(no subject)
Title: For the Wise One
Story: The Dragonfire Chronicles
Characters: Seraiah, Kavi
Flavours: Rocky Road #25 [A hilltop]; Mango #27 [Something to tell the grandkids]; Wildberry #27 [Prophecy/destiny]
Toppings: Butterscotch
Extras: N/A
Word count: 1,695
Rating: PG
Summary: In which we meet two men who are at war.
Notes: It took me absolutely ages to get the prophecy right, so I have to thank my RL friend, J, who sat on Facebook chat with me for two hours the other night while I yelled at him about syllables and the meanings of words and iambic pentameter... I have very few friends who would put up with that <3. Also, this takes place before everything so far (hence the butterscotch), so I don't think you have to have read any of my other pieces to understand it, really... (I could be wrong though ;D)
Kavi hated war. Back home, in Ethrial, he was a scholar. He liked to think of himself as a visionary; would have called himself a pacifist, so long before. Here in Alraeish, he slips in blood and wishes he was home.
When the new kid joined their little rag-tag band (and he was only a kid, barely twenty, skinny and pale), it was Kavi who took him under his wing. He hated war, sure, but he enjoyed living - and when he finally got the kid to open up, he spoke with real passion about his young wife and newborn babe. He wanted to live too.
Kavi taught him everything he knew, and they survived the kid's first year at war, not even getting seriously injured in the process. Kavi told the kid stories to prevent the madness he'd seen in other soldiers' eyes, and the kid told him some in turn.
They were sent on watch often, and it was one of these times, when they were up on top of a hill, hiding in dense brush, that Kavi noticed something a little... odd. They were whispering to each other - Kavi had asked the kid if he'd received any notes from his wife, and he'd said no, and then-
He'd gone silent. Kavi had looked around in alarm. Just because he hadn't heard the snick of an arrow didn't mean there wasn't one impaled in his friend. The moon was bright, and lit up the kid's features momentarily - and Kavi felt his mouth drop open at what he saw.
The kid's eyes were burning, not looking at Kavi, but staring straight ahead at something only he could see. Kavi reached over tentatively.
"Seraiah," he whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Are you all right, what's going on?"
The kid didn't look at him; there was no indication on his face that he'd even heard what the other man had said. He didn't speak for a long moment, but when he did, it was as if a thousand different voices had joined his own, creating a haunting melody:
"With this last fight is fire at last subdued,
But in the end it will again burn bright,
When envy and life rise from the remains.
A fiery crown tempers the rise of the sun,
But beware beauty when it holds only lies,
The truth will remain at the beginning.
Do not use strength when it leads to darkness,
Unless you hold a flame to light the black.
The one who sees everything sees nothing,
And knows not that rage is carried with them."
When Seraiah finished speaking, Kavi watched as the light faded from his eyes, and his head pitched forwards slightly, as if he was going to land in the dirt. He stopped though, and turned to look at Kavi, blinking owlishly.
"You have magic!" Kavi whispered.
Seraiah frowned. "I do, I-" He stopped, and before Kavi could even blink, the kid was reaching out, had grabbed his shoulder - and pulled him closer just as an arrow impaled the exact place his head had been a moment before. Kavi blinked at it, speechless for the second time that night.
"We have to go," Seraiah whispered, and wordlessly Kavi followed him back through the brush, until they were sure they couldn't be seen by the enemy.
"You have magic!" Kavi said again and Seraiah nodded.
"Of a kind," he replied. "I can't do anything the proper sorcerers do. I just - see things. Like that arrow. We never would've seen it coming through the dark."
"What about - what you said. What does that mean?"
Seraiah shrugged. "I don't know."
"Can you even remember it?"
"Oh, I never forget."
*
Time passed. Six months after the incident, with the war still raging and getting more and more bloody, Kavi lost an arm in a skirmish with some Alraeish troops. He was surprised enough when he woke after the battle and found himself to be still alive. Sitting in his office two months after that, he was even more so. He hadn't thought he'd ever see home again.
He wrote to Seraiah every few weeks; since that night on the hilltop, he'd taken to having the kid tell him the things he'd said over the years, and he'd written them down, trying to tease out the meaning. He wasn't sure he was overly successful, but it was something to focus his mind on besides the state of his world - both large and small.
Eighteen months after Kavi had left the war, he received a package at his office. The handwriting was unfamiliar, though it looked feminine - not that he was overly sure there was a difference. Kavi knew, however, that there was something - oddly ominous - about the whole thing, so he shut and locked the door, laying the thing on his desk and staring at it for a moment before he opened it.
There were two letters on top of a book, which Kavi frowned and but pushed aside. The letters were more important.
One of them matched Seraiah's handwriting - and there was mud splashed up the side, which removed any doubt from Kavi's mind. The other was clean and crisp, the same as the writing on the package.
He opened that one first.
Sir,
My husband bid me send this to you, as you are one of the few of us who understand his secret. He has been documenting his turns for a while now, and had me make them into a book - he said it would be valuable to your study.
I have not read the letter from him, but I believe that I know of its contents, for the most part. I must thank you for being such a friend to Seraiah in such an awful time and place. You kept his mind and his soul intact. It means more to me than you could ever imagine.
- Chana.
Frowning, Kavi put the letter aside and tore open the one from Seraiah, hoping it would make more sense. He didn't understand why his friend had suddenly sent this - they'd always managed to correspond through their letters before; they just passed off the verses as poetry, and knew that it would be ignored even if their mail was searched.
Kavi,
By the time you read this, I will be dead.
I saw that on the hill top too, that night. Saw the rest of the war, in fact - for me at least. If I'd known about your arm, you know I'd have stopped it. So, for that, I'm sorry.
If you're reading this, it means that Chana sent you the book, too. Will you visit her, please? I know she has her own friends, but they were few because we couldn't risk my secret- Tell her she needs to carry on with her life. I know how much she loved me, I do. I don't think she knows how much I returned the feelings - especially after so long apart. Tell her, for me, please. My son, too, my little Micah. I haven't seen him in two years, and he probably has no idea of who I am. Will you visit them, and tell him? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think it was important, that he know me, that she know that. Please.
As for the book... I know you want to study this more than anything, Kavi, but be careful. What I saw- it wasn't what we're used to. The King is saying magic is the root of all evil, and you know once the war is over it will only get worse. Don't get caught, is what I mean.
I hope one day you make sense of the things I saw, the things I never understood. And, for the final time: thank you for being such a friend, such a great man when I needed someone to help me. Without you, I think I would have died that first week. You saved me, and for that I shall be eternally grateful.
Your friend,
Seraiah.
Kavi folded the letter back up and put it aside, before staring at it for a long moment. Seraiah was- dead? He didn't believe it, yet at the same time knew it to be true; since that arrow, he'd noticed it a couple of times, when Seraiah had known something was coming before everyone else. He wiped at his now-damp eyes with his hand before reaching over for the book, turning the cover almost reverently.
Each bit of text had been neatly copied out, and Kavi read through all of them, pausing only when he got to the one he'd heard first-hand. It had all the same text, but was now entitled 'for the wise one'.
Kavi read through it three or four times - though he already knew it off by heart - before he turned to the next one.
When he'd finished the book, he closed it and sighed. He didn't know the meaning of every passage, not even close, but what he could glean from it - the hints that he got - was that the war wasn't going to solve the problem. He'd seen it, in Seraiah. Killing the dragons, and the sorcerers; that wasn't killing magic. It was slowing it, sure - but killing it? Not a chance. If Seraiah hadn't been killed in the war, he wouldn't have spontaneously died of lack of magic, Kavi knew that.
Kavi sighed again and pushed the book aside. The world wasn't ready for this - he knew if he revealed it, the book would be destroyed. He couldn't let it be destroyed, either, not when it could prove to be one of the most influential texts of their time.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the book until a plan began to form. He had to protect the book - and hide it - until it was ready to be found. It would all come together one day, it would have to. Seraiah wouldn't have gone to all this trouble, otherwise.
Story: The Dragonfire Chronicles
Characters: Seraiah, Kavi
Flavours: Rocky Road #25 [A hilltop]; Mango #27 [Something to tell the grandkids]; Wildberry #27 [Prophecy/destiny]
Toppings: Butterscotch
Extras: N/A
Word count: 1,695
Rating: PG
Summary: In which we meet two men who are at war.
Notes: It took me absolutely ages to get the prophecy right, so I have to thank my RL friend, J, who sat on Facebook chat with me for two hours the other night while I yelled at him about syllables and the meanings of words and iambic pentameter... I have very few friends who would put up with that <3. Also, this takes place before everything so far (hence the butterscotch), so I don't think you have to have read any of my other pieces to understand it, really... (I could be wrong though ;D)
Kavi hated war. Back home, in Ethrial, he was a scholar. He liked to think of himself as a visionary; would have called himself a pacifist, so long before. Here in Alraeish, he slips in blood and wishes he was home.
When the new kid joined their little rag-tag band (and he was only a kid, barely twenty, skinny and pale), it was Kavi who took him under his wing. He hated war, sure, but he enjoyed living - and when he finally got the kid to open up, he spoke with real passion about his young wife and newborn babe. He wanted to live too.
Kavi taught him everything he knew, and they survived the kid's first year at war, not even getting seriously injured in the process. Kavi told the kid stories to prevent the madness he'd seen in other soldiers' eyes, and the kid told him some in turn.
They were sent on watch often, and it was one of these times, when they were up on top of a hill, hiding in dense brush, that Kavi noticed something a little... odd. They were whispering to each other - Kavi had asked the kid if he'd received any notes from his wife, and he'd said no, and then-
He'd gone silent. Kavi had looked around in alarm. Just because he hadn't heard the snick of an arrow didn't mean there wasn't one impaled in his friend. The moon was bright, and lit up the kid's features momentarily - and Kavi felt his mouth drop open at what he saw.
The kid's eyes were burning, not looking at Kavi, but staring straight ahead at something only he could see. Kavi reached over tentatively.
"Seraiah," he whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Are you all right, what's going on?"
The kid didn't look at him; there was no indication on his face that he'd even heard what the other man had said. He didn't speak for a long moment, but when he did, it was as if a thousand different voices had joined his own, creating a haunting melody:
"With this last fight is fire at last subdued,
But in the end it will again burn bright,
When envy and life rise from the remains.
A fiery crown tempers the rise of the sun,
But beware beauty when it holds only lies,
The truth will remain at the beginning.
Do not use strength when it leads to darkness,
Unless you hold a flame to light the black.
The one who sees everything sees nothing,
And knows not that rage is carried with them."
When Seraiah finished speaking, Kavi watched as the light faded from his eyes, and his head pitched forwards slightly, as if he was going to land in the dirt. He stopped though, and turned to look at Kavi, blinking owlishly.
"You have magic!" Kavi whispered.
Seraiah frowned. "I do, I-" He stopped, and before Kavi could even blink, the kid was reaching out, had grabbed his shoulder - and pulled him closer just as an arrow impaled the exact place his head had been a moment before. Kavi blinked at it, speechless for the second time that night.
"We have to go," Seraiah whispered, and wordlessly Kavi followed him back through the brush, until they were sure they couldn't be seen by the enemy.
"You have magic!" Kavi said again and Seraiah nodded.
"Of a kind," he replied. "I can't do anything the proper sorcerers do. I just - see things. Like that arrow. We never would've seen it coming through the dark."
"What about - what you said. What does that mean?"
Seraiah shrugged. "I don't know."
"Can you even remember it?"
"Oh, I never forget."
*
Time passed. Six months after the incident, with the war still raging and getting more and more bloody, Kavi lost an arm in a skirmish with some Alraeish troops. He was surprised enough when he woke after the battle and found himself to be still alive. Sitting in his office two months after that, he was even more so. He hadn't thought he'd ever see home again.
He wrote to Seraiah every few weeks; since that night on the hilltop, he'd taken to having the kid tell him the things he'd said over the years, and he'd written them down, trying to tease out the meaning. He wasn't sure he was overly successful, but it was something to focus his mind on besides the state of his world - both large and small.
Eighteen months after Kavi had left the war, he received a package at his office. The handwriting was unfamiliar, though it looked feminine - not that he was overly sure there was a difference. Kavi knew, however, that there was something - oddly ominous - about the whole thing, so he shut and locked the door, laying the thing on his desk and staring at it for a moment before he opened it.
There were two letters on top of a book, which Kavi frowned and but pushed aside. The letters were more important.
One of them matched Seraiah's handwriting - and there was mud splashed up the side, which removed any doubt from Kavi's mind. The other was clean and crisp, the same as the writing on the package.
He opened that one first.
Sir,
My husband bid me send this to you, as you are one of the few of us who understand his secret. He has been documenting his turns for a while now, and had me make them into a book - he said it would be valuable to your study.
I have not read the letter from him, but I believe that I know of its contents, for the most part. I must thank you for being such a friend to Seraiah in such an awful time and place. You kept his mind and his soul intact. It means more to me than you could ever imagine.
- Chana.
Frowning, Kavi put the letter aside and tore open the one from Seraiah, hoping it would make more sense. He didn't understand why his friend had suddenly sent this - they'd always managed to correspond through their letters before; they just passed off the verses as poetry, and knew that it would be ignored even if their mail was searched.
Kavi,
By the time you read this, I will be dead.
I saw that on the hill top too, that night. Saw the rest of the war, in fact - for me at least. If I'd known about your arm, you know I'd have stopped it. So, for that, I'm sorry.
If you're reading this, it means that Chana sent you the book, too. Will you visit her, please? I know she has her own friends, but they were few because we couldn't risk my secret- Tell her she needs to carry on with her life. I know how much she loved me, I do. I don't think she knows how much I returned the feelings - especially after so long apart. Tell her, for me, please. My son, too, my little Micah. I haven't seen him in two years, and he probably has no idea of who I am. Will you visit them, and tell him? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think it was important, that he know me, that she know that. Please.
As for the book... I know you want to study this more than anything, Kavi, but be careful. What I saw- it wasn't what we're used to. The King is saying magic is the root of all evil, and you know once the war is over it will only get worse. Don't get caught, is what I mean.
I hope one day you make sense of the things I saw, the things I never understood. And, for the final time: thank you for being such a friend, such a great man when I needed someone to help me. Without you, I think I would have died that first week. You saved me, and for that I shall be eternally grateful.
Your friend,
Seraiah.
Kavi folded the letter back up and put it aside, before staring at it for a long moment. Seraiah was- dead? He didn't believe it, yet at the same time knew it to be true; since that arrow, he'd noticed it a couple of times, when Seraiah had known something was coming before everyone else. He wiped at his now-damp eyes with his hand before reaching over for the book, turning the cover almost reverently.
Each bit of text had been neatly copied out, and Kavi read through all of them, pausing only when he got to the one he'd heard first-hand. It had all the same text, but was now entitled 'for the wise one'.
Kavi read through it three or four times - though he already knew it off by heart - before he turned to the next one.
When he'd finished the book, he closed it and sighed. He didn't know the meaning of every passage, not even close, but what he could glean from it - the hints that he got - was that the war wasn't going to solve the problem. He'd seen it, in Seraiah. Killing the dragons, and the sorcerers; that wasn't killing magic. It was slowing it, sure - but killing it? Not a chance. If Seraiah hadn't been killed in the war, he wouldn't have spontaneously died of lack of magic, Kavi knew that.
Kavi sighed again and pushed the book aside. The world wasn't ready for this - he knew if he revealed it, the book would be destroyed. He couldn't let it be destroyed, either, not when it could prove to be one of the most influential texts of their time.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the book until a plan began to form. He had to protect the book - and hide it - until it was ready to be found. It would all come together one day, it would have to. Seraiah wouldn't have gone to all this trouble, otherwise.