Delia
Sitting on a luxurious chaise longue, Delia hid her interest behind a warm smile for the nervous girl from the mountains. She had decided to adopt the role of a supporting older sister.
Mistress Bel’Sara had arched an eyebrow when Delia accompanied the other girls. Before the anax’s daughter could make an excuse about wanting to greet her old teacher, the sage had waved her to sit. Of course, the admittance would come with a price.
It had been Bel’Sara who had first identified Delia as a Gifted. For a time, she had been enthusiastic about exploring the extent of her abilities. The interest had waned after a couple of weeks and the sage had left, following the voices of the gods in her ear.
Delia hadn’t been upset about it. The sage had taught her a lot, but had she spent too much time with her, people might have started to notice. That was something Delia had worked all her life to avoid. In the end, it was seen as an important magi giving lessons to the children of the ruling family. It was common for men of Memnostis station to bring in famous scholars to teach their children.
“I must have been very tired because I don’t remember the ship that picked us up very well,” Atissa said, coming to the end of the tale of her journey to Riadnos.
It had been an enthralling story, even with mistress Bel’Sara’s interruptions.
Atissa had been willing to answer questions about herself and her life in the valley. Even about her Gift. From her descriptions, it had been clear very quickly that she was a Gifted, too.
“Do you know if master Mar’Doug did something else to keep the Assanaten from hunting you further?” Bel’Sara asked.
Atissa shook her head.
True, Delia thought, reading the girl as easily as a clay tablet.
While Atissa was very open about herself she had been quite guarded when it came to talking about master Mar’Doug or their third companion, the man named Hermistos. She rarely lied but she had tried to share as few details as possible. To Delia’s surprise, it wasn’t out of awe or fear for the other sage, as you would expect. She regarded him simply as a precious friend. Even after their adventurous journey that was surprising and told a lot about her character.
The anax’s daughter kept herself from shaking her head in amusement, as mistress Bel’Sara tried to drill for more details. Being cornered only made the girl more tight-lipped, answering with single words or head movements until the sage was willing to move on.
A normal person would not have been able to see through Bel’Sara’s expression but not even the famous sage could hide her emotions from Delia. The girl’s stubbornness irritated her.
Delia smiled, enjoying the small flame of anger behind the old woman’s mask. Pretense was unnecessary between the two of them.
“Maybe we should stop here for now,” Delia said before Bel’Sara could ask another question. “Atissa have you already eaten this morning?”
“No,” Atissa said quickly, recognizing the chance to leave.
Smart girl, Delia thought not for the first time. And very loyal.
They turned to Bel’Sara, who found herself corned by Delia’s maneuver.
“Very well,” she said, adopting the role of the benign old woman. “Thank you for answering this old woman’s questions. I hope we can talk some more at another time.”
Atissa bowed awkwardly. “Of course, mistress Bel’Sara.”
As soon as she had left, Bel’Sara shot Delia an angry glare. “Are you entertained over there?”
“Seeing a fourteen-year-old girl standing up to the infamous sage Bel’Sara’s interrogation is very entertaining, yes,” Delia said smiling. “I’m grateful that you allowed me to be part of it.” She bowed mockingly. Except for her brother, the sage was the only person Delia was open with.
Bel’Sara glowered at her for another moment before letting her face go slack. “Almost fifteen. She said so in the beginning. You clearly don’t listen.”
“I have listened, teacher.”
“And?”
“She didn’t lie,” Delia said shrugging. “At least not in a major way. When you asked her if she knew where master Mar’Doug came from she said no, which was the truth. She doesn’t know, but she does know something. She remembered and chose not to tell us.”
“I saw that,” Bel’Sara said. “When I asked her if she remembered him saying anything else about his home, she lied.”
“Yes,” Delia said. “Which, if you allow me to be honest, wasn’t a good question. It made her suspicious of you early on.”
Bel’Sara folded her arms. “I thought she would be more intimidated. I miscalculated.”
Delia leaned back, making herself more comfortable. Talking to her former teacher was refreshing. Being aware of Delia’s Gift, Bel’Sara never tried to lie to her. Not even Delios remembered it all the time. Still, the sage was by no means open about her intentions or thoughts.
Delia could easily read emotions. They were written on people’s faces, the tenseness of their muscles, and a dozen other things. Reading intentions was a step beyond that. With some it was easier than with others.
“Something happened on the boat,” Bel’Sara said without doubt. “They stayed ahead of their pursuers long enough to meet Ajaxos’ gally. A servant of Assan could have done half a dozen things to end that chase.”
“Yes, Atissa left out a lot there,” Delia said frowning. “But why does that bother you? Obviously, your fellow sage did something to hold them off. I presume one of the seven sages should be able to deal with one or two Assanaten magi?”
Irritation. Confusion. Fear?
The flicker of emotion came and went in a flash. Mistress Bel’Sara was deeply concerned.
“You have no idea, child,” Bel’Sara murmured. “No idea what’s going on.”
Delia leaned forward. “Tell me.”
Bel’Sara knitted her brows, glancing in her direction.
I will go after this secret. You might as well tell me now.
As is reading her thoughts, Bel’Sara cursed in a language Delia didn’t know.
“Damn girl,” the sage murmured jumping up with surprising agility. She started to rummage through the room, fetching clay tablets, scrolls in protective cylinders, and even one or two skins from behind the furniture. It must have been hurriedly stuffed away before Omiri came for Atissa. Apparently, the sage had actually cared about making an impression.
“This and this,” Bel’Sara murmured, arranging the items on the floor in some kind of pattern that was only discernible to her.
Delia watched as the sage started pouring over the text in front of her, studying it intently. When Bel’Sara took out chalk and started to make notes on the floor, she finally lost her patience.
“Teacher, what is all this?” Delia asked.
Bel’Sara looked up, startled. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“You wanted to explain what is going on.” Delia pointed at the floor.
“Ah.” Bel’Sara looked from her to the floor. “Yes. I don’t know.”
Delia stared at her former teacher. “What?”
“You see”, the sage waved, encompassing the whole floor, ”it doesn’t make any sense.”
Delia closed her eyes and took a long breath. Insufferable woman.
These sudden personality changes had always irritated her. With the help of her Gift, she believed herself able to stand up to Bel’Sara, the imposing magi. Bel’Sara the mad seeress threw her off.
Delia breathed out slowly. “Teacher, why don’t you explain it to me from the beginning. Maybe I can help? Add a fresh perspective perhaps.”
Bel’Sara squinted, deep in thought.
“Ah, why not? It isn’t that I make much progress here. This was always Mel’Chor’s domain, not mine.” She tapped on one of the clay tablets placed next to her on the floor. “I’m trying to recreate the prophecy of the chosen hero.”
“Which one?” Delia asked. Scholars knew countless such tales about heroes and gods. There wasn’t a people that their own. She had never had much interest in such things.
Bel’Sara’s eyes narrowed, giving her a disapproving look. “This is the one where a wise mentor finds a youth living reclusively and guides him on his journey to become a champion of the gods.”
“I see,” Delia said. “One of those.”
“This particular prophecy is very old,” Bel’Sara said, ignoring the sarcasm. “It tells us about a time of great upheaval and can be found in old texts and oral traditions of many peoples. Does it all go back to one source or was it foreseen by different individuals at different times? We do not know.”
“We?”
Bel’Sara folded her arms. “Many of my brethren have studied these sources over the centuries. Not few of them believed themselves to be the wise mentor destined to find the champion.”
Many, Delia thought. Many are more than seven.
From famous scholars to storytellers on campfires, the seven sages were as much a topic of debate and speculation as the legends they appeared in. Were they immortals or was there a line of succession? Were those who claimed the title today even connected to the original magi, taught by the ancient god Nemki?
Many scholars and philosophers had bothered her with questions about the sage. Of course, they had always waited until Bel’Sara had left the city.
“You think the girl might be said champion?” Delia asked.
“I am sure she is. A lot of her background and upbringing fit. Close to her, I can hear the gods whispering constantly. When I met her….” She paused, her eyes staring into nothing.
Confusion.
Delia could feel herself growing nervous. She had never experienced Bel’Sara like this. Over the years she had gotten to know several sides of the sage. The mysterious and powerful magi. The determined and strict teacher. The absentminded seeress with the voices of dozens of gods in her ear. But I have never seen you like this, she thought. Unsure. Afraid?
A thought came to her. “If Atissa is the hero, who is the wise mentor? Master Mar’Doug?”
When she mentioned the name of her fellow sage, Bel’Sara’s face hardened. What her Gift let Delia see made her swallow. But she could not stop here.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Bel’Sara just looked at her.
You don’t know!
“If not him, is it you?”
So, not you. Delia did not wait for the sage to speak. She had more trust in the answers she read, anyway. “If Mar’Doug is not the mentor, why did Atissa come here with him? She clearly looks to him for guidance.”
Sorrow. No, mourning?
“Enough!”
Bel’Sara’s sharp command snapped Delia out of her one-sided interrogation. She forced herself to focus. It was easy to let her Gift take over. She only needed to ask a question or speak a provocative word and people’s reaction gave her insights. But there was a danger in just following where the readings led her.
She took slow breaths and let her eyes wander. The clatter on the floor. Now that she looked for it, she could see places on the ground and walls where chalk writing had been whipped away. This was unlike the Bel’Sara she knew.
Delia studied her teacher. “You are not a scholar, teacher.”
The sage raised an eyebrow.
Delia chose her next words with care. “I mean, as long as I have known you, you didn’t study old scrolls and brittle clay tablets. You always said you followed the voices of the gods. That they are your guide. Even when you taught Delios and me you did it orally.” She paused briefly, ordering her thoughts. “Talk to me,” she almost whispered.
Bel’Sara said nothing for a long moment. Not bothering with a futile attempt to hide her feelings, Delia could see that she was torn.
It’s a no. Delia knew before Bel’Sara even started to shake her head.
“I have to think,” the sage said, dismissing her. “And study some more. I will call for you when I need help.”
Delia was disappointed. She could only imagine the importance of the questions that plagued her former teacher. If they truly were in the middle of a great prophecy coming to light, this promised change and turmoil. Maybe more than just a war with the Assanaten empire.
She rose and bowed before turning towards the door.
“Your father will ask the priests to consult the gods tonight,” Bel’Sara said, without looking up. “Bring me the outcome.”
“Of course,” Delia said. This was another first. Why would Bel’Sara, who could hear the gods speak, want the divinations of the priests?
She would have to figure out how all of this would affect her own goals. For her brother’s succession and herself.
Delia
Sitting on a luxurious chaise longue, Delia hid her interest behind a warm smile for the nervous girl from the mountains. She had decided to adopt the role of a supporting older sister.
Mistress Bel’Sara had arched an eyebrow when Delia accompanied the other girls. Before the anax’s daughter could make an excuse about wanting to greet her old teacher, the sage had waved her to sit. Of course, the admittance would come with a price.
It had been Bel’Sara who had first identified Delia as a Gifted. For a time, she had been enthusiastic about exploring the extent of her abilities. The interest had waned after a couple of weeks and the sage had left, following the voices of the gods in her ear.
Delia hadn’t been upset about it. The sage had taught her a lot, but had she spent too much time with her, people might have started to notice. That was something Delia had worked all her life to avoid. In the end, it was seen as an important magi giving lessons to the children of the ruling family. It was common for men of Memnostis station to bring in famous scholars to teach their children.
“I must have been very tired because I don’t remember the ship that picked us up very well,” Atissa said, coming to the end of the tale of her journey to Riadnos.
It had been an enthralling story, even with mistress Bel’Sara’s interruptions.
Atissa had been willing to answer questions about herself and her life in the valley. Even about her Gift. From her descriptions, it had been clear very quickly that she was a Gifted, too.
“Do you know if master Mar’Doug did something else to keep the Assanaten from hunting you further?” Bel’Sara asked.
Atissa shook her head.
True, Delia thought, reading the girl as easily as a clay tablet.
While Atissa was very open about herself she had been quite guarded when it came to talking about master Mar’Doug or their third companion, the man named Hermistos. She rarely lied but she had tried to share as few details as possible. To Delia’s surprise, it wasn’t out of awe or fear for the other sage, as you would expect. She regarded him simply as a precious friend. Even after their adventurous journey that was surprising and told a lot about her character.
The anax’s daughter kept herself from shaking her head in amusement, as mistress Bel’Sara tried to drill for more details. Being cornered only made the girl more tight-lipped, answering with single words or head movements until the sage was willing to move on.
A normal person would not have been able to see through Bel’Sara’s expression but not even the famous sage could hide her emotions from Delia. The girl’s stubbornness irritated her.
Delia smiled, enjoying the small flame of anger behind the old woman’s mask. Pretense was unnecessary between the two of them.
“Maybe we should stop here for now,” Delia said before Bel’Sara could ask another question. “Atissa have you already eaten this morning?”
“No,” Atissa said quickly, recognizing the chance to leave.
Smart girl, Delia thought not for the first time. And very loyal.
They turned to Bel’Sara, who found herself corned by Delia’s maneuver.
“Very well,” she said, adopting the role of the benign old woman. “Thank you for answering this old woman’s questions. I hope we can talk some more at another time.”
Atissa bowed awkwardly. “Of course, mistress Bel’Sara.”
As soon as she had left, Bel’Sara shot Delia an angry glare. “Are you entertained over there?”
“Seeing a fourteen-year-old girl standing up to the infamous sage Bel’Sara’s interrogation is very entertaining, yes,” Delia said smiling. “I’m grateful that you allowed me to be part of it.” She bowed mockingly. Except for her brother, the sage was the only person Delia was open with.
Bel’Sara glowered at her for another moment before letting her face go slack. “Almost fifteen. She said so in the beginning. You clearly don’t listen.”
“I have listened, teacher.”
“And?”
“She didn’t lie,” Delia said shrugging. “At least not in a major way. When you asked her if she knew where master Mar’Doug came from she said no, which was the truth. She doesn’t know, but she does know something. She remembered and chose not to tell us.”
“I saw that,” Bel’Sara said. “When I asked her if she remembered him saying anything else about his home, she lied.”
“Yes,” Delia said. “Which, if you allow me to be honest, wasn’t a good question. It made her suspicious of you early on.”
Bel’Sara folded her arms. “I thought she would be more intimidated. I miscalculated.”
Delia leaned back, making herself more comfortable. Talking to her former teacher was refreshing. Being aware of Delia’s Gift, Bel’Sara never tried to lie to her. Not even Delios remembered it all the time. Still, the sage was by no means open about her intentions or thoughts.
Delia could easily read emotions. They were written on people’s faces, the tenseness of their muscles, and a dozen other things. Reading intentions was a step beyond that. With some it was easier than with others.
“Something happened on the boat,” Bel’Sara said without doubt. “They stayed ahead of their pursuers long enough to meet Ajaxos’ gally. A servant of Assan could have done half a dozen things to end that chase.”
“Yes, Atissa left out a lot there,” Delia said frowning. “But why does that bother you? Obviously, your fellow sage did something to hold them off. I presume one of the seven sages should be able to deal with one or two Assanaten magi?”
Irritation. Confusion. Fear?
The flicker of emotion came and went in a flash. Mistress Bel’Sara was deeply concerned.
“You have no idea, child,” Bel’Sara murmured. “No idea what’s going on.”
Delia leaned forward. “Tell me.”
Bel’Sara knitted her brows, glancing in her direction.
I will go after this secret. You might as well tell me now.
As is reading her thoughts, Bel’Sara cursed in a language Delia didn’t know.
“Damn girl,” the sage murmured jumping up with surprising agility. She started to rummage through the room, fetching clay tablets, scrolls in protective cylinders, and even one or two skins from behind the furniture. It must have been hurriedly stuffed away before Omiri came for Atissa. Apparently, the sage had actually cared about making an impression.
“This and this,” Bel’Sara murmured, arranging the items on the floor in some kind of pattern that was only discernible to her.
Delia watched as the sage started pouring over the text in front of her, studying it intently. When Bel’Sara took out chalk and started to make notes on the floor, she finally lost her patience.
“Teacher, what is all this?” Delia asked.
Bel’Sara looked up, startled. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“You wanted to explain what is going on.” Delia pointed at the floor.
“Ah.” Bel’Sara looked from her to the floor. “Yes. I don’t know.”
Delia stared at her former teacher. “What?”
“You see”, the sage waved, encompassing the whole floor, ”it doesn’t make any sense.”
Delia closed her eyes and took a long breath. Insufferable woman.
These sudden personality changes had always irritated her. With the help of her Gift, she believed herself able to stand up to Bel’Sara, the imposing magi. Bel’Sara the mad seeress threw her off.
Delia breathed out slowly. “Teacher, why don’t you explain it to me from the beginning. Maybe I can help? Add a fresh perspective perhaps.”
Bel’Sara squinted, deep in thought.
“Ah, why not? It isn’t that I make much progress here. This was always Mel’Chor’s domain, not mine.” She tapped on one of the clay tablets placed next to her on the floor. “I’m trying to recreate the prophecy of the chosen hero.”
“Which one?” Delia asked. Scholars knew countless such tales about heroes and gods. There wasn’t a people that their own. She had never had much interest in such things.
Bel’Sara’s eyes narrowed, giving her a disapproving look. “This is the one where a wise mentor finds a youth living reclusively and guides him on his journey to become a champion of the gods.”
“I see,” Delia said. “One of those.”
“This particular prophecy is very old,” Bel’Sara said, ignoring the sarcasm. “It tells us about a time of great upheaval and can be found in old texts and oral traditions of many peoples. Does it all go back to one source or was it foreseen by different individuals at different times? We do not know.”
“We?”
Bel’Sara folded her arms. “Many of my brethren have studied these sources over the centuries. Not few of them believed themselves to be the wise mentor destined to find the champion.”
Many, Delia thought. Many are more than seven.
From famous scholars to storytellers on campfires, the seven sages were as much a topic of debate and speculation as the legends they appeared in. Were they immortals or was there a line of succession? Were those who claimed the title today even connected to the original magi, taught by the ancient god Nemki?
Many scholars and philosophers had bothered her with questions about the sage. Of course, they had always waited until Bel’Sara had left the city.
“You think the girl might be said champion?” Delia asked.
“I am sure she is. A lot of her background and upbringing fit. Close to her, I can hear the gods whispering constantly. When I met her….” She paused, her eyes staring into nothing.
Confusion.
Delia could feel herself growing nervous. She had never experienced Bel’Sara like this. Over the years she had gotten to know several sides of the sage. The mysterious and powerful magi. The determined and strict teacher. The absentminded seeress with the voices of dozens of gods in her ear. But I have never seen you like this, she thought. Unsure. Afraid?
A thought came to her. “If Atissa is the hero, who is the wise mentor? Master Mar’Doug?”
When she mentioned the name of her fellow sage, Bel’Sara’s face hardened. What her Gift let Delia see made her swallow. But she could not stop here.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Bel’Sara just looked at her.
You don’t know!
“If not him, is it you?”
So, not you. Delia did not wait for the sage to speak. She had more trust in the answers she read, anyway. “If Mar’Doug is not the mentor, why did Atissa come here with him? She clearly looks to him for guidance.”
Sorrow. No, mourning?
“Enough!”
Bel’Sara’s sharp command snapped Delia out of her one-sided interrogation. She forced herself to focus. It was easy to let her Gift take over. She only needed to ask a question or speak a provocative word and people’s reaction gave her insights. But there was a danger in just following where the readings led her.
She took slow breaths and let her eyes wander. The clatter on the floor. Now that she looked for it, she could see places on the ground and walls where chalk writing had been whipped away. This was unlike the Bel’Sara she knew.
Delia studied her teacher. “You are not a scholar, teacher.”
The sage raised an eyebrow.
Delia chose her next words with care. “I mean, as long as I have known you, you didn’t study old scrolls and brittle clay tablets. You always said you followed the voices of the gods. That they are your guide. Even when you taught Delios and me you did it orally.” She paused briefly, ordering her thoughts. “Talk to me,” she almost whispered.
Bel’Sara said nothing for a long moment. Not bothering with a futile attempt to hide her feelings, Delia could see that she was torn.
It’s a no. Delia knew before Bel’Sara even started to shake her head.
“I have to think,” the sage said, dismissing her. “And study some more. I will call for you when I need help.”
Delia was disappointed. She could only imagine the importance of the questions that plagued her former teacher. If they truly were in the middle of a great prophecy coming to light, this promised change and turmoil. Maybe more than just a war with the Assanaten empire.
She rose and bowed before turning towards the door.
“Your father will ask the priests to consult the gods tonight,” Bel’Sara said, without looking up. “Bring me the outcome.”
“Of course,” Delia said. This was another first. Why would Bel’Sara, who could hear the gods speak, want the divinations of the priests?
She would have to figure out how all of this would affect her own goals. For her brother’s succession and herself.
