Beyond the Soul

  Over the centuries, many different Mage Councils have come and gone. Each seeks a certain goal, held together by a common bond among the brotherhood, until such time as their goal has been met, enough of them have passed away, or no more young magi are brought in to take up the mantle, at which point a Council is disbanded. Most leave a legacy behind, recounted by historians and scribes. But there has been no Council in the city of Nytaea, where the first Council is said to have arisen, ever since the Archlord of Kystrea assumed control of it in 890.

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (Quoi 3, 997—Waning Day)

  “Behold, the city of Mogdael,” Rhidea said as we came upon the first sizable city on the inside of the Soul River. We had decided to stop to resupply and learn what we could from the locals.

  “Well, well,” said Mydia, stopping to put one hand on her hip and stare up at the large, plank-walled city.

  I say plank-walled, but the wall was over twenty feet in height and imposing, built strong and sturdy with cross-hatched planks. Two banners bearing a three-winged falcon symbol flapped above the gate, whose portcullis was wide open despite the supposed unease within the country. Two guardsmen outfitted in studded leather saluted us by tapping the butt-ends of their long pikes on the wooden bridge.

  “Hail, good travelers,” said the one on the right. “Welcome to Mogdael. What business have you?”

  “We are passing through and seek to rest and resupply,” said Rhidea, smoothly as ever. It was the truth.

  The guardsman bowed his head respectfully and dipped his weapon toward the inner city. “Then pass on, and may you fare well.”

  We entered through the gate into a city unlike any I’d seen on our home continent. The architecture was nearly all of wooden design, sturdy but functional. I supposed they did have a lot more trees to work with around these parts . . . I wouldn’t have called it crude, but certainly not as eye-catching as the stately stone buildings back in Nytaea. Flagpoles dotted the city, showing off an identical three-winged falcon emblem, probably the crest of the local city lord (whom we had no intention of meeting).

  The city did not have the air of coldness to it that we were expecting, probably because it was inside the Soul and thus in an area deemed to be more well-protected. We made our way to the nearest small-time inn and booked a room for the night, and then set about exploring. I took Oliver and went to fetch food supplies, hoping that the locals accepted gold. Rhidea and Mydia went to find good prices on other supplies, while Kaen and Kymhar were searching for rumors and information.

  Oliver took eagerly to the streets with me, taking in the foreign sights with his characteristic enthusiasm. “What a city!” he said in awe as we walked past fountains, hawkers and some very . . . let’s say interestingly-dressed, if captivating, dancers. Oliver’s head followed them for far too long, and I gave him a small flick on the shoulder.

  He yelped and walked more quickly, turning his eyes back ahead just in time to dodge a man hurrying by with a push-cart. “Sorry. But did you see those—”

  “Oliver, focus! And don’t stare, especially not at women.”

  “But . . . why? You’re a woman, too! I mean, not that I stare at you.”

  “I’m not dressed like a whore on holiday, though.”

  “What?” He sounded confused and almost innocent.

  I picked my way through an especially tight throng of people, tugging Oliver by the hand to make sure he didn’t get separated from me. Gotta watch the kid. “Never mind. Stick close, boy. Up ahead there. I think that’s the market district.”

  “What kind of food do you think they’re selling?” he asked excitedly.

  I sighed, rolling my eyes toward Gaea. The expression was hidden from my young companion by my back. “We are about to find out.”

  We ended up roving from stand to stand, cart to cart, searching for dried goods and spices. I bought a pound of some local grain called rice, which was supposed to be very hearty but only grew in the wettest regions of the eastern Duchy. Oliver talked me into buying him some exotic sweets as well.

  I was rather proud of myself upon returning to the square to wait for the others, proud that I hadn’t lost Oliver in the crowds yet. We waited on a bench beside a large statue of an owl. Here in the south square, there weren’t as many people, but I still kept a hawk’s eye on the blond boy. He still seemed a bit intimidated by me, so that probably helped.

  Mydia entered the courtyard from the north after a few minutes, and I waved to get her attention. She perked up and made her way across to us, taking a seat beside the same owl statue. “Where’s the Wandering Mage now?” I asked. “Did you lose her already?”

  She reddened slightly, murmuring a short protest to the contrary. “She’s up near the city lord’s palace. That tall building at the center of the city.” She pointed toward it, and I followed her gaze. “She sent me to tell you that she’ll be a little while. She said to see what we can find out about the city and the country of Halstar.”

  I nodded tiredly. “Sounds typical of her. All right, but let’s rest here a while first. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  Mydia nodded back and reached out to pinch Oliver’s cheek as he looked away. His head jerked toward her, and she giggled. “Oliver, you’re so cute.”

  He blushed, turning away again and kicking his feet awkwardly.

  “What do you think of Mogdael?” she asked brightly. “Bigger than you expected from a city?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He perked up again. “Oh, yes! It’s amazing! Lynx here has been holding onto me like a mother cat, of course.”

  Mydia laughed, and I asked, “Lynx? When did you pick up that nickname?”

  He stuck out his tongue and grinned.

  I snorted. “Fine. I don’t care. But do you even know what a Lynx is?”

  He hesitated briefly and then shook his head. “Some kind o’ ugly bear?”

  Mydia doubled over laughing.

  I sighed, smoothing my hair back and adjusting my ponytail. “No, you dimwit. It’s a kind of cat. A large, silver cat with tufted ears. A fearsome predator found in the southern forests of Argent. Somewhere in Torlega, I think. I . . . really don’t know where I got the nickname. Mandrie used to call me that.”

  Oliver cocked his head. “Mandrie? Who’s she?”

  “She’s about your age,” I said. “An old friend of mine. Kaen’s little sister.”

  “Oh. Is she as sour-faced as he is?” Oliver gasped as soon as he said it and clasped a hand over his mouth. “Oops. Sorry . . . that’s a rude thing to say about a girl, isn’t it?”

  I smiled, ruffling his shaggy mop of hair as we’d all taken to doing. “A bit. But not as rude as ‘ugly bear.’”

  One hour later, we were all back in the Falconer’s Inn, drawing up our attack plan. (So to speak; anything can be an attack plan if you just switch out a few words.)

  We were in the room where the men would stay for the night, a sparsely furnished, plank-floored room with a small stove on one end next to a rough glass window. The floor, on which most of us sat cross-legged, creaked every time Oliver shifted. He had almost no attention span for boring things like discussions. I lay on my stomach with arms propping up my chin, wiggling my stockinged feet back and forth idly.

  “Basically, nobody’s heard about our entering the country,” Kaen explained. “No one hears much from the outer side of the Soul.”

  “One kingdom, different regions,” said Kymhar, examining a knife blade with dull interest.

  Mydia glanced sidelong at the assassin. “Right. We pretty much knew that already, of course. I’d still like to know how we speak the same language. I mean, it’s obviously a different dialect, but, well . . . how long ago do you think we came from this side of Mani? Or . . . the other way around? I don’t really—”

  “We came from this continent,” Rhidea said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been over this—it’s the only possibility that makes sense. If we, and all the people of Mani, came from Gaea originally, then we must have come to this side first, where the Gate is—and where Gaea is. It never leaves the sky directly over the center of Darsor. That’s why it moves with us. Whether the chasm between continents formed from a great disaster or there was a land bridge originally . . . maybe our ancestors even possessed a teleportation magic like the Reality Authority known today, a more powerful form that was lost long ago? Who is to say?”

  I rubbed my chin with one hand thoughtfully. “A land bridge, huh? But where would it have gone?” Then I cleared my throat. “Well, what is the plan for tomorrow? Where are we headed?”

  In answer to my question, Rhidea took out a parchment map and rolled it out on the wood planks of the floor. “This map should help us out greatly. Here at the center, you can see the Land of Storms. That’s where the Gate supposedly sits atop a high tower, though of course it’s ‘dangerous’ to venture anywhere near it. So here should be our next goal.” She pointed at a city labeled Redufiel. “The capital of Halstar, Redufiel, is said to be one of the largest cities in the Duchy, and pretty much the equivalent of Nytaea as far as holding a large amount of knowledge in its libraries. I’m expecting it to be pretty different from Mogdael, and we don’t have much time, but . . . I think it will be worth the detour.”

  Kymhar nodded slowly. “If you say so, my lady. However, I suggest that we keep pace for the Land of Storms. The sooner we arrive, the better. If we do go to the Capital, we should be quick and careful. We should keep on our toes. If they make a big deal about all the magi in our party, or the wrong person decides they don’t like foreigners prowling in their city, there could be further complications.”

  “But . . . no one has actually shown us any aggressive form of unwelcome,” Mydia said hesitantly. “So why . . . ?”

  “So we think,” Kaen corrected her. “I don’t know, I think he’s right, Rhidea.”

  Kymhar folded his arms, posture straight, eyes on the floor, and nodded once. When he spoke, it tended to be in long bursts, and then nothing at all. Ever the mysterious figure.

  Rhidea sighed. “I was afraid you would all say that. In which case our best option is to go here—” she pointed out a small town near the outskirts of Redufiel called Mannet “—and resupply, then make a direct route for the Land of Storms.”

  We ended up deciding on this second idea. I personally didn’t care. The continent of Darsor made me uneasy, and I wanted to be through this odd duchy as soon as possible. Of course . . . I also grew more nervous the closer we got to Gaea.

  “What word from the Archlord?” I asked, looking from Rhidea to Kymhar. “Anything?”

  The Dalim raised his head but didn’t say anything at first. When he did, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “My liege the Archlord was pleased to hear that we made it to Darsor, and warned us to watch out for dangerous species of monsters that may prowl these lands, and also hostile peoples. That was two days hence, his last communication to me. As you requested, I did not tell him anything of Oliver. I sent the last transmission yesterday, informing him of our encounters with the local people of Halstar.”

  I still felt uneasy about giving the Archlord so much direct information, but it had been one of his stipulations when we agreed to the bargain: he would be informed regularly, and sooner than Nytaea. Domon had not tried to backstab us yet—as far as we knew—but I still didn’t trust the man, and probably wouldn’t ever be able to.

  Eventually, we adjourned the meeting to get some sleep, and we left the men alone with Oliver, heading to our room. I would be sharing one of the two beds with Mydia. Rhidea was too much of a lone wolf type, plus she snored too much for either of us. I was so tired that I zonked out in the middle of Mydia’s intermittent chattering.

  (Quoi 4, 997—Sunset)

  We left at cloudbreak the next day, the first day of sunset. We exchanged our horses for fresh ones, and then set our course for Mannet. We needed to ride as hard and fast as possible.

  The trip took a week. Shortly after leaving Mannet, we left the sunset far behind, traveling in the aurora light of the Night Season as the land became flatter than the hills we’d traversed in the river lands. It was disconcerting how the Sol Cycle I knew back on Argent only got further and further ahead as we traveled around the world—it was now nearly two weeks off—but it certainly confirmed Rhidea’s hypothesis about the size and shape of Mani. Of course, I had been persuaded already.

  The outskirt town of Mannet was little more than a hamlet, but from its humble view, we could see the reaching walls of Redufiel in the auroras’ light, a true city at last. A city we would not see, and my heart was all the more relieved at the fact. The lore and information we could find therein would surely help us, but we had decided it was not worth the time or risk to go to the capital.

  There was only one final leg of the journey to go. We set out eastward for the last time without looking back.

  On the fourteenth day of Quoi—nearing the dawn of the next Cycle in this zone of the world—we came to the dreaded Land of Storms. We could see the dark clouds looming ahead for miles in advance. As we approached, our horses grew even more skittish and Mydia and Oliver began to whine and shift in their saddle.

  “Now that,” Kaen said, “is a storm.”

  “Unlike any we’ve ever seen, if the stories are true,” Rhidea said. “In we go.”