of the Shadow on the western border two days ago when I felt a powerful summon. I felt it was not a normal summon, for I had never encountered this brand of Magic before." He paused, recalling the strange burning sensation he had felt in his chest as he was following the trail of a Shadow Ghoul. It had been a fiery and desperate need, so strong that he had had only felt it one other time in his life. Mentally shaking his head, he returned to his narrative. "The summon was so strong that I could do nothing to resist it. I was transported to a hall. I found I could not move; I was encased in stone. I do not know how long I suffered under this enchantment; my senses were robbed. It was only when the child was being attacked by the Shadow Ghoul that I was freed from the stone. I saw the attack and I did what honour required of me. I saved him. The child was hurt, so I took him to Di'An Keto, the master healer of my village."
"How did you end up in the boy's Seat of the Ba?" interrupted an elder.
"I do not know how to explain it. The same Magic that summoned me directed me there."
"But that is impossible. None but the boy's Guardian should have natural access to his Seat." The elder's words dropped into the heavy silence. The implications of those words rippled through the Council, forcing them to confront suddenly unavoidable questions. The edgings of fear prodded them back to safer, well-trodden paths of thought. It was not possible that this humble Karrah could be the destined Guardian of the king's son, given his lineage and background. The Magician was a mere boy, a brazen hunter without the necessary wisdom and skills needed to become a Guardian. It simply could not be. Should not be. It was a mistake. Before any of the Elders could voice their thoughts aloud, Rahmah spoke.
"You have been given your chance to defend your honour. The Council now requires time to discuss your situation." The leader of the Council raised a hand and muttered a spell. Glowing blue lines traced a humming cage around Sihrr, shutting him in like a trapped animal. The Magician's anger flared in response. He held his hand in front of him, palm facing down to summon his warrior's staff. The degradation was too much.
"The Containment spell is unnecessary." Azrak waved a hand and the cage disappeared, much to the warrior's shock. His hand remained poised to wield the elegant traditional weapon of the Azima, the fingers closed on thin air. The other Elders glanced at the king's Guardian in surprise bordering on anger. He met their gaze coolly, meeting the leader's eyes last. The air crackled with tension as the two fought a battle of wills.
"We do not have time for this. Very well," Rahmah conceded, his eyes never leaving the set face of the other Elder. "You shall take responsibility for any action he should commit in our absence."
"He will do nothing."
Rahmah flicked a look of doubtful disdain at the Magician before dismissing the subject. He looked about the Council, holding each of the eleven gazes briefly. The group of Elders settled back into their chairs and closed their eyes, chanting softly in unison. The spell whirled around the eleven figures, creating a private astral plane in which their minds could communicate freely without disturbance and need for secrecy. The young Magician suddenly found himself in an empty amphitheatre. The bodies of the elders remained in their chairs, but he could only faintly detect their presences.
With the interrogative pressure of the Elders gone, Sihrr breathed a sigh of relief and felt part of the tension bleed from him. He glanced down at his outstretched hand then at the serene face of the king's Guardian. Why had the Elder stood up in his defence? Given his supposed crime and position, the elders had every right- according to law anyway, he reflected bitterly- to Contain him. Yet, the Guardian had argued for this small dignity. Not that the Containment was necessary; he could feel the vibrantly strong magical energies surrounding the crystal structure and guessed that any that left or entered it against the Council's will would find themselves staff-deep in a trap. But it was the courtesy of the gesture, shown to one that the other most likely viewed as his inferior that touched the warrior.
The gratitude was tempered by an instinctive suspicion. His emotions led him down a familiar path of thought. The Ahsan rarely treated any other clan as their equal. Even their name was indication of their snobbery. Better indeed, the young Magician mentally snorted. In his mind, no clan was better or inferior to each other. Each fulfilled a destiny. Just because the destiny of the Ahsan was to become Guardians did not make them superior in any way. And perhaps, this was not an exclusive right. The elder had said it himself: he should not have had natural access to the Seat of the boy's Ka, yet he had had no trouble finding it. The Ancient Magic that protected each individual's Seat was vastly more powerful than the ability of all save the strongest mages to break. So, the Azima warrior reflected, does that make me.? His thoughts were interrupted as he detected the return of the elders. Fleetingly, he wondered whether the brevity was good or bad.
The leader's keen purple eyes opened to catch the warrior. "The Council has decided.
"You are innocent of forcing entrance to the seat of the boy prince's Ka. However, it cannot be overlooked that you have trespassed. Your act merits punishment, though that which the Council has decided on is of little relevance for one of your position. You punishment is thus: that you swear upon your honour to never go near the boy again."
The Magician turned pale. He felt the golden connection quiver deep inside and drew strength from it.
"Do you accept your punishment?" The leader's commanding voice cut through the Azima's thoughts. His sapphire eyes focused on the Council as he steeled himself.
"No."
"What?" an elder frowned in response.
"No."
He moved from face to face, reading the lines of shock, frustration, anger and scorn. Reaching Azrak's place in the Council, he was surprised to see that the Guardian was regarding him with an unreadable expression.
"Think carefully before you choose your destiny."
He turned away from the Guardian, turning inwards. What Rahmah said was true. It was a trifle punishment for an Azima warrior. As a guardian of the lands of his people, his path would never take him to the other Realm, to the side of the child he had saved. That was not the destiny appointed to him by virtue of birth. They merely wanted his word and his honour that this possibility would become forever closed to him. And it was such an easy thing to promise. The words came easily.
"I do not accept this punishment." I cannot, he admitted to himself. He had been ready to accept punishment through fire and ice, even through the deep forbidden recesses of the Realm of Shadows though it would have condemned him through hell and possibly death. But the punishment they asked was certain death. It would be the death of a part of himself that he had found in the child. The following silence was thick with disbelief at his decision.
"We cannot allow your trespass to go unpunished yet you refuse your punishment." Rahamh's icy voice sliced into the stillness. "Very well. I see that perhaps you may need more time to consider the weight of your decision. You will be detained indefinitely in the holding cells until you are ready to accept."
Two armour-clad guards appeared on either side of the youth. One glare from the warrior told the guards not to touch the prisoner, though he was forced to surrender his staff. He called forth the weapon reluctantly, his grip knuckle-white on the gleaming handle even as he handed it over. The Azima held his head high, his eyes two chips of blue flame as he glared at the Council before the guards transported him away.
An elder spoke. "I hope this does not grow into a problem. The Karrah."
"It is taken care of at the moment," Rahmah answered.
"Even so, what has happened cannot be changed and we cannot ignore it."
"None of us take this lightly." Rahmah stood, signalling an end to the discussion. One by one, the other elders stood to take their leave, nodding to each other before disappearing from the amphitheatre.
Rahmah turned to the only other remaining elder. The king's Guardian was still seated, hands folded in his lap.
"Speak your mind."
"If he is destined, we cannot stop him."
"The fact is that he is a Karrah. He is not destined," Rahmah replied coldly.
"How can you be sure?"
"He is a Karrah, of low blood. That is all the certainty I need." With that, the leader of the Council stood and left abruptly, leaving the pharaoh's Guardian alone in the vast crystal amphitheatre."
Two tall forms materialized on the outskirts of a settlement nestled in the crevices of a giant pinnacle of rock carved from long years of wind and snow. Graceful and fluted buildings built of the bones of the mountain rose before the two figures. The Sage strode towards them, keeping his eyes fixed forward and trusting the other to follow. The warrior did so, falling into stride behind the elder with steps that were silent and cat-like, an unconscious reflex from his many days patrolling the far expanse of wild territory. He wore an expression that mirrored the hardness of the rock around him, masking the wild flow of his thoughts. His mind was a frenzy of activity that whirled around one subject: the child.
He could almost hear the child's whisper again. Sihrr. The boy had known his name. How? He had not given it nor had it been uttered in the unconscious child's presence. While the logical part of his mind twisted infinite possibilities, something tugged at his chest close to his heart. Turning his senses inward, he almost stumbled at what he saw but caught himself quickly by virtue of well-honed reflexes. He glanced at the elder to see if he had noticed the break in the smooth gait. He had not. Feeling a small measure of relief, Sihrr gazed inward again. He saw a golden thread, stretched tautly as if connected to something. It had no beginning or end, a vibrant loop of tangible energy that danced around his inner self, yet Sihrr felt it was connected to a familiar presence.
The child, it had to be him.
It was the same aura of innocence and magic that he had sensed from the moment he had rescued the child. The golden cord hummed and shimmered, tempting him to reach out and let it pull him to its other end. Again, there was a faint echo of the child's voice calling him by name. Sihrr. The young magician's hand was a breath away from the thread when he felt the presence of many elders suddenly manifest in the heart of the city where they were heading towards. With great reluctance, the warrior returned to his surface self. There were more pressing matters that needed to be addressed first.
The two purple-clad figures arrived at their destination, a tall crystal formation that rose to meet the violet ash sky in sharp spires of lustrous black. Careful work with magic had cultured the crystal for architectural purposes, though its creation and evolution had mainly been left to the natural forces of wind and water. Like the powers that had shaped it, the structure held a rich raw power of Elemental Magic. The only overtly visible work was intricately designed windows chipped from the crystal that let light filter inside through shimmering panes of magic sustained by charms carved directly into the structure. Doors were unnecessary.
The Sage and the warrior approached a mural inlaid with flecks of brilliant jewels arranged to form an entire wall of runes. Azrak touched it, murmuring the required spell to allow the both of them access to teleport through the crystal palace's magical barrier.
Sihrr suddenly found himself in a small amphitheatre with a high ceiling of translucent crystal. The weak twilight glow of the indigo sky lit the floor of a slightly raised stage with a hard polish of black rock. Seated on chairs of the same hard stone, arranged concentrically about the circular stage was the Council of Elders. The various Sages had their gazes fixed on the center of the circle and were engaged in telepathic discussion. A heated one at that, Sihrr noted with growing discomfort, judging from the flinty glare of several Elders. Rarely did the council convene outside of annual gatherings to discuss business, and only under special or dire circumstances that necessitated quick and sure wisdom. The imposing group turned ten sets of piercing purple eyes at him and Sihrr felt naked under the intense scrutiny. He wrapped his thoughts away carefully and shuttered his eyes to his mind. Refusing to let the Elders see his anxiety, he held his head high. Let them mistaken it for insolence; a true warrior deferred to no one, especially to those he did not respect. Azrak motioned and the circle shifted subtly to allow for the addition of an extra chair in its midst. The warrior sat down. The king's Guardian then took his place among the Elders.
A venerable Sage wearing robes of royal purple spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Karrah." The warrior bristled, but kept a stoic expression. "The Council has been notified of your misconduct concerning the son of an Elder's Partner. You have violated the boundaries of both Realms, entered the Seat of a human's Ba unbidden and grossly overstepped the rights of your position. Your actions merit punishment."
"If you would allow me to explain," growled the warrior.
To the younger Magician's slight satisfaction, the Sage looked faintly annoyed at the disrespect shown by what was in his eyes a dishonoured warrior but deigned to answer him. "There is nothing to explain. There is no denying what has happened."
"I am not trying to deny anything."
"Then what is there left to explain?"
"Many things. At the least, allow me to defend my honour, for I did nothing wrong." A few Elders raised their eyebrows but kept silent. Azrak leaned forward slightly and opened a private link with the leader of the Council.
/Rahmah, allow the boy to tell his story. There is more to this matter than meets the eye./ The other Elder took a moment to contemplate on the Sage's advice while assessing the youth with a hard glance.
"You may defend your honour." The warrior let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He looked into the face of each Elder, aware of the subtle weavings of a truth discernment spell. He had to be careful with his words; the spell was a trap, activated by dishonesty. Judging from the denseness of the magic, it was a powerful spell set to hair-trigger sensitivity. There was no hesitation in his speech. He simply lent a voice to the truth.
"I am a warrior in training of the line of Azima and as such, it is my duty to patrol the wilds of Sahrae to keep these borders safe. I was hunting the fell creatures of the Shadow on the western border two days ago when I felt a powerful summon. I felt it was not a normal summon, for I had never encountered this brand of Magic before." He paused, recalling the strange burning sensation he had felt in his chest as he was following the trail of a Shadow Ghoul. It had been a fiery and desperate need, so strong that he had had only felt it one other time in his life. Mentally shaking his head, he returned to his narrative. "The summon was so strong that I could do nothing to resist it. I was transported to a hall. I found I could not move; I was encased in stone. I do not know how long I suffered under this enchantment; my senses were robbed. It was only when the child was being attacked by the Shadow Ghoul that I was freed from the stone. I saw the attack and I did what honour required of me. I saved him. The child was hurt, so I took him to Di'An Keto, the master healer of my village."
"How did you end up in the boy's Seat of the Ba?" interrupted an elder.
"I do not know how to explain it. The same Magic that summoned me directed me there."
"But that is impossible. None but the boy's Guardian should have natural access to his Seat." The elder's words dropped into the heavy silence. The implications of those words rippled through the Council, forcing them to confront suddenly unavoidable questions. The edgings of fear prodded them back to safer, well-trodden paths of thought. It was not possible that this humble Karrah could be the destined Guardian of the king's son, given his lineage and background. The Magician was a mere boy, a brazen hunter without the necessary wisdom and skills needed to become a Guardian. It simply could not be. Should not be. It was a mistake. Before any of the Elders could voice their thoughts aloud, Rahmah spoke.
"You have been given your chance to defend your honour. The Council now requires time to discuss your situation." The leader of the Council raised a hand and muttered a spell. Glowing blue lines traced a humming cage around Sihrr, shutting him in like a trapped animal. The Magician's anger flared in response. He held his hand in front of him, palm facing down to summon his warrior's staff. The degradation was too much.
"The Containment spell is unnecessary." Azrak waved a hand and the cage disappeared, much to the warrior's shock. His hand remained poised to wield the elegant traditional weapon of the Azima, the fingers closed on thin air. The other Elders glanced at the king's Guardian in surprise bordering on anger. He met their gaze coolly, meeting the leader's eyes last. The air crackled with tension as the two fought a battle of wills.
"We do not have time for this. Very well," Rahmah conceded, his eyes never leaving the set face of the other Elder. "You shall take responsibility for any action he should commit in our absence."
"He will do nothing."
Rahmah flicked a look of doubtful disdain at the Magician before dismissing the subject. He looked about the Council, holding each of the eleven gazes briefly. The group of Elders settled back into their chairs and closed their eyes, chanting softly in unison. The spell whirled around the eleven figures, creating a private astral plane in which their minds could communicate freely without disturbance and need for secrecy. The young Magician suddenly found himself in an empty amphitheatre. The bodies of the elders remained in their chairs, but he could only faintly detect their presences.
With the interrogative pressure of the Elders gone, Sihrr breathed a sigh of relief and felt part of the tension bleed from him. He glanced down at his outstretched hand then at the serene face of the king's Guardian. Why had the Elder stood up in his defence? Given his supposed crime and position, the elders had every right- according to law anyway, he reflected bitterly- to Contain him. Yet, the Guardian had argued for this small dignity. Not that the Containment was necessary; he could feel the vibrantly strong magical energies surrounding the crystal structure and guessed that any that left or entered it against the Council's will would find themselves staff-deep in a trap. But it was the courtesy of the gesture, shown to one that the other most likely viewed as his inferior that touched the warrior.
The gratitude was tempered by an instinctive suspicion. His emotions led him down a familiar path of thought. The Ahsan rarely treated any other clan as their equal. Even their name was indication of their snobbery. Better indeed, the young Magician mentally snorted. In his mind, no clan was better or inferior to each other. Each fulfilled a destiny. Just because the destiny of the Ahsan was to become Guardians did not make them superior in any way. And perhaps, this was not an exclusive right. The elder had said it himself: he should not have had natural access to the Seat of the boy's Ka, yet he had had no trouble finding it. The Ancient Magic that protected each individual's Seat was vastly more powerful than the ability of all save the strongest mages to break. So, the Azima warrior reflected, does that make me.? His thoughts were interrupted as he detected the return of the elders. Fleetingly, he wondered whether the brevity was good or bad.
The leader's keen purple eyes opened to catch the warrior. "The Council has decided.
"You are innocent of forcing entrance to the seat of the boy prince's Ka. However, it cannot be overlooked that you have trespassed. Your act merits punishment, though that which the Council has decided on is of little relevance for one of your position. You punishment is thus: that you swear upon your honour to never go near the boy again."
The Magician turned pale. He felt the golden connection quiver deep inside and drew strength from it.
"Do you accept your punishment?" The leader's commanding voice cut through the Azima's thoughts. His sapphire eyes focused on the Council as he steeled himself.
"No."
"What?" an elder frowned in response.
"No."
He moved from face to face, reading the lines of shock, frustration, anger and scorn. Reaching Azrak's place in the Council, he was surprised to see that the Guardian was regarding him with an unreadable expression.
"Think carefully before you choose your destiny."
He turned away from the Guardian, turning inwards. What Rahmah said was true. It was a trifle punishment for an Azima warrior. As a guardian of the lands of his people, his path would never take him to the other Realm, to the side of the child he had saved. That was not the destiny appointed to him by virtue of birth. They merely wanted his word and his honour that this possibility would become forever closed to him. And it was such an easy thing to promise. The words came easily.
"I do not accept this punishment." I cannot, he admitted to himself. He had been ready to accept punishment through fire and ice, even through the deep forbidden recesses of the Realm of Shadows though it would have condemned him through hell and possibly death. But the punishment they asked was certain death. It would be the death of a part of himself that he had found in the child. The following silence was thick with disbelief at his decision.
"We cannot allow your trespass to go unpunished yet you refuse your punishment." Rahamh's icy voice sliced into the stillness. "Very well. I see that perhaps you may need more time to consider the weight of your decision. You will be detained indefinitely in the holding cells until you are ready to accept."
Two armour-clad guards appeared on either side of the youth. One glare from the warrior told the guards not to touch the prisoner, though he was forced to surrender his staff. He called forth the weapon reluctantly, his grip knuckle-white on the gleaming handle even as he handed it over. The Azima held his head high, his eyes two chips of blue flame as he glared at the Council before the guards transported him away.
An elder spoke. "I hope this does not grow into a problem. The Karrah."
"It is taken care of at the moment," Rahmah answered.
"Even so, what has happened cannot be changed and we cannot ignore it."
"None of us take this lightly." Rahmah stood, signalling an end to the discussion. One by one, the other elders stood to take their leave, nodding to each other before disappearing from the amphitheatre.
Rahmah turned to the only other remaining elder. The king's Guardian was still seated, hands folded in his lap.
"Speak your mind."
"If he is destined, we cannot stop him."
"The fact is that he is a Karrah. He is not destined," Rahmah replied coldly.
"How can you be sure?"
"He is a Karrah, of low blood. That is all the certainty I need." With that, the leader of the Council stood and left abruptly, leaving the pharaoh's Guardian alone in the vast crystal amphitheatre."