Chapter 19

Family Descent

Book One �" Divergence

Part I �" Novices

Chapter 19

April 1658

 

            Korrie stood alone on the porch of Elastin’s dwelling. A warm summer breeze heavy with the fragrance of burgeoning life within the forest flowed down into the valley and played gently amongst the newly sprouted leaves of the trees. He looked below Estarin’s home into the valley that was bathed in silvery lavender light from Silna and Fariel which both stood in the sky above.

            His wandering gaze traced the length of the quiet lake and back again and came to rest, at last, on the Delar’s Hall where the light of many lanterns spilled out from the windows. A celebration was underway but Korrie did not remember what is for; a new union, the return of some kinsman or some reverent marking of some natural event; it mattered not for he had long since stopped caring for the rituals and celebrations of the elves.

            “What cause do we have to concern ourselves with the inane celebrations and festivals of these fools who squander their immortal days on such trivial nonsense?” the Voice had asked numerous times since the WinterNight Festival. After a time, Korrie found himself agreeing with the Voice as was more and more often the case. Elistan had given up extending invitations which would only be refused and would now only casually mention upcoming events in the hopes that something would pull his telar from his sullen and disagreeable moods.

            Korrie picked up his forgotten glass of wine that he had rested on the porch rail and finished the remains in a single swallow. The sound of singing came upon the air reaching up from the Delar’s Hall below.

            “Ach!” the Voice hissed. “That dreadful discord; must they make such noise at every dinner and tea?”

            “It is not so terrible,” Korrie said as he rested one bare foot on the porch’s lower rail and rested both arms on the top.

            “It most certainly is,” snarled the Voice, “Like some sickly sweet syrup it is that coats the throat and tongue and resists all efforts to be rid of it.”

            “It is somewhat cloying,” Korrie agreed. He stood straight up again and with the wine glass clutched carelessly in one hand he turned and entered the house and closed the door to the sound. He strode through the parlor and into the kitchen where he refilled the glass. He drank down half the glass while standing at the table then topped it off. He returned to the parlor and dropped onto the settee. The put his feet up on the small table and sipped his wine.

            “Have you thought more on my suggestion?” asked the Voice.

            “Which suggestion?” Korrie asked without much enthusiasm, “The one about leaving?”

            “Yes, that one,” replied the Voice acidly. “A year has now passed since we entered into this apprenticeship and only recently have you been allowed to study spells you mastered in your third year at the academy.” Korrie waved a hand dismissively in the air.

            “It is only out of concern,” he started to say but the Voice cut him off.

            “No! No, it is not out of concern for your well-being,” the Voice snapped. “It is out of concern about your superiority. They fear us. How many times must I tell you?” Korrie did not notice the Voice’s constant pronoun confusion; me, you, we. Whenever the Voice spoke Korrie knew it was him and them all at once.

            “Where do you propose we go?” he asked the Voice. “Back home to the academy?”

            “No, it is not safe for us there. Your parents, the headmistress, they all fear you and would put even greater constraints on us than this elven coward.”

            “We could go to Iyara at the temple,” Korrie offered with a glimmer of hope. The Voice laughed.

            “Nay, your sister will offer no sanctuary. Do not her letters speak of her suspicion; her own fear of you? What are you doing? What is the trouble? How can I help you?” replied the Voice. “Has she not always envied your greater facility with the art?” As much as some part of him rebelled against the notion, still Korrie felt the growing unease -- so familiar over the last year -- stir inside. Perhaps the Voice was right; it knew him better than he knew himself; was it so hard to believe it also knew others better than he did?

            “Then, again I ask, where do we go?” Korrie swirled the wine in his glass as he posed the question.

            “It matters not where we go,” the Voice said, “Some small town or hamlet where you can pursue your studies away from the frightened watch of those who would see you hobbled.”

            “And how shall my studies progress with no teacher at hand?” Korrie queried.

            “A teacher you do not need; only the teacher’s knowledge,” answered the Voice. “Your control over the aethêric forces already surpasses that of your wesla. All you need is the knowledge he has withheld from us and the freedom to practice it.”

            “Do you suggest Elastin will simply hand me lore books and send me on my way?” Korrie asked acerbically. The Voice laughed again; a sinister laugh that set the hairs on the back of Korrie’s neck on end.

            “I suggest no such thing,” it replied. “He will not hand over weapons to an enemy; neither will he let you go so easily. No, we must take the knowledge and vanish into the night and be well away before he knows we have gone.” Korrie’s feet dropped to the floor and he sat fully erect at the edge of the settee’s cushions.

            “Steal the wesla’s books?” Korrie asked in alarm.

            “It must be so,” reasoned the Voice in a tone that was sad and regretful. “Else we will be held captive here forever under the watchful eyes of these people, the Shaern, who will make it the mission of their endless days to keep us from fulfilling the role destiny has fated for you.” Korrie rose and walked to the kitchen with the Voice’s words whirling in his head. He emptied the remaining wine from the glass, rinsed it clean and returned it to the pantry shelf beside the others.

            “If I do this thing, I will be forever outcast; a renegade,” Korrie said. “All that I was will be forfeit; family, friends, all will be lost to me.” He padded through the parlor and climbed the spiral branch stair as images of the academy, his parents, his siblings and Shalhanna all flashed before his mind’s eye.

            “It is too much,” he said as he entered his room and closed the door behind him. A sound word ignited several candles in the room and in the soft glow he walked to the small table that served as his desk.

            “A sacrifice it may seem now,” agreed the Voice gently, “A terrible price. But, in truth, these people, those you love, have turned against you. Their blind terror and fierce envy force them to stand against you and keep you from fulfilling your purpose. They will cage you to protect themselves from that which you are destined to become.” Unbidden an image came to Korrie’s mind. He saw himself in a small room dark save the faint glimmer of warding circles meant to keep him imprisoned and powerless. He shuddered and so real was the vision that he felt sweat running down his face and ribs as his heart hammered them from within.

            The vision faded and he turned his head from side to side to assure himself that he was within his own room of Elistan’s home and, though it was true, he still felt as though in a prison cell. His gaze came to rest on the desk and on a stack of unanswered letters from family and friends.

            He lightly touched the top letter. It was from Iyara, his beloved sister and he was reminded that today was the day her initiation ended and she would become a priestess full. He felt a swelling of pride that eased the trembling of his heart but the Voice spoke softly.

            “She will turn against, if she has not already done so,” insistently the Voice spoke and Korrie did not consciously register the anticipation and barely contained zeal in the Voice’s tone. “Be free, be free of them all.”

            Korrie picked up the packet of letters and slowly, hesitantly, set them in the cold bronze brazier beside the desk. He stood long looking at the brazier and the bundle of parchment within.

            “Free yourself,” urged the Voice gently.

            “Nnnn-flaaa-ept-daa,” Korrie whispered and a small flame spouted from the topmost letter. As Korrie watched all the letters catch fire, the Voice, unheard by Korrie, cackled with glee.