Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

‘It’s rarer still when
you consider the Magistry’s policy on Latents.’

The tone of Caleb’s voice
had changed into something dourer.

‘How so?’

‘They.
We
. Are an
elite group. They were formed of the finest, most noble families in all the Aura.
They believed in the purity of the blood line. Latents were born into them,
their integrity preserved.’

‘So what about those that
weren’t born into this privileged life? I’m fairly sure I wasn’t born with a
silver spoon in my mouth.’ Seb spoke the words as a joke, but he couldn’t help
but notice the bitterness that slipped out with them.

‘Most are ignored. They
drift through life Aware, yet unaware of their potential. Without tuition or
guidance they are unable to access the Weave.’

‘Most?’

Caleb shuffled and
scratched his beard. ‘There are some who, for whatever reason, find a way to
access the Weave anyway. How or why we don’t understand. Without guidance they
are overwhelmed. Many go mad, unable to deal with the knowledge they suddenly
possess. Some become possessed by sheol, and hence targets for the Brotherhood.
The very rare ones who come through this are often scarred, dangerous
individuals. They are known by the Magistry as apostates, and are hunted down
without mercy.’

‘What kind of messed up
operation is that?’ Seb said, an unexpected anger filling his belly. ‘They
ignore these people. People who could help them, who could benefit from their
knowledge. Yet when they become corrupted by this knowledge, they kill them? Is
that I’m hearing?’

‘I’m sorry, kid. I have
answers. I didn’t say you would like them.’

The sorrow in Caleb’s
expression dampened the growing heat in his gut. He let out a deep, shaking
breath, surprised at his own anger.

‘So, what would have
happened to me? Most likely ignorant? Walking from place to place, drawn by an
instinct I didn’t understand. Perhaps even learning more about myself, only to
be killed by the likes of Cade?’

Caleb gave a rueful
smile.

‘Wow. I feel so good
right now.’

‘Shall we call it a day
for today? It’s been a heavy conversation, and there’s a lot to take in.’

Seb waved a hand. ‘No, I’m
fine. Really. We’ve digressed I know. There’s just so much that I want to know.
It feels like there’s this wall in my head. I don’t mean that thing that Sarah
put in me, I mean there’s this whole world that I’m part of. This whole world
that I’ve been looking for all my life, without even knowing it. Now I’ve got
hold of it I don’t intend to let go. Screw what the Magistry think. No offense.’

Caleb laughed and put the
book down. ‘None taken. Okay. Let us end with an overview of what your training
will entail. It’s what I started with before we went off topic.

‘There are three schools
of magic that are taught within the Magistry. Each level succeeds the last, and
represents a user’s growing Mastery of the Weave. You will be learning two of
these schools. With me so far?’

‘On FM.’

‘The first school is
called Sentio. The Perception. This focuses on the ability to connect to the
Weave. To sense out, detecting life of all types. At a basic level you can
merely detect life nearby. At advanced levels you can read people’s minds,
plucking their thoughts from their brains. You can sense all creatures,
anything that participates in the Consensus.’

‘Consensus?’

‘Like I said earlier. The
Consensus is the result of the collective will of all Observers. It is unique
to this realm, created by the First under Danu’s instruction to protect the
shard from corruption by magic. It is this that limits how overt a mage’s
actions can be. At night, in front of children, animals or the ill or insane,
the Consensus is weak, and our powers are strong. The more Observers there are,
the harder reality pushes back against us.’

Seb nodded. It made
sense, and explained why magi weren’t running round being caught on Sky News
turning people into frogs or levitating skyscrapers. Then a question occurred
to him.

‘The possessed?’

‘Yes?’

‘I saw them. They are
obviously not human. The sheol are the possessed, correct?’

Caleb nodded, his brow
furrowed, listening.

‘I saw them. I saw them
change. I saw those black eyes, those talons. I saw an old woman suddenly morph
into one, right in front of me. How?’

‘For a start, you’re
Aware. The Consensus doesn’t apply to the Aware, so reality changing effects
can be achieved quite easily.’

‘Okay. Makes sense. And
the sheol themselves, how do they do that? How do they possess people?’

‘You’re full of questions
aren’t you?’ Caleb said.

‘Surely you’re not
surprised. We’ll be here all night with all the questions I have.’

Caleb smiled. ‘Well, I’m
not as young as I used to be, let’s draw a line a tea time.’

Seb laughed. ‘Sorry.
There’s just so much I want to know.’

‘And you will learn.
Trust me, you’re not going anywhere. Tomorrow I will fill in the missing blanks
regarding the sheol, and the Brotherhood.’

‘The Brotherhood and the
sheol? They’re related?’

‘Very much so. They’re
almost other sides of the same coin,’ Caleb said. ‘But,’ he continued,
silencing Seb before he had chance to interrupt, ‘That definitely is tomorrow’s
lesson.

‘Now. The second school,
which you will learn following Sentio, is called Avatari. The Self. This school
expands upon the Sentio, and is the first time you will actually tap into the
Weave and bend it to your will. This school focuses on your avatar, the vessel
for your connection. With it you will enhance your own abilities. Speed,
strength, senses are the obvious ones. It also covers defence. With this you
learn to maintain the shields that prevent your aura being broadcast to any
Aware in a thousand miles.’

Seb nodded to himself. ‘Sentio.
Sense. Avatari. Self. Got it.’ He looked back up. ‘You said there were three
schools?’

‘Novo. The change. This
is the most difficult and most powerful school. With it you can affect the
Weave around you, hence changing the reality of others.’

Caleb slid the book
across the floor to him.

‘Take that. That will be
your bible from now on. When you’re not training, or working for me, I expect
you to be eyes down in there. As well as our history it will teach you the
fundamentals of the Weave and Weave-mastery.  Only by understanding what is in
there will you be able to truly embrace the Weave.’

There hadn’t been a sound for what seemed
like hours. Flexing the numbness from her hands and arms, she took a deep
breath, and climbed out of the putrid trench that she’d been hiding in for the
past twelve hours.

As expected, this part of
the site was empty. The last of the diggers had left an hour earlier, joining
his friends in the tent where weak and warm ale was served in bulk to the tired
workers after another day under the whip.

She rested against the
damp wall, listening for any sign of stragglers. Silence reigned. Satisfied she
was alone, she stretched out the knots in sleeping muscles, before feeling her
way across the rough stone, following the narrowing circle that led to the main
digging area.

The twin suns had sailed
below the crest of the open cavern hours earlier, and even with her enhanced
vision she was still struggling against the growing darkness. It was probably
for the best, she told herself, there was an ill feeling in this long forgotten
place. The war was long gone, the bloodshed over, but memories still lingered.
She could feel them now, ghostly echoes etched into the air, just out of reach
of her own awareness but there all the same, calling across the vast distances of
the shattered Aura as if they were standing next to her.

She reached the bottom
level of the site without making as much as a sound. She measured every step,
the front of her foot down first, slowly, feeling the ground. The ankle
following with the rest of her weight. She was a ghost amongst ghosts, silent,
invisible, but still her heart pounded.

He was here.

He always remained. The
one who ran the dig. The one obsessed to the point of living there. He knew
what he was looking for. He told no one else, she was certain of that, but
there was something there, in the ruins of the House of Balor, that he was
after above all else. And today, she thought, he’d found it.

She crouched behind a
wooden crate, the shadow cast from the dimming embers in a fire pit providing
ample cover as she moved across the cavern floor. She paused there, listening.

Nothing.

She peeked round the side
of the box. The familiar archway loomed ahead, the flickering light beyond
dancing on the stonework. He was through there, no doubt with his find. She had
no idea what it could be, only that the Balorans had invested considerable
energy into finding it. She was an infiltrator, not a scholar. The lore-keepers
could work out what it was about. For now, she simply had to get it.

She ghosted through the
remaining shadows, pressing her body against the dark side of the archway.
Peering round, another fire burned brightly in a brazier in the smaller
chamber. Empty plates and goblets lay strewn across the floor. A sleeping bag
was scrunched up in a ball on the other side.

She saw him then, beyond
the flame. Sat at a desk, back to her. His rapid mutterings drifted across the
chamber, the language alien to her.

Not that it mattered.

She took a steadying
breath before skirting the outside of the room, finding sanctuary in the
shadows that gathered round the perimeter. She moved quickly, silent steps
taking her to one side of a stalagmite that was easily twice her width.

 Here she paused, ready
for the final part of her plan. Ideally he would’ve been absent, or even
asleep, but weeks of monitoring had told her that wouldn’t be the case. He just
didn’t leave, and apparently, he didn’t sleep either. This left only one
option, her hand dropping to the small wooden cudgel wrapped in cloth against
her hip.

The man whipped round,
ancient hands scrabbling for the cane by his side. Black, unblinking eyes
stared into the gloom.

‘Who’s there?’

Shit.

***

Sylph returned to wakefulness from a
fitful sleep. Blinking away the fatigue, she sat upright, holding a hand to her
aching head.

What was that? It was
like a dream, yet the images were so clear, so vivid. Even now, moments after
waking, when dreams would normally be evaporating back into the subconscious,
she could still smell the earth of the site, the sound of the burning fires
still crackling in her ears. The terror when the man addressed her.

It hit her from nowhere.
This wasn’t a dream of hers. No dream could be so lucid. It was the memories of
the mage infiltrator. The traitor. These were the same memories she’d pulled
from Sarah’s corpse days earlier.

The clock caught her
attention. Ten thirty. Great. Marek would not be pleased. She’d arrived back
late the night before, hours after he would’ve retired. He would want a report
first thing though on progress on the plan.

Marek’s study was
deserted when she arrived there ten minutes later. Not a good sign. That meant
he was down in the Receiving hall with no doubt another bunch of acolytes. With
a new burden born of dread, Sylph trudged towards the stairwell.

She entered the Receiving
hall from a side door. Already a bunch of new reprobates were gathered in the
centre, Marek stood before them. She kept to the shadows, not wishing to draw
attention to herself.

Marek was halfway through
his welcoming speech. She’d heard it before, the same call to the weak minded,
promising them that they’d finally found the place they belonged in a world
that had shunned them. They lapped it up of course, pretty much all of them
feeble in soul, ripe for possession. Months before, when Marek had brought
together his first group, they were wild, in disarray. His rallying call had
brought them together, and Sylph had been the first in the queue. She’d been
lost back then. Aware she was different, but not sure why. Marek had spotted
something different within her, no doubt her unique heritage, and she’d been
kept aside, away from the process that ripped the souls from the weak and
replaced them with the sheol.

But now though, as she
watched, as the first few were led off by other possessed, the doubt that she’d
struggled to suppress in recent weeks bubbled back to the surface.

It wasn’t the cause that
troubled her. Balor’s call was true, and she’d been unable to deny it since she’d
discovered her ancestry. When Marek had found her, starving, near mad, his
words resonated with her. He knew her pain, he’d been there himself, shunned by
his own kind, left to fend for himself. Marek compelled her, and for a time she
would’ve followed him to the depths of Hadros.

But now? This? Is this
what Balor would’ve wanted? Did he find it honourable to rip the souls from the
weak, to implant sheol fiends in the vacant vessels left behind? Marek had
assured her of course. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. The
sheol were as much a victim of Danu’s betrayal as Balor, was that not what he’d
said?

For a time, she’d
believed him. They needed the warriors against the Brotherhood, and they were
effective, despite their losses. Now though, months later, as she watched a
young woman, eyes wide with fear, stick thin, drifting into the Conversion
chamber, she could only think that this was wrong. Horribly, obscenely wrong.