Sworn To Raise: Courtlight #1 (11 page)

She continued reading, wondering why he had not yet taken a wife; at age thirty-seven, it was prudent for him to have a family and secure an heir considering the large tracts of land his family commanded in Principas Vale. Then she turned the page and saw that he
had
been married, to a healer of great skill. She had died in battle at Marin Ridge.

Beneath this text was a little pocket containing a note, emblazoned with the inscription, “
For the eyes of the Companion’s Guild only.”
Curiously, she opened it, rationalizing that if it was in the binder, it must be for her.

From Sarah, Head Archivist, Companion’s Guild

In efforts to prepare companion trainee Ciardis Weathervane (née Vane until assumption of her 18th Birthday and approval from the Talents Guild) I have spoken to the head archivist of the family of Principas Vale.

General Barnaren is not only in search of a Companion, but also a wife, one who will bear him at least one child, of either sex, within a three-year period. This is to assure the security of his line and the succession of his mage spirit’s path in the event of his death in battle.

With these stipulations, if Ciardis will consider him as a Prospective Patron, she must be prepared to undergo a full health screening and fertility assessment by a Sahelian midwife.

A second note on a separate sheet followed.

Arten Simas, Principas Vale Archivist

Upon successful birth of the first child, the Companion of General Barnaren will be granted the status of Wife, an annual stipend of five times the initial stipend agreement, and lands of her choosing in Principas Vale.

Ciardis sat back to think. There was much to consider here. She’d thought about all the responsibilities she’d assume as Lady of a manor, or even multiple manors in an area as large as a Vale, and she knew that her enhancement powers would be needed by her Patron in various capacities. However, before beginning her study of the Patron binders, she had not considered childbirth. At least, not until she was older - much older. She frowned, deciding to discuss the matter with Lady Serena at a later date, and stood, stretching her arms wide. She’d been in the library all morning.

To her surprise, just as she stood, around the corner came Lady Sarah. “Hello, Ciardis,” said Sarah, whose hair was streaked with bright shades of green.

Ciardis murmured a polite response. Sarah turned to look over the pile of documents that sat on the library table—family charts going back many generations, binders of prospective Patrons, analects of the famous Mages of the Madrassa, and histories of the noble families of Sandrin, Principas, and Vaneis. She gave Ciardis a wry smile as she said, “I remember the long nights of studying for my choice. Ream upon ream of birthdates, deaths, and family patronage.” She shuddered delicately.

Ciardis looked at her curiously. “Whom did you ultimately decide upon as your patron?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile. “I declined them all.”

Ciardis gasped, her eyes wide with surprise as she stuttered, “W-why?”

“I already had the best job in the world, and none of the libraries of my prospective Patrons could hold a candle to this one,” Sarah swept her hand out to indicate the large and beautiful multi-floor library. It was built largely of maple, all varnished to a mellow shine. “How could I give this up?” she asked almost to herself.

Ciardis stared, wondering if she would ever find anything that she loved as much as Sarah did her chosen profession. Perhaps…

“Now, enough of this sentimental reminiscing! Pack up your things and come with me. Quickly, quickly,” Sarah added. Ciardis did as she was told, and she soon had two scrolls stuffed under one arm and a satchel strapped across her back that was filled with books.

As they left the library, Sarah said, “Tonight is your eighteenth birthday, and you have less than two weeks before your Patron Hunt.”

Ciardis nodded with a gulp. She’d been trying not to think about that. She said, “Yes, milady,” as they dodged servant girls. The girls were rushing in multiple directions – arms filled with flower arrangements, huge bundles of pretty fabric, and what looked suspiciously like a very tall cake.

Sarah nodded, then pulled a small round orb out of her dress pocket as they entered a square room on the other side of the palace. “This is the Memory Room. It was used by Royal Consorts to lock in the memories of young princes and princesses as they transitioned from childhood to adulthood,” Sarah paused, “There is a different room for the memories of reigning monarchs.”

As they entered the empty room, the door clanged shut behind them. Ciardis saw that the entire room was decorated in midnight blue, with pale geometric designs etched onto the surfaces of every wall. No furniture was in the room, and Ciardis’ skirt raised no dust as they walked to the center of the room. Upon reaching the middle Ciardis noted a small depression in the floor, which Sarah and then Ciardis knelt before.

“In my hands, I hold a memory ball,” Sarah told Ciardis. “It records memories from participants, and keeps them safe for future use.” She set the memory ball in the depression. “Each mage family, including yours keeps a memory ball to imprint ancestral transitions and convey the descendant’s transition to their powers,” Sarah explained while looking down at the orb, “Only those with a sympathetic touch can activate a memory ball, and we can only store new memories in conjunction with a projector such as Serena.”

She smiled at Ciardis. “Several of our mage families have left their memory balls in the Guild’s care as they have died out, or for safekeeping.” She touched the still orb before them. “This is the memory ball of the Weathervane family.” With a regretful sigh, Sarah continued, “Because of the way the memories are transferred to the memory balls, once stored, only a descendant can view them.”

They both stood and Sarah straightened out her skirts. “As such, I will leave you to learn about your inherent powers. Your powers should arrive on the midnight bell of the morrow, the first day of your eighteenth year.”

Sarah continued, “Of course, that’s usually true of set skills that are non-elemental in origin.”

“Non-elemental?” questioned Ciardis.

“Powers that are restricted to one talent. Some children develop talents over the elements, such as wind and fire or even healing, which requires training from a very young age, instead of one skill,” said Sarah.

Ciardis had the slight suspicion that Sarah didn’t approve
of such powers.

Probably thinks they’d burn her library down around her
, she thought.

Sarah put a finger to her lips in thought. “Weathervane heritage has always been unpredictable, though.”

“What should I expect?” Ciardis asked, a little worried.

With a frown, Sarah said, “The transition may be uncomfortable, but I can’t say for sure. Transitions are specific to each mage family. After I leave, you’ll be able to activate the memory ball due your bloodright. The room itself will act as a conduit and a power source.”

Sarah waved her hand and suddenly a door appeared in the wall to their right. “To make sure the overnight adjustment to your talents goes well, you will stay in the bedroom beyond that door. I’ll make sure a maid brings you meals, and Serena will come to you tomorrow to test your skills. Any questions?”

Ciardis did a slight curtsy, and said, “No.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

With that, Sarah swept out of the room, locking the door behind her.

Ciardis contemplated the silvery orb in the
depression for a long moment. Then, deciding it was now or never—she’d been waiting months for the off chance that her powers would come in after all—she nicked her finger with a hairpin. She carefully lowered her bleeding finger to tap the ball’s gleaming surface and then watched with wide eyes as the silver absorbed the liquid, leaving no trace of red on its surface.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and she had time to wonder if she should squeeze out a larger dollop of her lifeblood, but suddenly, a humming sound began to fill the room. It grew louder and louder as the orb rose slowly into the air. Streaks of blue lightning sizzled down from the ceiling and rose from the floor to meet the orb’s glimmering exterior.

Ciardis stumbled back hastily, almost tripping on her own skirt. The humming had stopped, but the orb crackled with live fire across its surface. She frowned. “What am I supposed to do now?”

There was no answer from the pulsing lightning and arcing fire in the center of the room. Ciardis looked around hoping for a manual or display to pop up somewhere.

Maybe the geometric symbols on the walls will rearrange themselves into words?

She’d meant the thought sarcastically, but she wasn’t too far off. Half a second later, a bright beam of blue light shot out of the memeball struck the center of the wall opposite her.

It was so bright that Ciardis had to shade her eyes as she squinted. The light formed a shimmering square box. As she watched, the symbols on the wall began to fade slowly into the stone. She gasped at what she saw taking the symbols’ place.

Moving images of people were beginning to form on the wall.

The images of people, as vibrant and colorful as a living person, changed frequently. She saw the graceful figure of a woman dancing in a ballroom, and next, a charging swordsman on a field. Both bore the distinct golden eyes of the Weathervanes. The memory ball flowed from scene to scene as each ancestor gain powers many long after their eighteenth birthdays had passed from the age that lined their faces.

She saw a woman in a
stolla
, a long flowing dress which tied at the nape of nerck, playing with a child near the sea. The woman suddenly crumpled to her knees with her hands splayed in the sand. Her eyes glowed with a yellow as bright as the sun for a few moments, and Ciardis knew that, just like the others, she had transitioned into her powers.

When the next scene appeared, Ciardis walked over to the wall, trying to touch the moving image that looked so real, though it was flat.
It’s not the same as Sarah’s multi-dimensional projections,
she thought,
but it is beautiful.

As she touched the wall it rippled with light, bending away from her finger like small waves in a lake after you skip a rock. She heard another sound coming from the orb behind her and turned quickly to investigate, but before she completed the movement, she was hit with a wave of light and sound so all-encompassing that she fainted.

As she lay on the floor, she dreamed. She dreamed of every ancestor who’d accessed the WeatherVane memeball, and knew their thoughts, their exploits, their dreams, and their histories. When she’d gone through each ancestor’s transition memories, her mind went blank. She drifted in a black aether, nothing before her or around her until she started falling.

When she woke, she felt dirt under her finger tips and a breeze wafting through the air. She opened her eyes, and there stood the woman she’d seen on the beach who’d been playing with the child. Her ancestor. Then Ciardis noticed where she was—or, rather, where she was not.

She was no longer in the room she’d been in earlier. The landscape was flat, dark, and foreboding. It stretched on for miles in either direction with no trees or buildings in sight, just gently waving grass.
Even my clothes are different,
she realized in shock. She hesitantly touched the loose stolla of the clans, which had replaced the formal day gown she had been wearing.

The woman laughed gently as Ciardis’s cautious eyes turned back to her. “You should not fear me, daughter,” she said. “I am your many times great-grandmother, Artis.”

Ciardis trembled, but said, “My…my name is Ciardis.”

The other woman’s laughter bubbled up again. “Which means ‘Daughter of Artis’ in the Old Tongue! How appropriate!” She clapped her hands, delighted.

Smiling widely, Ciardis curtsied. She hadn’t known that. “Where are we, then, Lady Artis?”

Artis raised her arm to indicate the vast plains. “We are in a memory—a memory of my early life, before I joined the clan of my husband and changed all that I knew. But more importantly, we are in your mind. You have opened the ancestral memeball.”

Ciardis licked her lips. “I have. I have been taken in by the Companion’s Guild. My Patron Hunt is in two weeks, and I have yet to access my powers.”

Artis nodded. “It is the way of our women. Although, it is not always our path to be a lord’s bound companion,” she continued with a teasing smile, “I was—
am
—Warrior Leader for my clan, as well as acConsort.”

Ciardis raised her chin, determined not to be cowed. “That may be so, milady, and I hope to achieve such a rank one day. But I grew up poor and orphaned, often without food, and with little privacy.”

Artis sighed. “Yes, your childhood was unfortunate…and it is your decision to move forward. But we have little time left. You have viewed the transition memories of your ancestors, yes?”

“Indeed I have,” replied Ciardis, meeting her eyes.

“Good,” Artis replied. “Now, realize that they are but memories—no more, no less. But some of the visions might come in handy in the future.” She extended both her hands towards Ciardis, palms up. “Place your palms in mine.”

When their skin touched, it was as if their two minds became one. Ciardis could feel Artis flitting through her mind, tugging on core memories. When she questioned her, all she got was a gruff, “This will strengthen your defenses when the time comes.”

Ciardi saw how her ancestors would use their power of enhancement to tap into the mage core’s of their chosen partners. On the battlefield they presented formidable foes – not only increasing the power of the other person’s magic but allowing them to fine tune their attacks. Ciardis saw an orb of battlefire held until the precise moment and then flung at the target with such force and power that eliminated a legion upon impact. In another vision, she saw a companion enhance soft and subtle lilt of a musician’s voice as it soared over a dinner party at an elegant townhome.