Nanoseconds of Musing

Liefel's Role and Rule

He held his cloak around him with care, allowing the loose folds to conceal the bundle that lay snug across his chest his hip in a cloth sling. It was dangerous enough for him to be out after warning hours, but to have the hopes of his tribe in his care, to have to guard it from the Others …

Ane knew he had a good chance of eluding the guards but it was the Scree that he feared, those raptor-like birds who could follow any target with relentless ease. Except for one thing, they did not as yet know the identity of their target and without some blood scent they could not start their search. All others of his blood were hidden far off or dead, only he survived, although not for long. If all went to plan, the sacrifice would be worth it.

The guards winged swerved across the street on their wheeled boots, swift and sure arcs that took them within inches of his hiding place. They had life-beam torches playing across the alley, but looked for large mammal life. He had stilled his being to reptile metabolism, long years of practice allowed him to meditate thus, It slowed his thoughts and reactions too, so he would not attempt a move until the guards finished their sector sweep and closed the gates.

He had once been the chief of a large and prosperous tribe, but it is the way of the world that rises and falls are cyclical, there is always someone waiting to pull down, to plunder the fruits of another’s labour. No star that rises so high and shines so bright that one day it it does not burn itself out or collide with another and plummet back to earth in a sparkling trail.

He had had the benefit of advice from those with ability enough to divine what was hidden in the past, what was inevitable in the future and to make preparations for the conflict - one that gave the spoils to the victor all right, but not the victory. No, not the victory, that lay years ahead, maybe still for his own people to grasp.

For his tribe were safe for the most part, albeit hidden or scattered in pockets of the Deep, where others did not venture. He thought back to the day when Crona had first warned him. It was about a month or two before He had been born, the one who might be the means to the end.

The Loge had twinkled out window by window, ready to slumber in replete satisfaction, all but the Reflection Room, where he looked over some minor matters that needed an immediate answer if they were not to become major ones. He sighed; Stewardship was anything but a sinecure.

Crona had come in, her dragging foot making that typical psshh-sound as it dragged over the terracotta floor. It had been an encounter with a belligerent Gryphon, one nursing injury itself and a mother to two mewling kits, which had given her an injury beyond even her powers. Healers are best healing others, not themselves.

He swung to face her, his thick eyebrows drawn together just a little, but most of the worry lines on his forehead ironed away in the love he felt permeating from her. His grey eyes lost their brooding look, the stormy seas one that seemed to be the norm these days and took on a silvery mica-brightness that had given him his nickname. His given name was Leifel, but Crona and others did revert to the affectionate form in private.

Crona pulled herelf to a low footstool beside his chair and folded her limbs, pulling the folds of her drab brown gown.

She could deck herself in rich robes and jewels if she so desired, but like most of my people, externals are not important. His affectionate approval stopped short when he saw the deep emotion in her eyes.

Crona, what is it?

Crona’s hand gnarled was steady, her face creased with no more than it’s quota of age lines, still retaining enough of its original golden sheen to make people remark that she must have been a beauty once. The eyes were deep dark pools of enigmatic wisdom, like bits of night sky imprisoned in her face; they gave nothing away at most times. But, right now, he could have sworn there was regret in them.

For what? She covets nothing, asks nothing,

… except the welfare of me and mine!

Mica, I can wait no longer. I need your undivided time.

Crona, since when did you stop commanding and start beseeching? Whatever is mine, is yours. You know that. Wealth, time, life – I know you will not take more than what is necessary, ever. I trust you.

Child, what I need is nothing. It is what our people need, and it is for you to find it, but it is neither yours nor mine to give. Having found it, you need to cast if off, and wait, wait, wait, perhaps to win, perhaps not. But your only chance is to wait.

Liefel was not impatient with the cryptic message. Crona did dabble a little in the Seeing rituals of which her sister had been a renowned expert. Raina had been killed two season’s past, by a chance lightning strike when she had been out to collect some storm flowers that bloomed only in thunderstorms. Raina had been able to interpret the messages accurately, but had warned that those less expert must just pass on the exact words and not try to interpret them without proper knowledge, as each slight change of meaning would alter the course so drastically the foresight would be useless. When the time was ripe, the meaning would be clear.

What did the message say, and why were you seeking any?

For once in my life, I have been selfish, but perhaps that too was foredained. In doing so, I might have saved out kingdom.

She drew in a deep breath and Liefel did not hurry what seemed to be a troubled memory.

I miss her so much, Raina, I mean. We had different skills, she and I, but we made a whole. I feel that I am useless without her. I needed some sign from her that I was meant to go on.

So …

I cast the glyphs.

Ah … the glyphs. These were a set of crystals that could be used in skilled hands to talk to the spirits of those who had left the earthly abode, if they had a message to impart. Mere messages of love or affection were easy to capture and even the merest novice could garner those, to get others of more import, telling what had been left undone, or where something of value lay hidden took more skill. Especially in case of sudden deaths, the message could be urgent enough to prompt yearning in those left behind to bridge that gap.

I have a little more skill that others and I was prepared to receive a detailed message, perhaps even some guidance from her.

But, when it came, it was not for me, it was for you.

Mica, we are betrayed. She was killed, struck down.

Her eyes filmed and out of the corner of one eye, welled just one tear, a clear round globule that trembled poised at the edge of the lashes of the lower lid, before taking the plunge down the curve of a cheek, as immobile as a cliff in its stricken grief. It made its slithering way down to the corner of her lips and hesitated, ready to plunge within if the mouth opened to cry. Some wounds are too deep for mere cries and it then gave up to slide off the edge of the jaw, ending as a silver shimmer on the collar before disappearing as a damp stain.

Liefel had never seen Crona cry. How could he? It was always she who had comforted him, from the days when he had been an infant whose only tasks were to eat, sleep and cry.

How could I have not seen that she is more than what she has had to be to me … nurse, governess, teacher, guide, mentor … even parent? She is a daughter herself, a sister, a woman.

He castigated himself for never seeing that, for leaning on her so much after his father died. His mother had died when he was still in his teens, and his father followed a hands-year later. Crona had ensured he had someone to turn to for love without intruding or presuming. He had no uncles or aunts, nor even siblings, it was ever thus in royal families. One child only, and there was never a chance of another aspirant to the throne plotting to seize or overthrow the incumbent. If one died before once had a successor then the estates would be fought over in a civilized manner, by tourney, after all those who wished declared intent.

Warring was illegal, and anyone who tried that would be summarily seized by all the other rulers, deposed and his assets again going to a tourney winner. It was not all brute strength in the tourney, there were actual simulations of problems that were set by the Wizeners of each kingdom and one problem picked from each non-competing kingdom. The judging was by vote, each district had a list of potential Electors, all those over thirty-five years of age, who were married and had at least one child, who contributed at least five Community workdays every year. It was these who would determine who would serve best to further their own and communal harmony. Two from each kingdom were chosen at random, one male, one female. And these chose the successor, the so called ‘Winner’ of the tourney.

But it had been an uneventful passing down of the regal Mantle for the last fifteen generations in Alesia. Liefel had been instructed in his duties from the time he drew his first breath. Even as an infant he had been nurtured in such a way that he did not cry or fret for attention’s sake, that his tantrums were never allowed expression.

He remembered a time when he had seen another child in the Loge cry himself red in the face for a denied sweetmeat and looking at his father in bewilderment, not understanding why this purple-faced, fist-clenched, tear-splashed boy was thrashing about and screaming whilst his hapless parents pressed treat after treat on the wild lad now refusing placation.

His Father had just smiled; that smile- it said one day, you shall understand this. Today, just observe and know that it is so.

He did know now, it had taken a legion of Minders and minor attendants, all schooled by Crona’s wise mother, all with no other purpose than to tutor one small child about restraint and noble mien, trust and necessity, generosity and goodness. The general populace had to do with input from parents and perhaps a grand-parent or aunt or uncle, and these had their own livings to earn, their own houses to keep in order, the food to be made ready, so on and so forth. Children were surely expected to behave, but ensuring correct behaviour was more difficult with a meager and harried task-force.

He had been schooled to be wary but not fearful, brave but not foolhardy, to keep seeking and not assume wisdom was finite, to respect and be courteous but never to flatter or be servile. It had taught to him much as other children were taught to eat or dress - so much a part of his life that it was not questioned.

Killed? The questions whirled in his mind. Who would do such a thing? Why, why Raina of all people? What was the gain? But they jostled each other for precedence and he could not decide which one should be answered first. So he waited, Crona would tell him all he needed to know, exactly as required for comprehension.

He felt an infinite compassion for her, to lose her beloved elder sister had been traumatic enough to make her reach for the prop of using the Glyphs. Raina had been a seasoned caster but in the hands of the inexperienced disaster could result from even the minutest of errors. Of course, she probably took them up more for solace, to see if there was some unfulfilled wish of Raina’s that she could complete and the added burden of finding her beloved sister’s untimely death to be a planned one for some nefarious end must have rent her inside. Then to have to make sense of it and convey the warning …

So the silence spun out – the evening sun peeped in the end windows with a cheery ruddy face and sent long fingers slanting across the shoulders of the two sitting motionless there. The copper bowl on the table between them glowed as bright the orb outside.

Crona shook her head, it seemed to have freed her that spell of introspection, the dark despondency had peeped out her eyes for a short while.

“Mica, it is not for all to ue those Glyphs and I would be the first to have told anyone else that. But something had been calling to me for days and I felt the only way to make sure that Raina was at peace was to use them as well as I could.”

A pause, then in a soft stark expression of loss, “she was gone so suddenly.”

“I cleansed myself for three days, as required. You were away last week and I could devote time to that without remark. I cast them at sundown yesterday, you were due to return today.

I think Raina had some inking of what might come, for never could I before make the Glyphs respond so well to me, not even with her to guide my hand. She must have left some of her essence in them, perhaps even weakened herself by doing so.

She was there, Mica. If I hadn’t known better I would have been sure I could touch her. It was so real.
That’s why I believe, Raina with her sweet gentle eyes aflame with the urgency of her message.

She said the thunderstorm and the lightning strike had been called by Fauld, you remember Fauld?”

Liefel nodded his head, “Yes, he was the always defeated in tourney wasn’t he. He was the only King to ever give up his Kingdom to his heir, while living, and he went away to live as a monk?”

Yes, only he always had his eye on a back-door re-entry. He had schooled his daughter well and she was little more than a mere puppet to his commands, being barely thirteen when he abdicated. He went to the Dark Ones for help, where the Scree flourish and the Dwelmares swim.

I thought those were mere tales to scare the recalcitrant young ones, Crona?

All tales have some foundation in reality, Mica. Some get exaggerated over time and some, as in this case, even get diluted. The Dark Ones were biding their time and needed the perfect human to manipulate – the centuries of quiet made the warnings of their powers seem like folktales for children or the croaking of old women like me.

Fauld has been with them these past three decades, learning all the arts they desired to instill in him. Not all, I presume, for then their hold would be lost, but enough … enough to cast his eyes on the first kingdom he wishes to capture. Ours.

What was the point of killing Raina then? She was not a fierce warrior that he had to fear reprisal from her?

When has our way ever been to train warriors, Mica? We stress more on knowledge than on strength, we have many who have not only the imbibed wisdom of generations but the ability to know how and when to use it. Raina was one such, a leader who could have guided us when the time came.

But why the bizarre method chosen then? Why not poison or an assassin’s knife to the heart?

He served two purposes with that murder, practiced the calling down of natural energy and got rid of one of our strengths in such a way that nothing untowards was suspected.

Yes indeed, I misdoubt if there was any who thought it more than an evil mischance to have struck down our gentle preceptor.

But he underestimated her, he is too unused to such powers as yet. She had felt the natural imbalances for some time now and although one does not easily suspect evil in lands like ours in times like now, or until now, should I say?

Liefel sighed, a gusty sigh that was a release of the acute sense of loss, a painful vice that squeezed his lungs and stilled his breath. In other times we’d have turned to you for solutions, but here the problem itself is your absence, Raina, Raina …

Crona was droning on in this dull monotone that irritated him, he want to wail and kick and roll on the floor and here was this automaton in front of him. What kind of woman would be able to put the loss behind her so easily?

Then Crona turned and he saw her eyes – the gleam was gone, it was the difference between the glorious beauty of Kellyfloweres in full bloom on a bush and the same two minutes after being plucked. The exact same cobalt blue, but anyone would say the vibrancy that was so attractive a moment ago was lost forever. Poor Crona, how you must be hurting, and yet you push yourself to do the necessary.

Raina had left the Glyph channel primed and ready – in case she was not around to give us warning herself, a wise precaution as it turned out but she was always one to recommend a fail-safe plan.

Did she say what the danger was, exactly?

Not in so many words, no. And I have less skill in extracting the answers too. But, too much known would precipitate the event, perhaps with disastrous consequences – it will have to kept a close-guarded secret too. Not more than a handful of us to prepare.

So, what is it you were told?

She cannot do more than warn us of a potential rising, perhaps three or four years from now.

Crona, raised her hand and Liefel stifled the questions on his lips.

But, that is enough time for us to take precautions, even if we have to be careful not to let such preparations be perceived. He may advance his own plans if he expects any informed resistance, his machinations are based largely upon the edge of surprise and we must use that weapon against him.

We can prepare in stealth and fortify defences for his offensive measures are invested in the surprise element. Being aware we can watch, we can note and devise counter-measures for each element.

His daughter is forty-three now and herself a mother to a girl. One assumes they too have been given some instructions, for it seems the young princess is to be wed.

Why is that wedding suspicious? It is the way of the world, for the young to become mature, to wed, to breed, to have their own young again.

Yes, indeed. But it has never before happened that one of us would wed a Dred.

A Dred, Crona? But how? Are they not another species altogether? They cannot live above ground, light and fresh air is anathema to them. Their food exists only below ground, the Clavworms and the veins of sulphurous crystals that line their caves.

Liefel’s brows furrowed and he grimaced, trying to picture one of their own along the bow-legged squat coppery-skinned Dreds who communicated with gestures and hoots rather than speech.

Liefel, think before you speak, do not let natural prejudice make you blind to what can happen, may happen … I do not even know if such can be so, but the Dred are not far removed from us in blood, even if their skin is dark and their eyes all yellow, no white.

Why, they are barely intelligent – what would one want with them or theirs? And what would they want with ours?

It is rumoured that one principal has a son who admires, nay covets, our women. Shanara is not comely by our standards but for a Dred she might be beauteous and she might not find suitors enough here. Her mother too wed Fauld’s underling, none else wanted a part of her, not even the Kingdom tempted. It was her only choice, or else the Tourney would have taken it all away.

And one marriage to the Dred will give him power over their world?

The entire Undwerworld might not support Fauld, for they have no interest in what happens here, happy enough in the magma hideouts below. But that one clan would suffice for him to gain some of their wiles, their weapons, their beasts. Remember we have, as yet nothing to counter those. We had no need.

Ah, yes, I see. But, how do we find out more? How do we create counter-weaponry? If it is to be a secret, what can we do?

Liefel ran a hand through his thick locks, winding his fingers around the curls and tugging as if to pull the solution from within this head.

Crona placed her gnarled hand over his restless one, she gentled it and drew her own down his cheek to turn his head, leaning in close.

At last, the eyes had a gleam of life – a mere flicker, but there was a glimpse of triumphant exultation.

That’s just it Leifel. We don’t.

Crona smiled at Liefel.

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