The Chaos Circles #11

Whatever effect Jaque thought he would gain, only those around his age looked surprised and/or puzzled. Lya could tell that he managed to surprise himself. The elder clansmen and clanswomen just stared solemnly at him, some even cringed their faces. Even less told than the myths and legends of Suvon was the secret history of Green Cliffs valley.

For many years, the tale was told through generations but not spoken of. After the new King did not provide protection or aid, her father openly rebuked anyone who tried to speak of it. To the children, he only taught them that the clans’ people came to a lush land from the Old Realms and made it their homes. Nothing about the magic. Not even the secret archives of Chaos Skills.
Esaeni Aqens. Perhaps no one even remembers what the Suvonite name means anymore, save Lya herself.
“Sit down, Jaque,” said Handred, his tone was sharp but with little displeasure.
Jaque’s face was red but the mage had his attention well focused. “No, Father Villager. Let him speak,” said Mage Chris.
He raised an open palm to Jaque and nodded. But while Jaque looked eager, his father was tugging at his son’s hand to sit down.

But Handred stood as quickly as his frail bones could carry him, his expression filled with growing distaste.
“I do not let any one to speak of the Green Cliff’s old days as long as I am the Father of Green Cliffs.”
“The boy is not of your clan, isn’t he? Let him speak. Let him tell the truth,” countered the mage.
A mutter of interest rose from the younger folk of the Hall only seemed to fuel Handred’s discontent.

“He is a man. More importantly, my son-in-law! And what does he know? He was not even schooling when I passed the rule,” said Handred, his eyes going back and forth between the mage and the half-standing Jaque.
Because I was the one who told him. Lya squeaked instantly at the thought and quickly regretted her bad habit. Half the hall now drew their attention at her.

Jaque quickly broke free from Terrence Jaymeson’s grasp and spoke loudly.
“I do know. More than that, I’ve told many about it! Who we were, how we came here, how we failed the Towers and how the mages...”
But Handred was knocking his the head of his walking stick on the table loudly.
“Stop, stop! I forbid you. Jaymeson, restraint your son!” shouted the Head Villager.
Terrence pulled Jaque forcefully by his arm as Jaque continued to rant.

Lya thought that she should speak too but her mother’s grasp on her own hand was almost begging for her not to start. But the rest of the hall was growing troubled as well; the walls were ringing with the voices of the younger clans of both men and women as the elders tried to hold them.
“Let Jaque speak!”
“What secret?”
“Mages, tell us if you knew!”
“Quiet Boris, or I’ll have your mouth stuffed with dung!”
“Clean out your mouth, father!”

Between the shouts and cries and knocking of Handred’s stick, Lya caught the elder mage standing up. With hands as thin and crooked as her father, the elder mage clapped them together once but the sound emitted was enormous. It was like a crack from an End-Winter thunderstorm that was a lightning-struck tree too close. Lya felt her ears ringing and wondered if others, by their shocked faces, felt the same.

Channeler Harrietta seemed to be the only person unmoved by the sudden noise. Immediately she pointed a fat finger at the elder mage.
“Magic! You touched the Chaos!” she cried, as if the 300 unskilled others had not noticed the unnatural resonance. Lya saw the faint waves of patterns too.

Many times she had watched the channeler performed the common skills on others, healing or cleaning the water or reading the earth for when to plough the fields. Always there was this strange white glow on her fingertips, like the faint edges of candles. When she was a smaller child, she had always wanted to ask Channeler Harrietta about the glow, but the woman’s huge size had always intimidated her.

It was not until after she discovered the archives that her curiosity was quenched. Even then Lya had not mention them to the channeler. Now that she was older and hopefully stronger in the skills, the desire to share her secrets was turned to Jaque instead of the Channeler. But there was a difference between the waves that exude from the elder mage and the channeler.

“Virdie,”
“Please Lya, not so loud,” said Virdie, rubbing the ear that Lya spoke into.
“I’m sorry, but who was that old mage again?” asked Lya, her eyes watched as the elder mage and Mage Chris whispered quietly to each other.
“Oh had I not mentioned? His name is Mariel Hivyniqiv. A foreigner no doubt,” said Virdie.
Hivyniqiv. Lya wondered what language did his name contain a meaning.

Handred’s look was never broken from the two standing mages. If anytime, he was a man ready to gain control of the situation. He turned a hand away at Channeler Harrietta and gestured for her to return to her place. But it was the elder mage, Hivyniqiv, who spoke first.
“Keep your old secrets, Handred Samuelson, and bury your past if you think you know what is right. But tonight we both see that your voice had not been one with the Whole. We can sit here until the Old War-Devil knocks on your door before he blows down this shack. But I am old and my juniors cannot waste their skills with you while the rest of my family break their bones on stones.”

The old mage produced a stick from under the table, long and strong, shaped like a shepherd’s crook. He rapped the other mages with it on their shoulders as if he had turned daft.
“Come, come! We leave. Yes, now. Let their own dead speak to them. When it gets louder, maybe they’ll finally hear something.”
The Mage, Chris Anasteq, raked his hand through his hair, his face suddenly turned dejected. The woman mage, Karina, looked as if she was ready to protest and speak her voice but the rap on her shoulder seemed to have dispirited her. Only the face of the youngest mage did not express his thoughts, his striking gold-brown eyes stared blankly at the clan leaders.

Enatuh did not seem to let them go silently though. Many were standing and shouting with divided opinions. Those who sat by the entrance to see the mages pulled back by others; clearly they wanted the mages to leave.
“Good riddance!”
“Please, wait! What secret?”
“Forget it, they’ve brought more trouble than loose goats!”
“Don’t come back!”
“Quiet, they might curse us!”
“They’ve travelled far. They can protect us!”

Suddenly, a man from the benches pulled free from his father’s grip and nearly fell as he ran down the stairs to the mages, running as his father cried for him. Lya wondered if Jaque insistence for the mages’ support was his plan to escape Enatuh. But to war? She remembered how Jaque froze in fear before an oncoming wild boar. He would never survive any real battle.

Lya watched as Jaque pushed away at the hands that restricted him and stopped dead in front of the mages. He looked surprised at his own courage. Behind him were shouts of disapproval and called for him to move away. The old mage seemed to have thought the same. He said something to Jaque that was drowned from the chaos of noises and used the stick to rap Jaque. Jaque avoided the stick and said something to Chris Anasteq, his voice too Lya could not here.

All eight clan leaders were standing as they faced the backs of the mages, each of them with their own thoughts and mixed expression. Handred held tightly to his walking stick as if it was a sword ready to wield.

To be continued...