I wonder what happened to Jorim and the Stormwolf? Keles had tried to connect with his brother, but their link had become more ephemeral. He was certain Jorim was still alive, but his location and condition were uncertain. As it was, given the sense of distance, Keles assumed his brother was on the other side of the world. He hoped, for Jorim’s sake, he would never return.
A small bell rang, summoning him back to the workshop. Keles descended and emerged from the Master Cartographer’s sanctuary. Ulan, seeming smaller and more frail than Keles remembered, smiled timidly.
“Nephew, there is a man to see you. Ciras Dejote awaits you in the audience chamber.”
Keles frowned. “Qiro might have received people there, but Ciras is my friend. Send someone to bring him to the room at the ramp’s base.”
Ulan’s eyes widened. “You’ll not bring him up here, will you?”
“Be calm, uncle. I shall not violate the Prince’s rules.”
“Yes, nephew, of course.” Ulan started down the ramp. “I shall fetch your guest myself.”
“Thank you.”
Ulan paused as if Keles had spoken in Viruka or Soth, then nodded and scurried off.
Keles looked around and smiled. A few of his cousins looked up. The youngest ones even smiled back. The others, trained by Qiro, distrusted the smiles and returned to work nervously. They measured more carefully and took a bit more time with their drafting. Had he not been Qiro’s grandson, he would have been doing the same, so Keles spared his cousins any disdain or pity.
But the next generation will not be afraid.
Keles slowly descended the ramp. Qiro had not been allowed to walk down the ramp and pass through the golden gate. He had remained a prisoner within his own tower for fear that what he knew would be shared outside Nalenyr. Keles had not been placed under any similar prohibition, but outsiders were still not allowed into the workshop. Though he would have welcomed Ciras and thought the man would have enjoyed a visit, rules were rules.
He stopped halfway down, then returned. “Dricol, fetch me our most recent map of Tirat, please.”
The dark-haired boy brought one quickly. He presented it to Keles with a flourish. “I drew it myself. Would you like it sealed and with a ribbon?”
“This will do nicely for now, but I do wish to have another drawn up. Add color and pinpoint the location of the Dejote family land.”
“Yes, Keles.”
Something clicked in the back of Keles’ mind. He raised his voice. “I have a project to be undertaken immediately.”
He waited for his cousins to set their brushes down. “I wish to have copies of all of our charts made to the size of nine by eighteen. They will be bound into a folio, so leave room for the binding. I wish a two-inch margin all the way around and in that margin you are to draw the flora and fauna or landmarks found there. Include family crests and any other details you can think of. You will consult with bhotcai and other experts. You will make certain the images are perfect. I want color everywhere, lots of it. Start with Moriande, then Helosunde, Deseirion, and the islands. Do the Five Princes after that. Finish with Erumvirine.”
They nodded in understanding.
“Two more things. You will work in teams, a minimum of two per team. Make a record of anything too difficult to finish. You will know what I mean. You may leave those areas of maps blank, but you will bring them to my attention immediately.”
They agreed silently, then set about to work.
Keles took the map and wound his way down the ramp. He passed through the golden gate, and nodded to his uncle, who locked the gate behind him. Old habits die hard.
Ciras waited over by one of the tall windows. Sunlight illuminated a serious expression.
“So thoughtful.”
Ciras blinked, then bowed. “I beg your pardon.”
“No need. I’ve been lost in thought before, too.” Keles presented him the map. “It’s of Tirat, obviously. I’m having a better one prepared for you.”
“You are most kind.” Ciras studied it briefly and smiled. “Beautiful.”
“I shall let my cousin know.” Keles joined him at the window. “It’s good to see you, and a surprise. A welcome one, in fact. I had heard you were wounded in last night’s action.”
“This is why I came.” Ciras slowly rolled the map into a cylinder. “I had a most disturbing experience, and I would ask you about it. I don’t know if you can help me.”
Keles nodded. “I will do what I can.”
“While fighting last night, I invoked jaedun. A dying man grabbed my leg and I thought, to my horror, that I was rooted like an oak. Before I could do anything, another man tried to cut me in half.”
The swordsman loosened his robe and exposed his left hip. Sunlight shone on the wound. Ciras had definitely been cut, but there wasn’t any blood. Moreover, the wound’s edges weren’t clean. It looked as if an ax had been taken to wood.
Keles dropped to one knee. “May I touch it?”
Ciras nodded, but did not watch.
Keles probed the wound. The flesh was warm and somewhat supple, though it had the texture of a callus. The splintering definitely resembled wood, but the edges felt more like fingernails. Even so, within the wound, the flesh felt perfectly normal.
Keles stood. “You thought you were rooted like an oak?”
Ciras closed his robe. “It was more than that. I pictured the transformation. My body was the trunk, my skin was bark, my arms were limbs.
“He should have killed me, Keles, but it was as if I were oak.”
“But you weren’t really rooted in place. You couldn’t be here if you had been.”
Ciras nodded. “Out in the Wastes, at Opaslynoti, we saw many odd things. In Ixyll, too. Magic had changed things. A mid the vanyesh, I saw even many stranger sights. The vanyesh had long ago surrendered their humanity.”
Keles nodded. “And you figured that, because of what I did with the trees, I might know what happened to you?”
“Do you?”
The cartographer folded his arms. “Magic can change people. It’s not easy, but it can be controlled. Magic emphasizes the true nature of things.”
Ciras frowned. “But I’m not an oak tree.”
“No? Oak trees are strong and hard. They’re dependable. Durable, noble even. You have those same qualities. You were using magic, and defined yourself as an oak. The magic flowed through you. In that place and moment, you became an oak.”
“Is that possible?”
“Your flesh splintered. You’re alive. It’s possible.” Keles smiled. “You may have been an oak for a heartbeat, but you’ve already begun to reject that notion. And see what has happened? Your body is no longer wooden. Your flesh has taken on the nearest normal equivalents, even though a callus on the hip is something I’ve never seen.”
“I don’t understand your point.”
“You have the mental strength magically to transform yourself both into an oak and back again. You use magic in a way that has nothing to do with your training.”
Ciras frowned. “I didn’t think that possible.”
“Everything we were raised to believe says it isn’t.” A tingle ran down Keles’ spine. “But magic is more complicated than we imagined, and far more powerful. The vanyesh already know that. If we don’t find a way to master the magic we do command, we will be helpless before them.”
Chapter Thirty-four
27th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Dientan Hills, south of Moriande
Nalenyr
“I have no tolerance for bad news today.” Nelesquin tugged a robe closed over his golden exoskeleton. “Vex me, and there will be repercussions.”