‘Nearly a fifth.’
‘…practically a fifth level apprentice to make it clear to me.’
‘I’ve not told you anything you couldn’t have found out for yourself. You look for a solution in magic, Reeth, but take little interest in its workings.’
‘I see it as a malevolent force.’
‘It’s the foundation of our culture.’
‘Yours, not mine. Not Qalochian. For you, magic is a needful, benevolent thing. To me it’s deceiving and pernicious. It helps maintain injustice.’
To Kutch that seemed close to blasphemous. ‘My master always said that magic has no morality, any more than the weather does. The people who command it decide if it’s light or dark, as suits their purpose. Your argument should be with them.’
Caldason’s severity mellowed a little. ‘I grant there’s wisdom in that. But if there was no magic the temptation wouldn’t exist.’
‘I intend using my skills only for good.’
‘I don’t doubt it. And when you speak on the subject you show more passion and insight than you do about anything else. You shed the half-child and talk more like a man.’
The youth’s cheeks coloured, underlining the point.
‘I can see magic’s your calling,’ Caldason added. ‘But who can say what enticements the future might bring?’
Kutch tried steering back to the issue he thought more important. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not advanced enough to help, I know that, but I’d be better armed to find you somebody who could.’
‘What I suffer from tends to… trouble people.’
‘It wouldn’t vex me. Together, we could -’
‘
No.
I don’t form attachments. I’ve no need of them. Anyway, I have to move on, you know that.’
Kutch was disappointed, but knew the futility of arguing with the man. ‘You’ll not go before my master’s funeral?’
‘I promised you I wouldn’t. But let’s make haste, I want to be out of these parts today.’
They pushed on, exchanging few further words.
Twenty minutes later they reached a wood. This they skirted, their journey taking them by the cultivated fields that served the village. A handful of farmers tended the fledgling crops. Though none of them acknowledged their passing, the duo had the distinct feeling of being watched. Beyond the meadows the hamlet itself came into sight, nestled prettily in the palm of a shallow valley. Even from this distance the indigo power line that slashed through the settlement could be plainly seen.
But the village wasn’t their destination. When the path forked they took the coastal road. A short climb brought them to the cliff’s edge. Beyond its rim and far below lay a vast expanse of calm, shimmering ocean.
On the grassy ribbon of land running to the lip of the cliff stood a funeral pyre and atop it lay the seer Domex, resplendent in the robes of his calling, hands crossed on his chest. Paraphernalia was heaped about his body – a grimoire, journals and scrolls, pouches of herbs and a sceptre were among the personal belongings that would accompany him to the next world.
The whole of the pyre was encased in a glistening, transparent half bubble, rainbow-hued like an oil and water mix.
Kutch’s first act was to remove the protective barrier. He took a small, flat runestone from his belt pouch and approached the pyre. Mouthing a barely audible incantation, he placed the stone against the bubble. The magical shield soundlessly discharged itself into non-being.
He looked around. The cliff-top was deserted, as were the modest hills on either side. ‘No mourners,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘I’d hoped somebody would turn up, given how much he did to help the people hereabouts.’
‘I expect they were too afraid to come because of the circumstances of his death,’ Caldason told him. ‘Don’t be too hard on them.’
Kutch nodded. He dug into his pouch again and brought out a sheet of parchment. His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded it. ‘There are some words that need to be spoken,’ he explained.
‘Of course.’
Falteringly, and in a soft tone, the apprentice began reading his lament in the old tongue. When he stumbled over a particular phrase, eyes brimming, just a boy after all, Caldason laid a hand on his heaving shoulder. It seemed to strengthen Kutch and he carried on more or less evenly.
What was being said meant nothing to Caldason, though somehow its rhythm and feeling conveyed something of its poignancy to him. His gaze went to the horizon and he contemplated the scurrying clouds and distant sea-birds.
At last the dirge was over. Kutch screwed up the parchment and tossed it onto the pyre.
After what he thought was a decent interval, Caldason asked, ‘How do we apply the flame?’
‘I have to do it,’ Kutch sniffed, ‘and it has to be kindled using the Craft.’ He gave the Qalochian a shy, lopsided grin. ‘I’ve been a bit worried about that bit.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Right.’ He cleared his throat noisily and straightened. Caldason took a step back to give him room.
Kutch started some kind of low-throated chant, attended with a series of increasingly complex hand gestures. He gazed at the pyre intently, brow creased. At first his utterances and movements were uncertain, then his confidence visibly grew and his voice rose.
All at once the wood stack and corpse were bathed in dazzling white light. Flames erupted, burning with unnatural, magic-fuelled intensity. The pyre blazed.
‘Well done,’ Caldason said.
They stood together for some time, watching the fire do its work.
Then Caldason gently tugged at Kutch’s arm. The youth turned and looked to where Reeth was pointing.
On the top of an adjacent hill stood a lone figure, staring down at them. The distance was too great to make out much detail, but they could see he was an older, distinguished looking man. His tailored white robe was of a quality denoting rank. The wind ruffled his three-quarter length cape. His posture was straight and proud, his expression sombre.
‘Any idea who that is?’ Caldason wanted to know.
Kutch blinked at the stranger. ‘No, I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Perhaps he’s someone who owed Domex a debt of gratitude.’
‘It seems your master wasn’t forgotten after all.’
They watched the figure for a while, then returned their attention to the blaze, its heat stinging their faces. When Caldason looked again a moment later, the stranger was gone.
The pyre roared and crackled, belching thick, inky smoke.
Mesmerised by the sight, Kutch fell into a reflective mood. ‘You know, if my master had lived I really think he might have been able to help you.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I’ll never forgive myself for my cowardice, Reeth.’
‘I thought we agreed you weren’t to blame,’ Caldason replied firmly. ‘There’s no way you could have stood against his killers, get that into your head.’
‘I’m trying to. It isn’t easy. I keep thinking that if only I’d -’
Caldason raised a hand to quiet him. ‘That’s enough. Don’t sully the moment with regrets. They serve no purpose, believe me.’
‘I still think he could have done something for you. He was a great man, Reeth.’
‘I have a feeling I need the kind of help I’ll never be able to find.’
‘Who’s being a doubter now?’
They both wrapped themselves in their own thoughts then.
The warmth sent ash and cinders billowing above the pyre. Orange sparks danced in the smoke.
‘Phoenix,’
Kutch whispered, half in reverie.
‘What was that?’
‘Phoenix,’ he repeated, as though it were some kind of epiphany.
‘I don’t -’
‘Why didn’t I think of it before?’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Kutch?’
‘Covenant, of course. Don’t you see? If anybody can help you, they can!’
‘Covenant’s a myth. A story mothers tell to frighten their sucklings.’
‘My master didn’t think so.’
‘He was wrong. They don’t exist.’
A succession of noisy pops and cracks issued from the pyre as it consumed wood and bone.
‘They do, Reeth,’ Kutch insisted, eyes shining, ‘and I’m going to prove it to you.’