Bisunthe and Hygund quarreled, and their quarrel shook the Earth and shook the moons and it did not end until Ynthe, the Most High, separated them. In His anger, he said, “I break apart the two of you, brother cleaved from sister. Never again will you meet. Your people will no longer know one another, and such knowledge will become a transgression. Now you repair the damage you have caused, and you repair it alone, as you may no longer help each other.”
And Bisunthe and Hygund left in sorrow, for they still had love for one another, and it had been partly of their love that they had fought, for always it is true that those we love anger us the most. But the Word of Ynthe is the Law and the Truth, and so the brother and sister they parted. The Moonmages and the earthlings were thus parted, and only met to exchange needed things. And Bisunthe and Hygund repaired the damage they had wrought upon their lands, but without the help of each other, it was only half done.
– The Book of Strife, Chapter 3
The next night, Anessa lay awake in her bed and tried not to shake with impatience. She had slept briefly and then awoken to the same dream again, and again felt the nearly unbearable urge to go out and draw her sigil in the snow.
Why do I want to do this so badly?
Probably because nothing has ever happened to you, and nothing ever will, that falls outside of Venthal’s intent. But this is something that is yours.
How will I ever have the patience to wait?
What do you know about patience?
By using patience, we gather our power for when the time comes.
That’s right. Be patient.
That’s easy for you to say.
Is it?
Sometimes the voice in her mental conversations said things that didn’t feel like they quite came from her own thoughts.
She sighed almost silently. Venthal was awake, and she couldn’t move until he slept. He never snored, but his breathing pattern changed in a way that was unmistakable to her keen ears, and there was an open doorway between her room and his. Venthal disliked closed doors.
Just the thought of drawing the sigil again made her hands twitch. It <i>was</i> hers, and it <i>was</i> powerful, and it was special. The dream had been a gift, just for her. It was as though the gods had peeked out of the heavens and looked directly at her and said, This one. After all, when was the last time humanity had been given a spell? Not for thousands of years. Every spell ever used dated back to the ancient scrolls. They had adapted over time, and had subtly shifted at times in meaning, but all of them were recognizably the same. You could trace any spell’s lineage back to the schism between the Earth and the moons, when the Moonmages ceased to share magic with humans.
The sigil wasn’t any of the old spells; Anessa didn’t have all the spells memorized, but she had studied enough root magic to detect where a spell came from in the Library. The sigil had no roots she recognized. It was something entirely new.
Venthal’s breath sunk into the slow, steady drawing of air that meant he was asleep.
Anessa rose from the bed with excruciating slowness. She kept silent as she slipped into her robe, and crept down the stairs along the wall side to prevent creaks. Her long coat and boots were kept by the door.
You need some supplies.
Why?
You know perfectly well why. You can’t ever come back.
She froze in the middle of putting on a boot and nearly fell over.
What?
For once, the voice in her mind was silent. Then she realized that it didn’t need to say anything. She already knew: every day of the past four years had been leading up to this moment. Every lesson she had learned, every skill she had developed, all of them were about one thing: leaving this place.
She hated Dingad. Passionately and completely, she hated it. Any other place on earth had to be better than this. She hated the way everybody here looked at her suspiciously when she hadn’t ever done anything wrong; hated the way Venthal barely tolerated her and never trusted her; hated the false poverty and pride of the village. She hated the idea of staying Venthal’s slave forever. She hated the pious followers of Hygund. She hated the children who taunted her any time she went into town, she hated the young men who sneered at her as she walked past, showing special disgust for her especially since she had come of age to marry. She even hated–
Stop. You don’t know what the gods can hear.
I’m not afraid.
Yes you are. Now get to work.
She went to the cupboard and pulled out Venthal’s leather travel satchel, and began to pack it with bundles of herbs and small vials of potions and bits and scraps of other things. Some impulse of respect kept her from taking all of any one substance. You’re no thief. You’ve more than earned this portion of your living.
She took some food and wine from the pantry, not as much as she wanted to take, but the satchel was growing too heavy to easily carry and she sensed that she might need to travel a long way.
Where am I even going?
You’ll know when the time comes. There’s always a need for someone with a magister’s skill, and you have learned much.
She crept out the door, paused for a moment, and then took the small whisk broom from its hook beside the door and swept the snow and dirt from the doorstep. It was a gesture of respect and farewell. She wouldn’t have done it at any house in the village but this one; but Venthal had taken her in and fed her at least, which was more than anybody else in her memory had ever done. She never thought about the time before memory began, four years ago. It was a black hole in her mind, a place of terror and void, and the voice in her mind had always cautioned her against exploring it too closely.
She shut the door silently and ventured out into the cool air, looking for a patch of untouched snow. It took some time, but in the lee of the hillside, away from Evon’s subnight light, she found it. In the relative shadow the stars were brighter than usual, and she knelt down and began to trace a circle in the snow, as large as her arm would permit. Gradually, she began to fill it with shapes and symbols. It all felt familiar, as familiar as breathing; something about the sigil felt natural and right. She wondered if this was the way that the Sounders felt when Hygund’s presence was near. She had heard it described as “a feeling of profound rightness and truth”, and that’s how she felt now, tracing the powerful image in the snow.
As she worked, the light grew slightly stronger, and she looked up to see that the same bright twinkles from her dream were piercing the air. They floated around her, and for a moment she was lost in them, enchanted. But soon she went back to her work. A few more strokes, and… there. It was finished. She sat back and gazed at it, and then looked into the sky.
Amid the stars, drifting through space like a dream of light, was the reflection of her sigil. It was so large and so bright that at first she didn’t notice what was becoming of the stars. They were falling to Earth.
A thread of fear began to wind itself around Anessa’s heart, slowly tightening as the falling stars grew closer and closer, flaming, brilliant orbs of light that threatened to burn her eyes. As they fell closer, she could hear them rushing through the air. She stood up, the glittering pin-pricks around her beginning to fade as she brushed the snow from her knees.
“What have you done.”
It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t a question. Venthal’s voice hadn’t risen in query. It had remained as flat and cold as death, and Anessa knew that he had reckoned upon this happening.
Anessa turned to him. “What have I done?”
His gaze fell on her like a dark stone. Then he looked up into the air, and formed a Sign with his hands. Anessa recognized the root of the Warding Spell, but this was immeasurably more complex. Anessa felt the Spell falling around her shoulders like a cloak. Venthal Signed for a long moment, and then said, “That’s the best I can do for now. Follow me, and don’t look back.” He began to walk down the hill. Anessa hurried to follow, making two hasty strides to his each of his long-legged steps, almost running to keep up with him. He took them to the dirt track that passed the hill, which led to the road beyond town. Anessa saw that he wore a pack on his back.
Behind her the air was growing brighter and brighter, and she could see their shadows falling away in front of them as though they were backlit by Yanthic’s dawning, but it wasn’t yet time for dawn. Anessa was tempted to glance back, but the quality of the light was such that she knew her eyes would be seared by it if she looked; before them it was already growing almost too bright to see at all. Far away behind them lay the central square of Dingad, ringed by houses and buildings of government. From that distance, it seemed, came a sudden sound like the pound of a massive drum, and the ground shook in answer to it. Anessa nearly tripped, the fear in her heart now elevated to terror. She heard the sound of voices raised in anguish and fear as they ran, followed by more booms and now the sound of fire. The Hellish light grew even brighter, stinging her eyes.
“What’s happening?” she called softly to Venthal, her voice high and whispery with fright.
“The Moonmages have made war upon Dingad,” he said simply, his voice neither quiet nor raised. His stride didn’t break. “I doubt that many of the townsfolk will survive.”
Anessa stopped in shock. “I’ve killed them?”
Venthal turned back, one hand shielding his eyes, and took one of her hands, compelling her to run beside him again as he moved on. “Run now. Think later.”
Listen to him. She ran.
The air began to darken as they moved away from the bright horror behind them, the sounds from Dingad growing with increased violence and destruction, but also fading with distance as they traveled. They reached the road and began to run along the side, in the well-flattened dirt and gravel. Anessa was accustomed to walking long distances, but not running, and soon her heart was pounding red thunder behind her eyes and she was near to stumbling with each step. Venthal did not seem the least winded.
Focus. Do not think of what has happened. Count your breaths.
Anessa began to count them, focusing upon nothing more than the passing of numbers through her mind as her lungs filled and emptied, filled and emptied. She panted and counted through the miles as they ran, thick dark forest passing by on either side. The road stretched out before them into deeper darkness, and she looked up to see the black eye of Hulic rising. Fear clutched at her again, but nothing emerged from the moon, it merely rose in the sky as it always did. She remembered the chant of the moons. For a moment, her mind left off counting breaths, and she mentally recited the moon chant instead.
One day bold of Yanthic’s path
Silver bringing life and grace
Next day gold of Vorinathe
Milder and of temperate face
Ever steady, Evon’s rise
Is once by day and once by night
Prum the modest sees the skies
Each five days by Yanthic’s light
Hulic makes its restless track
Each two hours of burning black
Thus the moons cast each its spell
Guarding Earth from the light of Hell
None of the poems or stories ever said just how the moons guarded the Earth. It was simply known. Thinking of Hell made her remember the awful light and the sounds of Dingad dying, and she staggered.
Venthal stopped. “We may walk for a while, but we cannot stop.”
They slowed to a rapid walk. It took Anessa long minutes to finally control her breathing, and she thought of asking Venthal again whether she herself had killed the townsfolk, but fear sealed her lips. The hatred she’d always held in her heart for Dingad was melting away into a boundless, bottomless horror. Anessa had never hurt anyone before. She might have wished them hurt, like the gangs of children who threw rocks at her whenever she went into town–how she had wished for one of those rocks to go astray–but she had never purposefully performed a hurt upon another human being, nor even an animal. And now she had killed hundreds.
Venthal had never in her entire time with him been a comforting person, and she knew that if she allowed herself to fall apart now, he would merely watch her and wait for her to compose herself until she realized that her only choice was to do so, and then he would continue. So it had always been.
It occurred to her to wonder whether he felt any grief at all for Dingad. His face was impassive as always, his eyes revealed nothing, but surely someone who had spent his entire life among the people of a town would have formed an attachment to them. Surely he must feel <i>something</i>. And if he felt any love for the town of Dingad at all, why had he not struck her dead or cast her away to her doom in the town? Why was he traveling alongside her, and why had he cast his Spell of protection upon both of them?
For that matter, why did he not let the people of Dingad kill you four years ago, when they wanted to?
I don’t know.
You will someday.
Evon was rising now, bringing the ambient light to a twilight glow. It was subnight.
“Let’s rest awhile,” Venthal said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
They went into the forest by the side of the road a little ways, and sat in the darkness beneath a spreading whitebark tree. The ground was covered in moss and slightly damp, but comfortable for sitting. Venthal took Anessa’s shoulders and compelled her to sit with her back against the tree. She complied, feeling like a wilted plant, weak and hopeless. Venthal unloaded the pack on his back and stood in front of her, Signing something she didn’t recognize.
“What is that?” she asked softly, not expecting him to answer.
“A concealing Spell.”
“Will you please tell me what Spell I conjured before in the snow?” Her voice broke slightly.
“It was not a Spell.” He sat down before her and began to rummage in his pack, bringing out some bread. “Here. Eat.”
She took the bread and numbly took a bite and chewed. Her throat felt tight, but she managed to swallow the food down, and took another small bite.
Venthal did not eat. He looked out upon the forest, and sighed a sigh of deep exhaustion, closing his eyes. “Anessa, do you remember anything from before?”
She didn’t have to ask him what he meant by before; he was talking about the time before she came to Dingad, cold and alone, half-starved, with nothing but the clothing on her back. “No.”
“You came from the East, and so all I can conjecture is that you were born thence. So we go West. It is my hope that you will not be recognized.”
“What would happen if I were recognized?” Anessa felt a growing alarm that Venthal was giving her so much information, and speaking so gently. He seemed wholly transformed.
“There is a chance you could be taken from me.” He looked at her. “You present a grave danger to anybody you live among. Now that you have written your name upon the snow, the Moonmages know you exist on Earth, and they will not cease trying to find you.”
“My name?” Anessa’s heart began to pound. “But I don’t know my name. I didn’t even know the sigil had a sound.”
“It does, though I could not read it. But my guess is that if the name were called out, you would recognize it.”
“How?”
“Anessa, what have you learned of the Heretics?”
Anessa blinked. “The Heretics are cursed wanderers who reject the teachings of Hygund and seek what is Unsound upon the Earth, to worship it. They seek out magical weapons. Heretics are to be put to death wherever they are found.”
“You’re reciting words that you learned long before you met me.”
She nodded. “I know, but I don’t know how I know.”
He paused, his face shrouded in darkness. “I am a Heretic.”
Anessa felt a bright, sharp chill down her spine that settling into her bowels. She felt herself begin to shake. “That’s impossible.”
“Both possible and true. You will learn many things that you previously thought impossible, and now is the time to begin.”
“Then… then…” Anessa’s eyes began to burn as they filled with tears. “The Elders of Dingad were right, and I am Unsound. This was why you wanted me.”
“‘Unsound’ is merely a word, Anessa. What you are is rare and special. I took you so that I could watch you.”
“I’m an abomination,” she whispered. “I’m cursed, and my name brings war.”
“Again, merely words that you have been taught. Forget them.”
“Then why do the Moonmages want to kill me?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” His voice was filled with assurance that Anessa did not think was warranted. “Finish eating, and then we’ll go a little ways further. We’ll have to travel by night for concealment.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You must. I am one of the very few people on Earth who will not kill you for being what you are.”
Go to Chapter 3
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