Chapter 3 - part the first

Colm poured Amos another glass, but only half the portion he had given her previously. Leni noticed this and said, “What's the matter, Commander? Is your hand growing heavy?”

The Chief of the red-coats harrumphed, but tipped the decanter and filled the glass up, hoping that this wouldn't lead to the girl getting drunk. And who knew how long the strange food items would take in arriving?

As he set the bottle down on his desk – well out of reach of the other two – Leni raised his glass, barely touched, and proposed a toast. “To the impossible miracle of life,” he said with gusto, coming suddenly to life. “And all that sustains it!”

Colm picked up his glass and touched it to the two goblets that the couple held up before him, feeling with some nervousness like he was making some unholy covenant. At the instant that the three glasses touched, with the resonant clink, Amos – pinching the fine stem of her goblet with but one fine finger and her dear little thumb – lost it.

The full glass slipped out of her hand and would have shattered upon the desk if Leni's free hand hadn't shot out with lightning speed to catch it perfectly, cradling the globe, spilling not a drop.

Colm was impressed at this display of deft reflex, and his eyes were fixed upon the recouped cup in the magician's hand; only Amos saw that Leni's other hand, in a quick flash of movement simultaneously dropped a pale green pellet into Colm's glass of brandy. The pellet settled at the bottom, made a few bubbles, and dissolved instantly.

Leni looked at Amos and smiled. “You did that on purpose, didn't you?” he asked playfully.

“Not at all,” she said, demurely. “You know how clumsy I can be.”

“I could have sworn I saw you let it go,” Leni insisted.

“And I could have sworn that you pushed it out of my hand when you put your glass against mine,” Amos countered playfully.

Leni turned to Colm and said, “She is simply trying to prepare you for what comes next in her apologue.”

“Indeed?” Colm said, the eyebrow arching over his bruised eye. “What does come next? Were you caught when you fell, just as he snagged your cup from mid-air?”

Amos smiled. “Yes,” she said, looking at Leni. “That is precisely what happened.”

Colm snorted. He was about to blurt out what he thought of that, but the word – impossible! - didn't make it past his throat, for he looked at Leni, who lifted his glass in silent salute, reminding the Commander that the had already been put to use in the pretext of a rather ominous toast.

Colm said nothing, returned the salute, and imbibed his brandy, and the secret ingredient that he was not yet aware of.

Amos picked up the thread of her tale, right at the moment where she'd let go of the cable in the dark.

As she fell, little Amos began to pray. There was a choice to exist in a state of fear, or one of faith – but it seemed as though she had already made that choice, had ventured into another country that night she had fled along the Hike Wall with her brother; and in this place, her destiny would constantly be testing her strength.

The Prayer of Manic Apnea came to her then, although she hadn't selected it. Rather than scream, she murmured the words by rote; however, Amos didn't get past the first verse before her fall came to an end.

“Let me hear the sanction, let me stand aside;

Hold me down when tested, and luckily astride.

Give the bread in hankers; raise the solemn roof;

Cure the swollen cankers, and uproot the - oof!”

“I believe that 'aloof' is the word you were looking for,” said a soft voice near her ear. “Although 'oof' rhymes just as well, if you have nothing against the nonsensical.”

Amos thrashed and squirmed in the embrace of this incredibly strong man who spoke to her, who had somehow caught her in the impenetrable dark. The fall hadn't scared her, for she had mastered her fear by simply not letting it in; but this encounter was shocking and in some ways terrifying.

“Calm yourself, Amos,” the man said. His arms did not give at all, despite her trying to fight her way free with all the force she could muster in her little body. In the next moment, however, he set her on her feet.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you catch me?”

“I am a Wizard,”the man replied. “That should answer both of your questions.”

Amos thought about this, accepted it, and then fired another query: “Where is my brother?”

“He is here. He is asleep.”

“Did you catch him, too?”

“Yes.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes. I will tend to his injuries. They are not serious.”

“Did you put him to sleep?”

“Yes. I wished to speak with you alone.”

“So...you knew that I was coming? You were waiting for me down here?”

“Yes. I've been here for a long time. Waiting.”

“What is this place? Can you light us a light?”

“This place is called Aulo Phonox. It was once a sacred cavern where rites were held below the mountain, but then it was desecrated. I will illuminate it for you momentarily, and much else besides. Come with me, little Amos, and we will talk together of many things.”

Amos felt the man's hand reach for hers, and she allowed him to take it, leading her away, up a gentle incline, and deeper into the dark.

“This is like a dream,” Amos commented.

The Wizard replied, “Life is a dream, little one. Come, just up here. Watch your step.” He led her to a place where they could sit on a dry, dusty floor. Laid out there was a tattered blanket. Amos felt about her as she knelt upon it, reduced to a blind, tactile creature – at least until her guide lit up a lantern, of sorts.

Amos blinked and looked away. He turned the lamp down low. She peered at it, curiously, then at some of the assorted things that lay about her on the blanket. She recognized none of the strange instruments, nor the nature of the lamp, which gave off an adjustable glow without burning any fuel: there was no wick, no oil, no flame.

“Do these things come from the Ship?” Amos enquired.

The Wizard nodded.

“Do you live down here?”

“No,” he said. “I would not call what I am doing down here, living.” He pulled out a deck of battered cards from what appeared to be an old top hat. They were tied together with a bit of frayed rope. He set these down on the blanket between them.

Amos reached out to touch them, but he stopped her.

“No!” the Wizard warned. “Not yet.”

Amos, eyes wide, withdrew her hand and sat back on her haunches. The Wizard also made himself more comfortable.

He was dressed in what once had been a fine suit, but it had long deteriorated into a shabby costume, through which his knees and elbows could be seen. As he sat cross-legged, Amos could see that his trousers had also given way in the crotch. She cast a furtive glance down between his legs, but saw nothing interesting, as he had on some type of dark undergarments.

His face was a little sad, with lines about the eyes and mouth, denoting the onset of age, if not accrued wisdom. His hair was trimmed and although somewhat unkempt; his face was clean-shaven, with not a whisker showing. He was very handsome. It occurred to Amos that he did not appear to be a man marooned in a dark cave.

“I knew you would come here, Amos,” he said then. “I was told that it would happen.”

“Who told you?” the little girl asked, causing the Wizard to crack a smile.

“I cannot say right now, but one day you will know who,” he replied. “Let us simply agree that we were destined to meet here. I would like to perform a reading for you, if I may?”

“What do I have to do?” Amos asked, looking at the cards that lay on the tattered blanket.

“Nothing that is beyond you, little one. I will instruct you, and you will draw cards from the deck – when the time comes! For now, we will talk a little bit about what brought you here. Do you know about the forces that are moving against you?”

Amos looked up into the Wizard's eyes. They were not bewitching, or enthralling, or mesmerizing. They were dark, alive, and glittering with arcane knowledge, but they were also loving, and more than a little lonely.

“You wish to speak of the Harzia?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry, throat constricting. She had been taught since first she learned to speak that these men were her enemies, that there existed a team, an entire organization that was devoted to her extermination, along with the rest of her family; but they did not speak of it.

“Yes, child,” the Wizard said sullenly. He looked down at the deck of cards and reached out a hand toward them. His gaze came back up to the girl, but his hand continued to work: it undid the ragged bit of string binding the deck, and cut it, then cut it again. With a sudden deftness that was bewildering to behold, the hand moved the cards in a dazzling display, fanning them, shuffling, turning and palming.

Amos, however, was aware only of the Wizard's eyes now. He was staring at her, as though testing her, seeing if she could handle what he was asking of her. He was waiting for a response.

When this fact dawned on her, Amos said, stammering, “I-I don't know anything about them.”

“That is good,” the Wizard replied. “For if you had learned anything of them, we would have to first make you unlearn it. Most of what you can glean of their doings is a lie, or untrustworthy at best. I will now tell you the truth.”

“How is it that you know so much about them, when others do not?”

At that, the Wizard started. Suddenly, he laughed out loud, and his laughter rebounded on all the cavern walls, echoing, reverberating. He seemed to wonder at that, as if this was the first time he'd heard the cave in which he dwelt, or perhaps it was the sound of merriment that surprised him. Looking at Amos, who was puzzled by his reaction, the Wizard shook his head.

Smiling, he said, “Even now, eh? Even as young as you are! That is well; that is good. Most people will accept what they are told, or they have no will to investigate further, my dear girl. I am different. I am able to see the truth, because I have studied such matters.”

“Why?” Amos pressed, naturally. She could sense now that she would be lauded for her natural curiosity, and sensed that the Wizard delighted in her inquisitive nature.

“In order to deceive!” the Wizard answered with vim. He held up a single card in his busy hand, and without warning it went up in flames, causing Amos to squeal and jump back.

The Wizard laughed again; then, blowing out the flame, he shook the card once, twice, three times – and like magic it was whole again, and unmarred.

“There is a lot of glamour in the world, and many charmers,” the Wizard said didactically. “If you are to survive, you will have to identify what is real, and what is mere trickery. I can teach you the basics. Will you hear what I have to say?”

Amos, still somewhat startled, nodded wordlessly.

“Very well,” the Wizard said. He put down the cards, reached for lamp, and turned it up all the way so that the vast cavern was now brightly lit. “Then behold the horror of Aulo Phonox!”

Amos saw then that the cave walls were decorated with markings – some of them old, pagan markings, and others that were more modern. There were old torches set into golden, glimmering sconces set into the wall, and some broken benches. A few tapestries still clung to where they'd been hung, though all of them akimbo. Not far off was a stone altar that was stained red in the center and about the legs.

“This once was a place of sacred powers, and I have tried to restore it to such honour in my time here,” the Wizard told her, “but unfortunately its more recent history was the scene of various depravities, and much debauchery. On the altar, children but a few years your senior were cut and bled.”

Amos shuddered visibly. The Wizard perceived that they had had enough of light, and now should return to darkness. He lowered the lamp to its previous dimness.

“Here it was that the Harzia began,” the Wizard said in dark tones. “They twisted and perverted the old rites, which were often dirty, but never bloody. Men took over as Priests in an ancient religion which depended on the powers and virtues of women. The Priestesses were denounced, or cast out. This is all many years ago.” He sighed.

“Why did they kill the children?” Amos asked, still staring out at the place where the altar stood.

“To increase their power, to appease the gods they thought would feed on the sacrifices. Men do ugly things in their pursuit of power.”

“It is against the law to slay another, for any reason,” Amos mumbled.

“It is against our laws, yes – but not all men live by the same code. To the Harzia, it is a noble thing to kill an Espalite. Do you know why?”

“They fear us, and our blue blood.”

“They do not fear you, child,” the Wizard said then. “Do not make that mistake. They make others fear you, and that is how they are backed by the peoples of Quol and Baro. Even some in Caza fall victim to their propaganda. They are sly, and very cunning. They prey on men's fears, painting a picture of the verminous blue-bloods invading their homes, stealing their wealth, burning their crops. It is a very heady deceit.”

“Why us?”

“Why not? You are different from the others; that is enough.”

“But they really hate us. They want us dead.”

“They hate themselves, and so must try to consume as much as they can. Listen, Amos: if the Harzia succeeded tomorrow in killing every Espalite, do you think they would be satisfied? No – they would find a new group to hunt down, another minority to slaughter. It is called ethnic cleansing, but it is nothing other than genocide.”

“Genocide?” Amos was lost. She didn't know these words, and the Wizard suddenly remembered that he was speaking to a six-year-old.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “All you need to know is that it is a game to them, a strategy. Their aim all along, little Amos, isn't to kill you and your family. They couldn't care less about that, although there are some fanatics within their society who still believe that killing increases their power. What their goal truly is, is simply to control. They have learned that if they make the common man and woman live in a constant state of fear, then they will be extremely easy to control. So you are a scapegoat – do you see?”

“I think so,” Amos said, contemplating sullenly.

“Well, it is a sad thing that men can be so deluded; and it is sadder still to think that there are those who should wish to delude with such dark designs. But fret not, little one! I will teach you what you need to do in order to keep the Harzia off your back for the rest of your life – you, and brave Veon, as well as any other family member you choose to share your secret with. You will be a hero, and a saviour of many lives. Does that not sound intriguing?”

“For sure!” Amos said, brightening with instant enthusiasm. “I am most intrigued!”

“Yes, I can tell you are,” the Wizard said, observing her closely. “Well, I will share the secret with you once we have completed your reading. Are you ready?”

“I suppose,” Amos said, galvanized.

The Wizard chuckled to see her [rearing] to go. She smiled up at him with perfect, unabashed beauty. “I am glad,” he said to her then. “Now, shuffle the cards. Take your time, put your energy into them. When you are done, cut the deck ninefold.”.

Amos followed these instructions easily, creating ten neat piles. The Wizard discarded the topmost pile; he was only interested in the cards she had cut to. These he laid out, one by one, in a simple spread on the blanket as the little girl bewildered before him gazed at each of the pictures presented to her: The Temptress, The Mobile, The Siege, The Princeling, The Starling. In the center of the spread was a dancing skeleton, with its title emblazoned at the bottom: Death.

She perched over this one, peering down at the pictograph intensely.

“Usually, it does not denote actual death,” the Wizard whispered. “But in your case, I'm afraid that the changes you must undertake begin with an unfortunate slaughter. You can choose to be the victim, hunted and haunted, or you can elect for yourself another fate – to become a heroic figure, a pioneer in the future, and a true luminary. It won't be easy, but nothing important ever is.”

Still looking at the dancing skeleton, Amos mumbled, “That is not much of a choice.”

“Nevertheless, it must be made. I trust you will choose the right path.”

Amos looked up at the Wizard's long face. “What is the first step?”

The Wizard gave a soft little laugh. “You must leave this cave, and remember my words. You already know where you need to go.”

Amos did know, and she wasn't surprised to discover it was so. “Uncle Zudo's.” She pictured the tall house on the high cliff overlooking the sea. “But how do I get there?”

The Wizard took a moment before he replied. He was looking down at the cards. “There is a shaft leading down from this cave. It is a very narrow passage. Only a child can pass through, for it is too tight a squeeze for a grown man. Once, a river ran there; but for now, let us run through this once together. See here: horse, and moon, cups ans the sickle. Well, it is quite colourful. And there is love, a true a rare kind of love. He will protect and adore you.”

“What will his name be?” Amos asked. Her juvenile curiosity moved her without inhibition.

“He will have several,” the Wizard replied.

“Then how am I to know him?”

“He will be a Wizard, too, of sorts. Heed my words now and you will find your way to him! When the sable sands retire, turn your eye to ochre fire.”

“What does that mean?”

“Now it means nothing; but one day, it will mean everything.”

“You have an odd way of answering my questions,” Amos pointed out.

“And you have an odd habit of asking further questions regardless.”

“You're funny!”

“I should have been a clown,” the Wizard agreed with some regret.