The Chains of Duty Chapter 13: Incant

Nidara squinted at the page open in front of her. In a size much smaller than the rest of the text, was written a chunk. She strained to read it.

The window behind her in the study was open, letting in fresh summer air. Even as the sun shone in an angle that did not allow it into the room, its heat pervaded the air, and made Nidara wish she had asked someone to fan her. Keed sat in front of her, nose buried deep in the twin.

“Keed,” she said, finally deciding to discuss the topic. “Have you found anything that looks like this in your book?” she turned it around for him to see, pointing at the particular spot with a finger.

He looked up at her call. Putting aside his book, he edged forward toward the page. Soon, his expression turned from surveillance to realization. He pulled back and rapidly began to sift through the pages in the other book. When he found what he was looking for, he turned his book toward her.

“Same thing here,” he said.

“Can you read it?” she asked, aware that if he knew about the particular extract, he would have read its contents.

“No, Nidara,” he shook his head. “The text is too small for the naked eye.”

“We should get lenses, then,” she said. There was a storage cupboard in one corner of the study. She went and retrieved two lenses, careful in the handling of the precious slabs of glass.

The only difference between a mage and a peasant is the acknowledgement of the power magic brings. Many think of sorcery as a form of trickery, and rightly so, for sorcery is only toying with the way mother nature set the course of things. It is important to believe in the miracles that can happen when one believes. Only then can one be a sorcerer. Only then can one bend the laws of nature, and use them for the greater good.

Looking up from the book as soon as she was done reading the first few lines, Nidara found Keed reading from his book intently. There was a crease on his brow, showing how focused he was. His hands moved the lens with every word registered across the page.

“What does yours’ say?” she asked.

“It explains how one can become a sorcerer,” he informed, without looking up. “What about in yours’?”

“Same.”

She repositioned the lens in her hand over the leaf.

The mage’s first incantation is often a week one, yet it tends to drain the mage. The expertise needed to become a full-fledged mage takes years of practice. Some incantations require a large amount of confidence, whereas other, weaker incantations can be done with the least of labors.

The center of the mage’s strength is in the heart and the abdomen. In order to cast spells the power must be tapped into.

Nidara gazed at Keed without lifting her face. Their eyes locked. “Heart and abdomen,” she muttered. That was it. The end of text in that size. “That is it? That is all one needs to know?” It did not make sense. Books on sorcery she had considered them. The bulk of the contents were plain philosophy, about the effects of sorcery, and the things that led people to become sorcerers.

“I remember reading,” Keed said, “in a previous section, that peasants who have not been wounded by the spirits do not possess the determination required.”

Nidara put down her hand lens, confused to no end. Who knew if this toiling away after a bulk of text would bring any results? The clock was ticking. Novara was yet to wake up, after almost a week. The rehab army was beginning to prepare. For all she knew they were wasting their time and energy.

“This section is an obvious contradiction, then,” Nidara said, sinking into her chair, trying to gather whatever little relaxation she could get.

“That is the easiest explanation,” he answered putting down his hand lens also. “There is, however another explanation.”

“Is there now?” Nidara asked, genuinely curious. She had not read the entire book after all; she was only studying parts and sections that Keed had suggested were important, and comparing her views with his. Seeing of anything at all could help them with the situation at hand.

“Yes, indeed. It is said that among mere peasants, hidden and well cloaked, are the carriers of The Essence.”

Nidara had heard of The Essence before, but only twice. The first time was when she overheard her father, king Markoph telling General Rudolf why her mother was gone. She remembered that day clearly, though she was only a toddler at the time. She had woken up with a nightmare, of herself hiding inside a cupboard and a man who looked much like Xelop taking her mother away. Novara slept peacefully in her crib. Scared, she had gone looking for her father, only to find him in his study behind closed doors, discussing the root of all the problems with his only friend.

The second time was the day before they had set out on the journey during which she was abducted. Much like the first time, when she had only caught a figment of conversation before her nanny found her and took her back to bed, this time, she had only heard a man utter the words in a bare whisper before their caravan was pulled out of the city gates.

“Nusada had it, The Essence.” Markoph said. “That is why she is gone.”

“What do you mean by ‘The Essence’?” Nidara asked. Curiosity was more than gnawing away at her insides.

Keed glanced toward the entrance to the study warily. “You do not want everyone to know about this,” he said, dropping his voice to barely more than a whisper. He inched forward on his chair till he could no longer. Nidara took the cue and did the same. “From what I’ve learnt,” he began, “it is some sort of property which allows ordinary people to become extraordinary, if they put their mind to it. There is, however, a limitation. The Essence flows in bloodlines and only those who possess the dominant portion of the heritage have the ability to use it.”

“What is so secretive about that?” she asked, obviously every family would know if they possessed such abilities or not.

“It does not always show in the expected places. Not everyone knows what it is.”

She felt she ought to feel something, fascination perhaps, or fear. What she felt however was unusual in all its glory. She felt recognition. Almost as if she knew it all from before, but it was stowed away in some distant recess of her memory, waiting to be retrieved.

She quieted and craned her neck toward the entrance. “How do you know about this?” she asked.

He pulled back slowly, as if fortifying himself from physical harm. “Well,” he hesitated, “my mother had it.” His voice never went higher than when he began explaining.

She knew his mother to be a good friend of her mother the queen. She held back the flood of emotions that threatened to overflow. It was almost as if Nusada was trying to say something to her.

“So, what you are saying is, anyone could have,” she paused, not sure if she should say the word, “you know, it, and no one would know. Unless they told someone,” she asked, testing her understanding of things as they stood.

“If they knew about it themselves, of course. And there is also the prevailing trend in the way it is expressed in people.” He added.

Her thoughts froze.

Prevailing trend? So, it is not completely random?

“You are wondering what that is, no doubt,” he said, as if reading her mind. She nodded slowly. “If I remember correctly, Princess,” he began flipping the pages of his book, and settled on one particular page. “There is a prophecy…”

Prophecy…

“…about the importance of the full moon for the strength of sorcery…”

…On the full moon of each month
Shall come the time…

“…which talks about the prevailing trend also…”

…The key lies in the youngest of the dark ones
Whose blood flows blue…

~~~~~~~~~~

Nidara could not help wondering if this Essence was the cause of it all. The unrest in Winen (a sister province to Yawen) almost six moons prior. Perhaps it was all pre-ordained, in a way no one on Earth could ever comprehend, the expedition she set out on with Keed by her side, Xelop’s invasion of Yawen, her capture. Perhaps even the condition of Yawenin politics at the moment, and the threat of his army of betrayers.

As she walked onto the extended balcony, a hand caressing the cylindrical pillar as she did so, a figment of memory came rushing to the front of her thoughts. The image that played itself in front of her eyes was that of the flicker she had seen on the day of the prayer ceremony. It played before her eyes again and again, till she was sure it could not have a trick of the light. However, she could not think of anything it could be if it was not. She let her thoughts wander, and she thought of a myriad of things. She thought of Novara, of how she had begun to look healthier even though she had not eaten anything of substance since she lost consciousness. Nidara had felt some hope, and gratefulness toward their god for this development, though she knew it probably was too early to hope. She thought of the latest meeting she had attended with her father, discussing defense tactics. They had decided on evacuating the peasants of Yawen to the neighboring province of Eiran, on the lush side of the mountain. The first caravan was to leave the moment the first attack from the rehab camps hit the northern walls of Yawen. She thought of the way this balcony, hung in the delicate balance between lush and the desert sides of the mountain, gave her reprieve whenever she needed it. She thought of the books, and the latest information they had uncovered.

Thinking of that immediately tugged on that memory once more, and this time, she thought she saw a face shrouded in shadow in that instant flicker.

Nidara’s eyes shot to the cliff where she had seen that flicker. She took deep breaths, and attempted to determine whether she was imagining things. Why would she see a face on top of that cliff? No one on the barren side of Yawen knew the way up that cliff. Even if someone from inside the city knew, they would not dare climb it. The people beyond the city walls could know the path, of course, people from the desert. People that Yawen did not deal with unless in dire need.

She had not imagined that face. No. Someone was there, and that was far from a good thing.

Her immediate instinct was to inform her father, and think up an explanation for her realization at the very least. However, she could not move. The knowledge that someone was there on top of that cliff kept her feet rooted to the ground, and her mind tingling with a sort of curiosity she never felt before. It felt like the thrill of adventure would to a soldier, an anticipation of the unseen combined with an apprehension of the unknown. It had a mysterious quality.

She closed her eyes. How she wanted to know who it was, why they were there!

Behind her closed eyes, she saw a point of light, and felt its spark at the base of her skull. It spread down along her spine, and every part of her seemed to shiver with energy in a way she only faintly found familiar. Behind her closed eyelids she saw a man in a large flowing gray cloak, his face hidden beneath the drawn hood.

Who is he…?

His face loomed in front of her.

Grikoi…

She saw the elegant runes of their language string together to form what could not be anything but a name. Grikoi.

What does he want…?

A series of images flashed in her mind’s eye. Grikoi, as she could guess the man’s name was, on a galloping horse, riding up to the hillock that lead to the cliff. Grikoi, standing atop the cliff a moment before his form vanished from plain sight. The top of the cliff, barren, but she knew he was there, and someone else was as well. The other presence, his accomplice no doubt, did a worse job of masking that he did, but his presence was the stronger one. She could hear his thoughts, the prominent ones at least. The ones about his master being pleased with the information he gathered.

Her eyes shot open. Yawen was being spied on.