Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Seb awoke just before dawn. Through the
grille above faint shafts of pink pushed against a receding night. A cool draft
filled the chamber, the sensation invigorating on his skin. He lay there for a
moment, the sound of Caleb’s snoring echoing round the Drain’s various nooks
and crannies.

From somewhere above, in
the grounds of the mansion, a harsh sound drifted down, like metal clashing
against metal. Someone shouted. A curse of some kind, then a yell of triumph.
The din carried on for minutes, Seb idly listening to the duel with interest.
It was then that he noticed only one of the combatants was making a sound.
Every shout, every yell was from the same person. The other participant was strangely
silent.

Curiosity got the better
of him and he leapt from the bed. He smiled at that. Even a week before he was
content to wallow in whatever pit he had dropped in, but now he woke with a
sense of purpose. He didn’t know what he was doing here at all, or where he was
heading. He just had
something
now, even if it was just helping Caleb
have a slightly easier life. It was a strange sensation, but a good one.

Silence reigned as he
stepped out of the stairwell and into the hallway. Sunlight streamed through
the windows, tiny particles of dust dancing in the air. He crept along the
carpet, the floor creaking underfoot, the noise amplified in the overwhelming
silence. He winced as he moved, certain that Don or one of the other magi would
find him and send him packing. Luckily he remained undetected, and he found
himself at the rear door, his teeth clenched as he slowly turned the handle. It
creaked once, he winced. No shouts of alarm came, and he let out a steady
breath as he opened the door.

The sun was healthily
over the horizon now, a half-circle of yellow just edging over the tree-line.
The air was rich with the smell of flowers he couldn’t identify. He sucked it
in nonetheless, the scent invigorating. He fell into a half-crouch behind a
finely cut hedge that followed the perimeter of the upper lawn. Down below the
sounds of metal on metal sang, but the cadence had lessened now, the sounds of
heavy breathing prevalent over that of combat. He came to a halt against a
cream-coloured stone post at the intersection of two walls and peered over.

A man, no, a giant,
easily seven foot tall stood inside a stone circle on the lawn. His bald head
gleamed with sweat. His shoulders heaved, white clouds of breath steaming the
air in front of him as he edged around the circle’s diameter. In one hand he
held a long wooden staff with thin metals stems seemingly melded in at each
end, extending almost a third down the shaft from each tip. One end of the
staff was pointed forwards, in the giant’s line of sight, the other was held
under a folded arm.

Opposite the giant,
unmoving, stood a much slighter figure. The person wore a grey cloak and hood
that obscured their features. In each hand was a curved sword, the steel
glinting in the light of the emerging day. The hooded figure crouched low, one
sword pointing towards the giant, matching the plane of the other man’s staff,
the other held high and behind him. Seb watched, transfixed, for the figure
didn’t seem to be suffering from exertion at all. His position was solid, unmoving.
His shoulders steady, no signs of the exertion that was obviously hindering the
much larger man. His breath –

No way
.

He squinted at the
figure. Something didn’t ring right that he couldn’t figure out. Then it
clicked.

It was the air around the
figure.

Aside from the complete
lack of movement, the air was still. No mist, no condensation. Nothing. How
could someone be engaged in a duel with a guy the size of
that
and not
seem to be suffering from it?

As if on cue, the giant
moved with a fluidity that was surely impossible for a man of his size. His
form barely visible, a blur of white and grey, the heavy staff spinning in a
dazzling display of prowess. Seb fell back, stunned by the sheer speed. There
was no way the other man could defend against such an attack.

Yet he did.

The hooded man responded
in kind. The swords lunged and parried, blocking one end of the staff with a
loud
clang
, the other striking out, meeting the other business end of the
staff. The two combatants twirled and danced. The giant jabbed and swung,
controlled strikes that seemed to aim at multiple places at once. The hooded
figure was equal to all of them, parrying or dodging, always just in the nick
of time.

Seconds later, or was it
minutes? The combatants came apart. The giant bent and picked up a towel,
wiping it across his face. The other figure simply returned to his fighting
position in the centre of the ring. Seb’s unease grew at that point. Something
didn’t sit right about this guy. He didn’t tire, he didn’t rest. He didn’t even
seem to breathe.

Seb moved closer to the
wall, raising his head higher to get a better look. Something gave against his
elbow, a heavy object that grazed his skin. A sudden weight shifted. He shot a
look to his left, a yelp of horror forming in his throat as the plant pot fell
from its place on the wall. He reached out, the action in vain as the pot
crashed to the ground in an explosion of earth and clay.

‘Shit!’

A force unlike anything
he’d ever experienced smashed into him. It wasn’t so much a physical shove,
more a mental assault that took the ground from under his legs. He fell into
the path in plain view of both combatants, the world spinning around him.
Sickness rose in his throat as he rolled onto his hands and knees. He focused
on the gravel beneath him in an attempt to keep the world from moving. When the
waves had subsided he raised his head. The giant loomed over him.

For a moment, no one
spoke. The giant’s face dripped with sweat, his eyes on fire, glaring down at Seb
with a mixture of anger and something else that he couldn’t quite discern. The
giant’s tunic was drenched and stuck to his torso, the great staff held to one
side, where Seb was sure he could make out faint wisps of electricity rippling
over the metal rods.

‘Sorry about the plant
pot,’ Seb said.

Something changed in the
man’s face. The barely restrained fury vanished. He blinked, the anger
dissipating from his eyes. His firm expression didn’t change, although Seb at
least felt secure that he wasn’t about to be battered into the earth at that
very moment.

‘Clean up this mess.’ The
man said, before walking past Seb towards the house.

He struggled to his feet.
The nausea had passed thankfully, but his knees still felt leaden, barely able
to support his weight. He glanced back towards the lawn.

The hooded figure had
vanished.

‘Caleb! You’ll never
guess what I’ve just seen!’

Seb skipped down the
steps into the Drain. Caleb looked up from his desk, an explosion of documents
in front of him.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Outside. The front lawn.
I was at that bit with the arches. Where the stone circle is.’

Caleb nodded and lowered
the pen to the table. ‘Ah, you saw Cian’s morning show.’

‘Cian?’

‘Sit, Seb.’

Seb sat down on a wooden
stool on the other side of Caleb’s desk. It wobbled, and he shot a hand out
against the desk to stop himself toppling over. Caleb watched with one eyebrow
raised.

‘Finished?’

‘For now.’

‘The big guy you saw,’
Caleb began.

‘The bald one?’

‘I’d advise you not to
mention that in his presence, but yes, that’s him,’ Caleb said. ‘Cain is our
Battlemaster, and second in command.’

‘Battlemaster? I didn’t
think the magi were the fighting type?’

‘Were you not listening
yesterday? We were the first warriors. The best in all the realms. Since the Crossing,
and the Oath, the need to maintain these skills has diminished.  Cian is what
you’d call a traditionalist. He trains now like they did when Aura was whole.’

‘And what about the other
guy then? The one he was fighting.’

Caleb rose a little too
quickly. ‘Nobody, just the mage equivalent of a training dummy.’ He shoved the
documents into one pile. ‘Now come on, it is late already and there is much to
get through.’

Seb had more to ask, but
Caleb had indicated in a not so subtle way that this conversation was over, at
least for now. He followed as Caleb stomped through an archway that lay in near
total darkness at the back of the chamber. They walked along one side of a
narrow tunnel that opened out into a vast room. One solitary brazier burned
next to the entrance, revealing a threadbare rug in the centre.

‘What is this place?’ Seb
said. His voice echoed round the chamber.

‘This is where you will
learn. Come.’

Caleb led them towards
the rug. He lowered himself to his knees and motioned for Seb to do the same.
Seb dropped to the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. The cold seeped
through his outfit, his skin rippling with gooseflesh.

‘It’s freezing here.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll
learn to deal with that in time.’

Caleb took the satchel
from his shoulder and put it on the floor. He took out a thick, leather-bound
tome and placed in on the floor between them. Strange markings were etched on
the cover.

‘This, Seb, is the
Fundamentals
of Arcana
, what you would call the prime learning source for all magi.’

Seb took the book. It
felt heavy in his hands. He ran his forefinger across the dark wording.

‘What is this, Latin?’

‘No. This particular tome
is written in Runic Script, what you would call the language of the Weave.’

‘The structure of reality
has its own language?’

‘No. Well, sort of. The
nature of the Weave is pure energy. In its base structure it is formless. Danu
and Balor were able to manipulate the Weave directly, such was their natural
affinity. However, in order to make it easier to teach, and to be able to
document its use for future generations, they created a language that enables
the mage to harness the Weave in a structured way, without having to connect
directly to its natural form.’

‘Can they do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Connect directly to the
Weave?’

Caleb frowned. ‘Technically,
yes. But it is forbidden under our rules. Even if a mage could, and I doubt it
is even possible on this Shard, the results can be…dangerous.’

‘What would happen?’

‘Madness. Death.
Destruction. Take your pick. It’s not an option in any case so let us leave it
there. Understood?’

Seb nodded. Caleb didn’t
invite negotiation on this one.

‘Now, you’ll need to bear
with me on this. Normally the path to Weave-mastery takes six years. Two for
each discipline. As of this morning I am under orders to fast track this. I’m
told we can skip Novo, as you only need to unlock that block in your head.
Still,’ Caleb stopped as he rubbed one hand against his stubble, ‘It will be a
challenge. I might have to improvise along the way.’

‘What is Novo?’

‘I’m getting ahead of myself
already,’ Caleb said, shaking his head. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had
to do any teaching.’

Caleb ran weathered hands
down the front of his legs. He muttered to himself for a moment before clapping
his hands together, a triumphant smile on his face.

‘Right. The basics. You
know the history of our kind.’

‘The abridged version.’

‘Quite. There’ll be
plenty of time to learn more. For now though, we focus on the fundamentals. On
being a mage. On the Weave itself.

‘Do you know what the
Weave is, Seb?’

‘Sort of. They mentioned
it on my first night but my head was a mess. It’s some kind of energy that
everything’s made from, yes?’

‘Let’s look at that then
shall we. What
is
everything made from, Seb? When you look out of the
window, what do you see?’

Seb looked. ‘Trees.
Grass. Green stuff.’

‘So poetic. And what’s
that made from?’

‘Atoms?’

‘And what are they made
from?’

He knew this; at least he
thought he did. He’d accidentally picked up a copy of Focus magazine once due
to a rather attention-grabbing cover of a nuclear blast. Morbid curiosity had
drawn him in. The article was about splitting an atom, the stuff that comes
out. Protons and neutrons and other crap. He couldn’t remember though, and the
days he’d actually made it to science at school were lost in a haze of
piss-taking and practical jokes.

‘Anything?’ Caleb said.

‘I’ll go for protons, but
that’s as far as I go.’

Caleb grunted. ‘Okay.
This is the critical bit. Beyond protons, beyond quarks and neutrinos and all
the other crap that humans make up to explain the world they see, there’s an
underlying force, an energy that makes all reality possible.’

Seb smiled. ‘Okay, Obi
Wan.’

‘Cut the shit, kid, you
need to know this.’

Seb slumped, his cheeks
aflame.

‘This energy, what we
call the Weave, is formless. It has no context. It can’t be touched, seen, handled
in any way. That is, without an Observer.’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s our minds that make
our world, Seb. Without the mind of a conscious observer, the universe would be
formless, without structure.’

‘Okay, now I’m losing it.’

‘It’s hard to grasp at
first I know, but soon you will see that it makes perfect sense. Deep down you
already know it, that’s why you’re Latent, but it will come, have faith in
that.’

Seb felt the frown that
creased his head, his tongue sticking out from one side as he considered the
concept. It wasn’t a good look, he’d been told that in the past. Caleb seemed
to notice it, a look that was a mix of puzzlement and amusement on his face. He
shook his head and tried a different tact:

‘Imagine that you’re in a
room that’s entirely without light. Can you do that?’

‘I think I can stretch
that far.’

‘Good. Now, this darkness
is the Weave without Observers. It is there, but there is nothing. Got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now, imagine that when
you
see
, when you
observe
, that your mind, working with all of
your senses, acts as a kind of flashlight, illuminating the reality that’s
before you, except, and this is the crucial bit, you’re not seeing something
that was already there, just hidden, you’re actually forming the reality from
this energy by the very act of observing it.’

They sat in silence, Seb
mulling over the concept. It was a head-fuck definitely, but something in his
gut couldn’t dismiss it. He wasn’t a science geek, he had no real knowledge of
physics, chemistry or anything that would maybe help him understand better, but
something in his mind latched onto the view of the world that Caleb had
painted, as if it could be true, he just needed to accept it.

‘Ok, say I get this image
that basically the world only exists because we observe it, what happens if
there’s no one around? Does everything just fall into nothingness again?’

‘Good question, and
although the answer to that, truly, is that we don’t know, we do have theories,
based on our own studies of the Weave.

‘Like clay, when it’s
been formed into its required form by the potter, we believe that reality, the
Weave, maintains the form it was constructed in when last observed, or at the
very least remembers it in some form, able to reconstruct it at will when next
required.’

‘Wow, now that’s a proper
head-melter. But, it doesn’t make sense? How can everyone think the same thing?
How do we all see the same tree? Hear the same noises? We all share in the same
experiences. Surely that can’t be coincidence?’

Caleb laughed at that,
the noise like gravel on gravel.

‘You’re latching on
quick. It took me years to get all the questions out of my system.’

‘I like the idea. It
makes sense in a twisted sort of way. Not that I’m an expert obviously. But
still, how do we all see the same thing?’

‘I’ll explain this one as
best I can. It’s a key one too, as your knowledge of this will affect your
relationship with the Weave as you progress.

‘As consciousness evolved
with humans, so did their perceived knowledge of the world around them. As they
understood more, they sought to understand even further. What this meant was
that the reality formed by the Weave
hardened
, as if cemented by the
continual layers of observers contributing to it. As this knowledge progressed,
science, as they call it, the veneer of the Weave became deeper. By sheer
conscious thought, the atom came into being, the proton. The quark. As the Consensus
grew in power, so did the
realness
of reality. The end result, this
world we see around us, is a result of this effect. That reality, as agreed by
the subconscious and conscious minds that formed it, is known as the Consensus.’

Seb sat in silence,
letting the words wash through him. Observers. The Weave. The Consensus. A
reality born of perceptions. It sounded too much like science fiction, but that
thing, that unshakeable
knowing
that he was a part of this other world,
clung onto him for dear life. He didn’t challenge the idea. He didn’t accept it
either. Yet. There was more to be learned, his curiosity peaking at the
potential possibilities that loomed ahead. Caleb continued:

‘So, going back to the
analogy of the flashlight? Where the reality only forms when the flashlight is
being shined upon it?’

Seb nodded. ‘The tree
falls in the forest thing.’

‘Correct. That’s the crux
of what the magi are about. Over many centuries, long before there was even
life you would call intelligent on this realm, they have studied the Weave.
Learned its many nuances. Documented it. Over time, they have learned to master
it.’

‘Who made it?’

‘What?’

‘The Weave. Where did it
come from?’

‘You do go for the big
questions, don’t you?’ Caleb closed the book, keeping the page with one finger.

‘It’s an obvious one.’

‘Perhaps. But it is one
that you would be best asking when you are more versed in our ways. For now,
the Weave was created from the Forge, which is the source of all creation. The
full answer is much more complicated than that, but for now, accept this as
your answer.

A mage, in the purest
sense, is a Latent who has mastered the ways of the Weave to such a degree that
they can bend it, and hence reality, to their own will.’

‘That’s what I am. Was. A
Latent. This is someone who is aware of the Weave?’

‘Sort of. There are those
who are simply Aware. They have no knowledge of it, but they find themselves
more in tune with their surroundings. They know, on some instinctive level,
that there is more to what they see, that reality is more than just what they
see, hear and feel.’

Seb flexed his legs out
and shifted into a different position. ‘So, I’m guessing a Latent is one that
is Aware, but also has the potential to become a mage?’

‘Yes, but there is a big,
big leap between the two. About one person in a million is Aware in any given
generation. Of that, only one percent are what we would consider Latent.’

Seb thought on that for a
moment. ‘So, assuming six billion people in the world, gives us about six
thousand Aware. That gives about sixty per generation?’ He blew out. ‘That’s
rare.’