Oathbreaker—Chapter Two

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It was an abnormally dark evening. The stars were doused, the moon was hidden, and a chill wind paced uneasily back and forth in the valley, as if uncertain which way it meant to go. Perfect weather, really.

Canas adjusted his spectacles to peer more closely at the tombstone nearest to him.

--Ellen Reed. Beloved wife, mother of two, enemy of none. Died with honor.—

Keeping his eyes on the inscription, the druid reached within the folds of his cloak and procured a special tome he reserved only for these occasional haunts in the cemetery. His hands shook as he flipped to a well-worn page and chanted a few breathy syllables without even looking. The wind in the valley paused to listen.

"Essence of life, greatness of spirit— joy, vitality, beauty, future, doom. Voice of winds, purity of light; strength of earth, passion of water; heart of fire ... Come forth, and live!"

The only response was the dull thud of dusty pages. Canas flinched.

"Repeat after me," a light, intense voice commanded beside him. "I will never— oh, please! Just say it, Canas!"

"I will never..."

"I will never interfere with my wife's business again."

The druid hung his head. "I will never interfere with my wife's business again. Calina, I—"

"I will destroy this abominable magic tome immediately when I get home," she interrupted him. "Say it."

"But, Calina!" he pleaded.

"Say it!"

"I will destroy this magic tome—"

"Abominable magic tome, you mean."

"I will destroy this abominable magic tome immediately when I get home. But, oh, Calina! Are you sure? It's just so—"

Calina waved her hand sharply. "One more thing: I will leave the matters of anima, to anima. Say it."

Canas widened his eyes and fingered the spectacles slipping off of his nose. "Calina! Surely you don't mean—"

"You know what I mean, and I mean it. Repeat! 'I will leave the matters of anima...'"

"I," he sighed heavily, spitting out each distasteful word, "will leave the matters of anima, to anima. Dearest, my heart— why do you do this to me? Just this once? You know I mean no harm!"

"Oh, Canas," his love murmured, letting her eyes assume their customary softness. "Canas, I know, and I'm sorry. Really I am. But harm... it comes whether you invite it or not."

The druid hastily pushed up his spectacles once more and gathered Calina's slight form to himself. "I won't let anything happen to—to you, you know. I only wished to learn... to know..."

"But it's not right!" the young woman protested, burying her face in his robe and twining her arms around him. "Canas, this has to stop! It has to stop, now! This is the second time this week I've caught you doing this. And you promised, Canas! You promised not to do this anymore! Why... why did you lie to me?"

He furrowed his brow and cursed himself as the restless wind fluttered through the pages of the magic tome—the abominable magic tome—in his hand. "I—I didn't mean to... to hurt you... but I—you know how I am, dearest! I am a scholar! This thirst within me, for knowledge—it is insatiable! I can't help it! I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sweetheart, say something. I'm sorry. I'll try not to—"

"Try isn't good enough! You don't understand, do you? You don't see—you never see—how dangerous this is! Even I— a sage— even I can't bring myself to do what you've been doing for the past hideous months! And, Canas," she whimpered against his chest, "it's cold out. I worry about you. It's winter now. You could catch a fever. Then what would I do? I love you— I don't want anything to happen to you. And I don't want you to turn out like... like..."

"Like them." It was a monotone statement neither wished to embellish.

"Like them," she repeated, shivering in the rising chill. "You're still yourself. You're still my scholar, my Canas. You're still just a person. I need you to... you need to stay that way."

"I... I know. But this—" he couldn't help but ask—"how can this possibly hurt me? Anima is not the elder arts! It is beauty! It is life! It is everything that you, my Calina, are made of! Why should I refrain from embracing it?"

Slender hands pushed him away firmly. "Canas... what would your mother say?"

He wrinkled his nose—Calina always used this line as her final, crushing blow. Most every argument ended this way. "Yes! I know, I know!" he gave in at last, defeated. "I know what she would say! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said it—I'm sorry. I will not interfere. I will leave the business of anima, to anima. I will destroy the abominable magic tome. I will defer to your wishes. Only—do not be angry with me, sweetheart. I am... I am so ashamed."

His wife collapsed against him. "I'm not angry," her voice quivered.

"Then what is it?"

"I..."

"Tell me," he prodded.

"I'm just... just... I'm just overreacting, that's all. Canas," she declared, straightening and rubbing her eyes on her sleeve, "let's go home. You should put that book in the fire as soon as possible."

"Yes," he agreed mournfully. "I suppose I should."

Their walk home was a dreary one. Gone was Canas's earlier euphoria from the cemetery—the darkness held no joy for him any more. By now the wind had decided on a direction; it fled down the mountainside and invaded the valley, crashing through the leafless trees and bringing the blood to their cold faces.

And the night was cold. The country of Ilia was a bona-fide desert, but not in the same sense as the Nabata. Rather, it was a desert of frigid days and bone-chilling nights, a region where the summers were coolly polite, at best, and the winters were mercilessly harsh. Of course, the area was quite a paradise for a druid and a sage. Ilia was home to a veritable treasure trove of arcane knowledge, which had been preserved in the hearsay and tradition of the local peasant villages for centuries. Canas and Calina lived in one such village themselves, and they now bent all their energies towards making it there before the gathering storm.

Calina momentarily removed the veil she had tied over her eyes and took a good look around.

"I wish I had brought my warp staff with me," the sage muttered.

"What!" shouted Canas, struggling to hear her over the rising wind. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" she shouted back.

"All right!"

They continued on. Snow began to fall like sheets drying on a clothes line, billowing and tugging at their pins. The wind raised its scream to an irrational, temper-tantrum pitch. After a few minutes of shivering, Canas raised his voice again.

"We should do something, Calina! The village is short of coal!"

"We should!"

He paused and tugged his robes closer around himself. "What should we do?" he called.

"Something!"

The druid pushed his spectacles up and glanced at the woman underneath his arm. Calina's face was pale and flushed, and her lips were blue. Her normally bright, sparkling eyes were dull with cold and fatigue. She leaned heavily on his shoulder.

"Calina!" he called into her ear. "Calina! Are you well?"

She didn't reply. Worried, Canas procured a Mend staff and let its magic wash over her. It would not cure fatigue; its only purpose was for physical wounds. But perhaps it would refresh her somewhat. If anything, she looked happier from his attention.

"Thank you!" she shouted, and coughed.

"You're welcome!"

They fell silent and trudged on. The druid's worry increased with each heavy step; snow had begun to accumulate in droves several inches deep, in only a few minutes.

"We need to help the village! The local lord never gave them their next shipment of coal, remember?" he called again.

Calina nodded sleepily. "Absolutely!"

"We need to stop the snowstorm! Niime, and our son—they could be in trouble! Calina! Wake up, Calina!"

The young sage blinked several times as she stumbled into a snowdrift. Her husband pulled her up swiftly. "Our son? Niime? We're... in trouble? ...What?"

"You're too cold! We need to do something!" Canas frowned unhappily, dusting the snow off her shoulders even as he shivered himself. "We're all in danger, sweetheart! Wake up!"

A new shadow joined the others that night. A flourish of snow, a flash of a blade, a whirl of an assassin's cloak—

There stood the Angel of Death.

Canas shook the cobwebs off his mind and gave an exclamation of sheer relief. "Jaffar!" he cried, starting towards him.

The shadow stepped forward also.

"Jaffar! We need help! Oh, please—it's Calina—she's dying!" Canas babbled, gesturing frantically towards her. "The snow—the storm—it's too cold! My wife needs to get back to the village! Please, could you please send for help?"

Anvad Rei smiled at the bitter irony and unveiled his crescent blade.

"Duty."