Erstdwerg Beckons

~ Alexis ~

Clothes. That was their first stop that afternoon. They went to a tailor's shop near yesterday's salon, so the legate could have his formal outfit adjusted by an enthusiastic tailor named Benedict. Then, they went next door to a women's clothing store that could repair her outfit, which had been damaged during the fight with Prater. She already had two apprentice-quality outfits and a dress, so she didn't need anything else. The seamstress eyed her anyway, pelting her with barely felt whispers of mana.

"Those places looked expensive," she said in the carriage.

"They are expensive. The people we saw today all have classes, and they do extensive work for the palace. A lot of palace craftsmen rent or share workshops in this quarter because it's close to their main source of income."

Their other stop that day was outside the city, in a strange kind of business Alexis never imagined existed: They sold blocks and slabs of stone. Their carriage passed through a city's worth of stone blocks in neatly aligned piles and conical heaps of decorative gravel. After passing more kinds of rock than she knew existed, the carriage reached a massive building with a single, long room filled with samples. At least a hundred people wandered from one display to the next, touching the stones, reading printed sheets of paper, or arguing over prices. Like everywhere else they went, people stared at the legate's miniature waterfall at first, but soon learned to ignore it.

After asking directions, they found their way to the corner where fine statuary blocks were kept and browsed there for a while until the establishment's owner found them.

"Legate d'Mourne, I presume?" The arc man was the same height as the legate.

"You must be Remco." They each showed the other their dominant hand, palm up, and then shook.

"Are you truly going to give us an Erstdwerg?"

"If you're truly selling the stone at cost."

They dropped into Arcaic shortly after that, so she stopped paying attention and followed them from a distance. She explored the area as she walked, using her infantile mana sensing abilities. The tiny bit of ability she had so far only emphasized how blind she was. Several humans were using magic, possibly to appraise the stone they were looking at, but she couldn't tell unless she nearly brushed against them.

She was surprised at the number of demis with noticeable auras. As a race, they favored sleeveless tunics that covered them from collarbone to knee, belted with anything. There were many working in the rock store, hauling heavy loads around, shining bright enough for her to feel them from nearly two feet away. Body enhancements were a well-known branch of magic, but she had no idea so many beastkin could use it. That could be why humans needed the goddess's help: they fell behind the demihuman races (Arcaics!) and needed a way to catch up.

They spent most of the remainder of the day in a rented space in Arctown, where the legate could work on his latest project. The new statue wasn't going to be big, less than three feet tall, but having an empty room to move around was a big help. They had been there for hours, with Alexis taking a turn behind the screen so the legate could have the rest of the room.

She was getting tired.

And bored.

And cranky.

"All right, we're done for the day." It was as if the legate read her mind. He wiped down and put away his tools, then merged all the loose stone chunks and chips into a single ball that he sucked into his bag. The new statue followed, and they locked the door behind them.

Soon, they were installed in a restaurant overlooking the river, which sounded romantic but wasn't. They had to walk up four flights of stairs, the service was slow, and the river traffic was primarily cargo barges. But the food was terrific. Waiters brought serving vessels full of meat, vegetables, salads, and grain dishes to each table, and customers took what they wanted. They talked about her religious reading for the day and the things she had noticed in the stone house. He mostly nodded and didn't talk much, preferring to prompt her into asking questions.

After dinner, they returned to the hotel and practiced until she was worn out again. By the time she bathed and changed into her nightclothes, she could barely stay awake long enough to crawl into bed.

The next day delivered a pleasant surprise in the morning mail: Sisbert sent a card with the time he'd pick her up from the inn. All through breakfast in the dining room, she wanted to get on her feet and dance. The legate steadfastly pretended not to notice, but Alban the Concierge greeted her with a discreet, grandfatherly smile.

After breakfast, she had magic practice and learned to move her mana by herself. Not very much of it, and not very far, but it put her firmly in the second half of Sense Your Way To Glory. D'Mourne stopped her lesson just as she was starting to fail, and sent her to the baths. She was surprised at how much fun she was having. She knew from Glory that there were dozens and dozens of ways to play with mana once she had a little control over it. She kept imagining things she might be able to do, beyond making plants grow "better", like changing their nature so they grew in poorer soils, fruited earlier or later, drove off pests, or tamed pests to turn them into guardians. Trees themselves could be guardians. They could have poisonous leaves or healing sap. Or both. The legate's sensibilities might be rubbing off on her, she realized. If one were training to become a tree wizard, why be a conventional one?

She spent the middle of the day watching her mentor carve stone. At first, he talked about the gods as he worked, told her stories from scripture, and the layers of meaning behind each one. He spoke only from the older books of scripture, pre-Evangel, as if Knexenk's presence in the pantheon was of no account to him.

As the legate fell into silence, Alexis focused on The Gospel of Saint Wynnefreede, The Evangel. She wasn't what Alexis imagined. Wynnefreede's position on quests was more in tune with d'Mourne's than her uncle's. "With each offered quest, we decide what to make of ourselves," wrote the Evangel. "Knexenk is the giver of divine tools, and we are the art that makes itself with each acceptance or declination."

Alexis excused herself, "to get some air", went across the street, down the block, and opened her class log. She mentally shouted "decline" at the Glory For Everyone quest and felt a weight she didn't know she carried lifted from her. She should have declined the rotten quest the moment she read it.

She bought him an apology drink: sweet tea with tiny orbs of fruit flavor mixed into it, served on ice. It put a dent in her daily spending money, especially as she had to buy two of them so it wouldn't be awkward. He turned his head to lift his mask and drank from the wooden cup appreciatively, popping the flavor nubbins between his teeth. His eyes went round behind his mask. "Weird," he proclaimed. "I like it. Perfect for when you've been working hard. What do I owe you?"

"It's a gift," she said stubbornly, taking the empty cup. If she returned it, she could get her deposit back. "You didn't have to do all this. Don't argue, okay?"

He chuckled. "Okay. Thank you for the gift." She could barely see his smile through the mask's opening over his mouth, but she was pretty sure she didn't imagine it.

The statue evolved in increments. The previous day had been rough cuts until he had a blobby outline, and then he cut away bits of rock here and there until the figure's limbs were apparent. Today brought greater and greater definition. Although he mainly used his tools that channeled his mana, the finest details molded themselves under his bare hands. As he got closer to finishing, mana streamed into the statue constantly. Alexis didn't know where all the mana went, but it had to go somewhere. Maybe the rock was changing, somehow.

When he declared it was time for dinner and put away his tools, the statue looked far better than the cheap things the temple was using. It was over two feet tall, not including the base, and made of dense gray stone. The pose was different from Ophelia's example: He was the same person, wore the same traveling cloak, and carried the same walking stick, but he was standing still, one hand slightly raised as if beckoning people to follow him. There was a hint of impatience in him, as if his destination were near and he wanted his followers to hurry and catch up with him.

"Is it finished?" she asked over boxed lunches she fetched from Arctown's vendors.

"Almost. The next part is hard."

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"Why? What's next?"

"Mana," he said between bites, "tons of mana."

"I thought you gave it a ton already. Even I could see that much mana."

"I gave it some," he huffed through a mouthful of grilled vegetables, "but it needs more. Father Masadu wants to have a blessing ceremony tonight. The worshipers gather to witness the divine figure receiving its life from the god, and then pray to it for the first time."

"Have fun with that."

"You're coming too." He brushed the crumbs from his hands and put the lunchbox away. They'd return it to the stall the next day to exchange it for a new lunch at a slight discount. "But first, back to the Inn. We have enough time for a lesson and a bath before we dress for tonight."

"I thought you weren't going to teach me any spells."

"I said I wasn't going to teach you a bunch of spells. This is one spell. It's the easiest one, it's useful, and everybody knows it."

"No, they don't! How many people in Mourne know the Light spell?"

"Curator Jane, and I haven't got a clue who else. What are you complaining about? You haven't even tried it yet."

"Casting spells is hard."

"Not this one. It's the babiest of baby spells. For you, it'll be easy."

"I can barely," she searched for a good word, "twiggle my mana."

"If you're going to raise a fuss over one tiny incantation, maybe The Mage's Path isn't right for you, and we should send you home right now."

He didn't have to go that far. She just didn't want to end up having to memorize a bunch of cryptic spells on top of everything else she was supposed to be doing. Alexis sighed, took the paper from his hand, and read the words while trying to form a ball of mana in her hand. They were in an old style of Orlut, but she understood them well enough.

"Flame in the dark, harken to me, come to life. Light," she said half-heartedly. A faint white glow hovered over her hand. "Huh. It worked."

"And you whined so bitterly about it. Ooh, it's too hard! I could never! See? It's fine. Now make it brighter."

"How?"

"Pack more mana into a smaller space."

Alexis focused on the feeling of mana in her body, moved it to her hand, and the orb of light grew larger and fuzzier. When she tried to squeeze it into a smaller ball, she lost it entirely, and the light went out.

"Practice." He hid behind his screen with a book while she struggled with the exercise. She could make the ball a little smaller and brighter, and move it a few inches from her body before it died. She could also squash it a little so it was oblong instead of round. She kept pushing her new ability until the legate said it was time to dress for the temple.

"Why am I playing with the light spell?"

"Because you can't take the mirror with you, and this is a good way to practice mana shaping. Controlling a class ability is a lot like shaping a spell. You'll see." She didn't see. Why was he so sure when he didn't have a class?

"If all it takes is practice with a beginner spell, why doesn't everyone just do that?"

"Because most people don't use Light this way. They cast it onto something. Most magicians at the intermediate level can make the light brighter or dimmer, but they can't make it fly around without casting it on something and throwing it. What you're attempting to do is considered advanced for a mage. The fact the spell worked for you the first time when you weren't even trying hard, and you can do it in mid-air, would mark you as talented."

"So I can cast this spell on something, and have light any time I want it?"

"Sure, if you want to be lazy about it. If you master the spell properly …" The room was filled with twinkling lights drifting gradually to the ground, like a cloud of fireflies falling to sleep. They gathered on the floor in a sparkling carpet. It wasn't any good for reading, but it was pretty.

"Now go to the baths and put on your best outfit. We leave in an hour."

He stayed hidden in his waterfall during the trip across town, and while he greeted people at the temple. The new Erstdwerg stood in his rightful place among the other gods, but so obviously superior that the temple was sure to commission more of them. The ceremony wasn't for another half hour, but all kinds of Arcaics were gathering, dressed in finer clothes than last time. Goudsmid was there, as were Ophelia and what looked like a whole clan of arcs. She counted eight kinds of beastkin, five elves (including the aged priest), and as many dwarves as everyone else put together. There were even a few humans.

While people gathered, the legate and the priest disappeared into an office down the hall, leaving Alexis in Ophelia's shadow as the pretty arc woman spun conversation with members of the clan. They wore bright, skin-tight undergarments that covered them from knee to elbow, under translucent dresses belted with gem-tone scarves. Enameled hair ornaments shaped like flowers and insects flashed around her.

Alexis felt huge and dull in her simple blouse and skirt next to the fluttery clan of arc women. She tried to step away, only to have Ophelia grab her arm and pull her back.

"This is Alexis of Mourne. He's teaching her until she finds a master orchardist to apprentice to."

"That must be interesting for you!" said an arc lady with a baby in her arms.

"He fought Prater for you? You must be special," said an elder arc. Supposedly, arcs could live five hundred years, and she looked every decade of it. Her palsied hands pat Alexis's arm. "Or is it something else, eh?"

"I'm not that special. He was there to check the working conditions and …" And everything happened: orchards tried to kill them, giant trees walked through firestorms, and a winter cold enough to shatter iron killed their enemy. And she saw d'Mourne without his mask, cutting out a giant's heart. "Things happened."

"I bet he wouldn't do that for just anybody, though, would he? There must be something about you he likes."

Ophelia laughed, but admonished the old woman. "Don't tease her, Granny."

Alexis saw an opportunity to escape the uncomfortable conversation. She'd been told not to talk about it, but the news was out. "He battled Prater to give me time to escape, but, would you believe it, the carriage driver wouldn't leave! The legate gave me a gold coin to pay him with, and he still wouldn't go. He wanted to stay and watch the fight, instead."

"That's not right. What was this fellow's name? Who does he work for? I'd like to give him a piece of my mind!"

"I don't know his name, Granny, but he's standing right over there. He's the one talking to all the other men." She pointed across the room, where the bad driver was pantomiming parts of the fight to a group of avid listeners of all races.

"That Serge! A hundred and fifty, and he still acts like a child. When will he grow up?" Granny led a parade of women to surround the unfortunate Serge. Alexis couldn't understand what she was saying, but the dogkin's wilting tail and ears told her enough.

"Well done." Ophelia hooked her arm through Alexis's. "That's eight generations of arc women you just aimed at him. He's not getting out of that mess unharmed."

"Good. Maybe the next time a girl needs a ride to safety, he'll listen."

"Will you sit with me? I usually sit in the back. Unless you'd like to be in the front?"

"Back is good. I feel like everyone's staring."

"Only some of them."

Not long after that, the priest emerged and asked everyone to find seats. The service was in Arcaic and involved multiple rounds of talking and group singing. Looking around, Alexis realized she wasn't the only person there who didn't speak the language. There were quite a few younger Arcaics who were enduring the service like she was: mostly lost.

Legate d'Mourne emerged without the waterfall illusion, in a green and gold mask, intricate vest, fine jacket, and breeches secured at the knee with engraved bone clips. His dark blue hair glowed with streaks of gold. Draped around his shoulders, he wore a long white scarf, identical to the priest's. He looked less like a legate than a prince. Everyone stood when he entered, d'Mourne faced the statue with his hands touching the god's feet, and the priest said a prayer.

Alexis could feel it gathering. Either it wasn't mana, or it was a different kind of mana than she was used to, but her new senses could feel it, heavy, powerful. Instinct closed her eyes, but that didn't help when her eyes weren't doing the seeing. Ophelia and the other Arcaic-speaking people around her said the words of a well-known prayer together, and somehow it was summoning a mana-like energy. It pressed on Alexis, like when her big brother pinned her down and she couldn't breathe. Just as she thought she might panic, it moved, sucked into d'Mourne, who poured it into the statue along with vast quantities of his own. Alexis's abilities weren't at all developed, but it seemed too much for a human to bear. She stood up in time to see her legate lean against the god's feet for support.

She almost shouted that someone should help him, but she was distracted by Erstdwerg. For a moment, she would have sworn the god was looking at the congregation, beckoning them to join him. Where he seemed artfully presented before, he had become lifelike. If she hadn't been in the room when it was made, she would have thought the god himself had posed for it. Shouting and prayers erupted from the congregation's throat and filled the temple with ecstasy while her legate slumped into a nearby chair.

Later, Alexis watched from a distance as d'Mourne stood with the priest and worked the greeting line by the door. The younger generation mostly slipped out quickly with a brief nod to the priest and legate. Whether this brevity was out of disrespect or to give more time to the elderly was impossible to know for sure. Either way, the behavior of the older generations was extreme, especially among the older arcs. People didn't just thank him, they bowed to him. Some of the oldest arcs reached into the waterfall illusion to find his hands, pulled them close, and cried into his palms. They asked him for blessings, but the priest always intervened. "He's done enough for one day," he told them, and moved them along.

So, it came as a surprise when they were alone in the carriage and d'Mourne, slumped into a corner, said, "tonight was a mistake."

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