Fire of the Soul Read online

  The Fire of the Soul

  By

  Flora Speer

  Smashwords Edition

  Published by Flora Speer At Smashwords

  Copyright © 2015 by Flora Speer

  Cover Design Copyright 2015

  By http//:DigitalDonna.com

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  I hold the fire of the soul,

  I hold life and healing

  from The Rig Veda

  Prelude: The Legend of the Great Emerald

  Thousands of years ago, when the northernmost lands of the known world were frozen in a long age of ice and snow, a band of six men and women, mages all and all banished from their original homes in the wilderness of Mataram, fled across the Fiuris Occam, the Sea of Fire and Ice, to the land that later became known as Chandelar.

  In that unexplored refuge, where volcanoes kept a small peninsula warm enough to sustain life in the icy wastes, the twelve founded a village, which they called Tannaris. In the fertile volcanic soil they planted the seeds of hardy herbs which they had carried with them from Mataram, and they nurtured the fragile plants through the brief northern summers. They hunted the giant, hairy beasts that lived on the ice, made clothing from the skins, and smoked the meat over volcanic fumeroles to preserve it for the winter, when no one dared to hunt in the wind-driven blizzards.

  It was a brutal life and a short one for most of them, but they and the few children they produced lived without fear of harassment. At first, that was all they desired, the freedom to practice without persecution their inherited magic, the Power.

  In the third generation of the mages of Tannaris, the girl, Aone, discovered The Emerald, and everything changed.

  Finding it was an accident – or, perhaps, a trick played upon humankind by the old gods. Greener than the lushest leaves of the fabled keshan tree of warmer southern climes, clearer than the air at a storm’s end, absolutely without flaw, the Emerald glowed in plain sight where a rockfall had tumbled down the slope of a volcano.

  Ignoring the rumble of the earth beneath her feet and the sudden spurt of brilliant orange volcanic fire far above her head, Aone picked up the stone. Who would not reach for such a jewel? It lay in her hand, encased in a greyish stone matrix, yet she could see its perfect shape, a long, beautifully angled crystal. Aone sensed the strength in it, a Power greater than any she had ever imagined existed. Such Power could do wondrous things, she knew.

  Having carried the Emerald back to the village, Aone proudly displayed her treasure – and promptly learned about greed. She was not permitted to keep the stone. She was too young to own such a gem, her mother explained when the eldest of the mages, Bron, confiscated it. The jewel belonged with learned men who would know how to use its Power.

  For a year and a day Aone rued what she saw as the theft of her beautiful green stone. Having learned discretion from her loss and being a clever girl, she practiced and studied in secret, steadily refining and increasing her Power. Believing her time would come and aware of Bron’s great age, she waited with only slight impatience.

  On the day after Bron died, while the funeral rites for the ancient mage were being conducted, Aone seized her opportunity She slipped away unseen and stole the Emerald, though if anyone had confronted her, she would have said she was merely retrieving her own possession.

  Aone tucked the Emerald into a pouch she had sewn into the bosom of her leather tunic. Then she loosed from its mooring a small boat made of animal hide and paddled out of the harbor, past the smoking volcanoes and away from Tannaris.

  Aa short time later a little boy who had been watching Aone when he should have been studying incantations, told what she had done and how she had left the village. The men would have followed her to take back the Emerald and bring the foolish girl home again, but they were prevented by an unseasonable storm that raged out of the northeast, forcing anyone with any wits at all to seek shelter. A few folk muttered that the storm was not natural.

  No one in Tannaris ever saw Aone again. They thought they knew what had happened to her, though. As the village grew larger the mages sent out trained men and women to teach the lessons of the Power to anyone who would listen. They established a school for would-be mages who traveled to Tannaris from other lands. And over the years the tale of the Emerald was carried back to Tannaris.

  Far to the east a tribal chieftain who called himself Gundolam the Great formed a confederacy amongst his neighbors and soon thereafter made himself absolute ruler of all the eastern tribes. No one could stand against him. His authority was rumored to be the result of his queen’s influence, for she had brought to their marriage a magical green stone that became known as the Great Emerald of The East.

  The mages of Tannaris refused to curse one of their own, however misguided she was, so they cursed the stone instead,, declaring it would bring wealth and strength to its owners, but also grief and bitterness and violence, until it was returned to the place where it was discovered. Only then would peace descend upon the known world.

  When Gundolam’s son, Gundobar, grew to manhood, he slaughtered his father and stole the magical Emerald along with the lordship of his father’s land, which by then were known as the Dominion.

  Years later, Gundobar’s son, Gundiac, also killed his father and seized control of the Dominion and of the Great Emerald of The East. And so it went through long centuries as the rulers of the Dominion, a Gundolam followed by a Gundobar, who in turn was followed by a Gundiac came to the throne by murder, ruled for a time,

  and then died by murder.

  The mages of Tannaris always insisted the stone ought rightly to be called the Great Emerald of Chandelar. No one in the Dominion paid any heed to that claim and after many years even the mages began to refer to the stone simply as the Emerald.

  But the mages continued to wait, knowing the day would come when the Emerald would return to them once more….

  Chapter 1

  Early Spring

  Northeastern Sapaudia

  Garit first saw her as he rode alone out of the shadowy forest. His squire, Anders, was lagging well behind with the men-at-arms and the two pack horses that carried their baggage. Garit had been paying little attention to anything except the rutted path until the trees ended abruptly, without the gradual thinning of most forests, and he found himself gazing at a wide swath of open fields that were bathed in golden sunlight.

  A woman on horseback was supervising the workers who bent to the task of planting the nearest field. She rode astride, her dark skirts hiked up to her knees to reveal heavy, mud-encrusted boots. Above the tops of those boots Garit glimpsed long, shapely legs covered in bright green hose. Green for the season, Garit supposed, as if she were a lady of the royal court. She wore a straw hat with a wide brim that hid her face while it kept the bright sun from burning her.

  Then Garit heard her voice, a clear tone that, unexpectedly and most improbably, touched a raw, aching spot in his soul. Suddenly, between one heartbeat and the next, he became aware of his surroundings, and the signs of a northern Sapaudian spring in full leaf and bloom tugged at his senses.

  Where he was, close to the Sea of Lestrac, the winds could be icy so that spring, when it came, arrived slowly and delicately. Boyhood memories of other springs spent in the same area crowded his mind, rousing him from the torpor
that had held his emotions prisoner for three unhappy years.

  Looking down he noticed along the edge of the path the bright blue flowers of sweet gallinum glowing like miniature sapphires. He had seen gallinum often enough in his youth, yet he blinked, marveling at the tiny beauty as if he’d never beheld a flower before the present day. He brushed against a blooming apple tree in passing and pinkish-white petals scattered over his dark blue cloak. With a peculiar intensity not usual to him of late, he noticed the contrast of delicate petal against rough wool.

  High above him a bird sang, pulling his attention toward the heavens. Garit craned his neck to catch sight of the singer. All he could discern was a faint, winged shape silhouetted against blue sky and fluffy clouds. He returned his gaze to the earth, though not immediately to the road that led to his journey’s end. The view was simply too lovely for him to pass by unheeding.

  A brief shower had sprinkled the landscape with glistening drops of moisture and all around him the plowed soil of the fields was darkly, damply fertile, with grain sprouting in wisps of pale, yellow-green. In the nearest field the workers were busy at some task that Garit didn’t immediately recognize. He’d been too long absent from the countryside, too long occupied at the court of King Henryk of Sapaudia. One of the men in the field, muddy and darkly tanned from too much sun upon unprotected skin, noticed Garit and said something to the woman. She pulled her horse around and came toward him unattended, though two or three of the field workers watched her so intently that Garit wondered if they believed he might offer harm to her. That he would never do, counting himself an honest knight and having no interest in ravishing any woman. Even common prostitutes were safe from him. But the men in the field could not know that, so Garit was pleased to see how carefully they watched over her.

  “I bid you welcome, sir,” said the woman in accents that would have suited a great lady of the court. “Are you lost? Or seeking someone in particular? Mayhap I can offer a correct direction?”

  “I’ve come to see the lady of Saumar Manor,” he responded, too bemused by the music of her voice to state that he knew the way perfectly well. He lifted a hand to his forehead, then recalled that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. Anders was holding the headpiece, leaving Garit clad in his light chainmail tunic and blue cloak, with his sword at his side. He wore heavier gear into battle, but he wasn’t expecting a confrontation so close to his destination and he’d wanted to avoid the chafing discomfort of the helmet.

  “This road will take you directly to the manor,” the woman said. “It’s just a short distance from here.”

  “I thank you for the information.” Garit nodded at her and gathered the reins, prepared to ride on.

  Then she smiled at him and he experienced the oddest sensation, as if he ought to know her, or had known her at some time in the past – or was destined to know her somewhere in the future. He shook his head to clear it of such nonsensical thoughts. Perhaps he ought to put his helmet back on to shield himself from the sun. Or else find a hat like hers.

  She tilted her head backward as if to see him better from under the wide brim and Garit noticed her pointed chin and greenish-grey eyes, though he still could not make out her entire face. She appeared to hesitate and her smile disappeared. The instant her mouth settled into a serious line Garit had the feeling that a cloud had passed across the sun. The thought crossed his mind that the woman might be possessed of the magical Power that some people inherited and, if so, she could be using it on him.

  “Good day to you, sir.” She pulled her horse around and headed back to the middle of the field, riding along a track even narrower than the path Garit was following.

  With his peculiar awareness of everything around him, he noted how she took care that her mount did not trample the newly planted crop. He sat a moment longer, watching her, but she did not look toward him again.

  Garit did not care what the workers thought of him, nor the men-at-arms, either. However, his squire had just caught up with him. Garit knew that Anders, with the familiarity of long friendship, was sure to make a jest or two at his expense for paying so much attention to a female.

  “A lady working in the fields is most unusual,” Anders remarked, his gaze, like Garit’s, fixed upon the retreating figure. “Judging by her voice and her manner, she is a lady. I wonder who she can be?”

  Garit did not answer. He just shrugged and kneed his horse and set off again in the direction of Saumar Manor. But all the way there, in the back of his mind, lingered the image of green-grey eyes and a sweet, musical voice set against the splendor of springtime leaves and flowers and a high, free blue sky wherein birds sang joyously, as if all were well in both heaven and earth.

  Unfortunately, Garit knew that all was not well. He wondered again if the woman possessed the Power and if she had used it on him to make him think otherwise.

  Chapter 2

  “It’s about time you finally came to Saumar,” Lady Elgida scolded. She stood in the solar of her manor house, not hiding from the midafternoon sunlight that beamed through the narrow windows to reveal every line in her fine-boned face. Her back remained straight despite her great age, though she did rest one hand on a sturdy walking stick.

  “I promised I would visit you, Grandmother.” Garit employed a mild tone and calm demeanor that he trusted would soothe the old lady’s ire, for the same calmness had quieted the occasional anger of King Henryk of Sapaudia, or the far more frequent outbursts of the late King Audemer of Kantia. As a diplomat, Garit had cultivated such skills, concealing all signs of irritation and showing only a polite, bland surface to the rulers he served. He’d been practicing diplomacy, and concealment, for almost half his life, so he was an expert at hiding his true feelings from others “Here I am, as promised.”

  “You made that promise nearly three years ago,” Lady Elgida retorted with all the fiery spirit that Garit recalled from his childhood.

  “I am here now.” He stepped nearer to kiss both of her cheeks. Her skin was soft as faded rose petals against his lips. As he inhaled her familiar, spicy perfume the old boyhood tenderness tugged at his carefully guarded heart. Garit took the hand that was not holding her walking stick and kissed it, too. His grandmother’s only response to his affectionate offerings was a snort. Knowing her stiff-spined character and her turbulent history, Garit smiled fondly.

  Lady Elgida had always been much too opinionated and far too independent for a well-bred woman. In her youth she had defied her parents’ wishes and refused the marriage to a Sapaudian nobleman that they arranged for her, choosing instead Lord Belai of Kinath, a Kantian of notable courage and unquestionable honor. Horrified though they were at their daughter’s strength of will and at her preference for a Kantian over a more cultivated Sapaudian, eventually her parents relented.

  However, there was one aspect of a noblewoman’s life that even Lady Elgida’s fierce determination could not control. She had borne a child to her husband every year when he was not away from home and only two of those many children survived to adulthood: Garit’s father, Kinen, and the youngest child, a daughter, Adana.

  Upon the death of her husband in battle Lady Elgida announced that she hated Kantia, its uneatable food, its rude manners, its uncivilized and treacherous nobles, and its foul weather. Only her beloved Belai had made her life there tolerable. Now that he was gone and her son was married with children of his own, she would return across the Sea of Lestrac to her childhood home of Saumar Manor, which was hers by the terms of her marriage contract. There the climate was more salubrious and the nobility occasionally bathed.

  Scarcely had Lady Elgida spoken when Adana declared that she would never marry. She had, she said, taken note of her mother’s often sad life and she held no desire to endure a similar existence. Since Adana possessed a will as strong as her mother’s and, in addition, a vexing degree of the Power, which she found difficult to control, no one disputed her firmly stated intention to enter a house of retreat. Lady Elgida could escor
t her to Talier Beguinage on the southward journey.

  “You look well, Grandmother,” Garit said, releasing her hand.

  “I am alive,” Lady Elgida responded dryly. “At more than sixty years of age, continued existence is no mean feat for a woman.”

  “Indeed not.” Garit looked around the solar, noting how neat and clean it was. “Your lands appeared prosperous as I rode through them. This manor house is well kept. You must have an excellent steward.” He did not mention the woman he’d met in the field, assuming she must be the steward’s wife, taking on some of her spouse’s duties.

  “Steward?” Lady Elgida sniffed her distain. “I have never employed a steward. Men think they know everything; they refuse to listen to women. Why should I allow a mere employee to tell me what ought to be done on my own lands, or in my own house?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to allow anyone to tell you what to do. But never say you manage everything yourself?” Garit exclaimed.

  “I did, when I first came here, and it was a daunting task,” the old lady admitted. “However, a few years ago your Aunt Adana was kind enough to send me a companion.”

  “You’ve accepted a female mage into your household?” Garit asked in surprise. His Aunt Adana was now Mother Mage Adana, the leader of the beguinage she had chosen over marriage. Leader or not, Lady Elgida refused to call her daughter by any name but the one she had given the child at birth and she ignored the title Adana had earned.

  “Of course, not a mage. Adana sent a woman who was consigned to Talier Beguinage by her older brother, but who proved most unsuited to such a rigidly organized life,” Lady Elgida informed him. “Calia has been helping me to manage the estate, and a fine job she does of it, too. She handles everyone who works in the fields or the stables almost as well as I ever did. Not to mention how deftly she deals with the indoor servants.”