Origins: Just a Man

Our fledging glories, where are they now?
Once they shone as bright as kiirium
And lit the great nothing between stars.
Now they are lost, lost,
Like a dream on a spring night.

Lyechusas

Year 18 of Xim's Reign
526 LE

A ritual had developed between the king and his Special Plenipotentiary, similar to Xim and his viceroy's habit of drink and conversation in the former's study. But instead of sharing Corlassian ale or Argaian stout, Xim and Oziaf had only water, and they swapped the warmth of indoors for nighttime and a view of the stars. It was a reminder of how they'd first met.

"No matter how I try to make sense of it, I can't," Xim said as he leaned against the parapet's barrier. The Desevran skyline was bright but distant, separated from his palace by kilometers of walled-off gardens. "Four different beings from different races, and each of them could use the old magic. But of all the Tyrants we captured, only one of those was a magician."

Oziaf sat away from the edge, so city-glow wouldn't distract him from the stars. He'd returned from Abraxin with Jaminere just hours ago, and his memories of the frantic battle, and the captured magicians' escape, were still vivid.

"We've learned a few things," he said. "The magic doesn't belong solely to the Tyrants."

"Yes, but that opens up more questions. How do a human and three kinds of alien have it? Is it a skill they're trained to develop? Is it a fluke, a gift of genes?" Xim shook his head, frustrated but fascinated. "I've studied the old magic for years but it's stranger than I ever imagined."

Sometimes Oziaf wished he could tell Xim the truth. Not about himself, just the 'old magic': that it showed up rarely, that you needed training to master it, that it was a curse as much as a gift, that it made you natural kin to other magicians but inevitably alien to everyone else.

But despite all their years together, Oziaf held secrets close.

"A shame they escaped," the T'iin T'iin said, "but at least we learned what they're capable of."

"We still don't know their goals. They could be scouts sent as prelude to an invasion."

"The Tyrants I saw on Abraxin weren't a prelude to anything. I think were a remnant, trapped and decayed on Endregaad. As for the magicians… I simply don't know."

That, at least, was true.

Oziaf had already informed Gedor of it all. He's spared no detail in his report and wondered if this was the vision his teacher had seen all those years ago. Gedor believed that space should be ruled by their kind, but the humans would never take little creatures seriously. There had been a human male at Abraxin, plus a near-human female. Gedor would be especially interested in those, assuming they could be found. But the Tion Cluster was vast and the outer galaxy, where these Diviners seemed to have come from, was even bigger.

"There's been at least one clear benefit from this escapade," Xim sighed. "The data from the Endregaad colony ship will help us expand the Empire in a whole new direction."

A direction that, based on what Oziaf had seen, led toward the Hutt Supremacy. He had never told Xim about the worms; he was afraid Xim would covet their riches and invite a confrontation. So he held that secret, too. For now.

"You've read Loreac's report, haven't you?" Oziaf said. "The ark was deliberately sabotaged. All of its people killed. If we retrace its path we might run into powerful enemies." It was as close as he'd come to warning Xim about the Hutts.

"That ark was travelling just below lightspeed. Loreac estimates it was sabotaged over five centuries ago. Whatever civilization destroyed it may be dead by now." Xim shrugged, sipped cool water from his cup, and looked at the stars. "What matters are the magicians. They can change everything. I can feel it. They have the power of gods." His voice ached with envy.

But Oziaf, who felt extremely mortal, said, "We took two captive and hurt them. They may have special talents, but I think 'gods' is pushing it."

"All power—political, military, physical, natural, supernatural—means nothing unless it's applied. Used the right way their magic could mold history itself. They may not be gods, but they could become them if they wanted to."

He thought of Gedor occluded on his mountain, waiting for the day their kind could ascend to rule. Had he really seen this coming? We he a Prophet in truth?

"I need them," Xim told Oziaf. "I need their power and I need to make it mine."

Oziaf's fur pricked. "They may not be possible…"

"It has to be. I will not be dominated, Oziaf. Not by men, not by aliens, not magicians and not by old magic." Xim reached out and made a fist around untouchable stars.

It was the stubborn ardor of an unhappy adolescent. It was also Xim to the core. His vast ambition never faltered, nor did his hunger. If Oziaf didn't know better he'd think Xim blessed by old magic himself.

But he wasn't, and the thing he craved most could never be his. Seeking it would destroy him; Oziaf felt that with sickening certainty. Better if the magicians never returned. Better if Xim never found the Hutts and abutted Gedor's grand ambition.

Better that Oziaf never be torn between two masters.

Feeling very small, the T'iin T'iin sipped his water and looked at cold stars. "If anyone can conquer the old magic, it would be you. You're indomitable."

"Always, my friend," Xim said softly. "Always."

But Oziaf knew it wasn't true.