Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (7 page)

“Like the Queen of Thieves?” Morgin
asked.

Roland shook his head and smiled. “Not at
all. In fact—and don’t you tell my mother I said this—but Aiergain
and her people are not really thieves, and they’re certainly not
cutthroats. Aiergain is a true queen in her own right. She rules
the port city of Aud, and fully accepts the responsibilities that
come with such a station in life. She is, however, descended from
those bandits of old, and I think she rather enjoys being called
the Queen of Thieves, if for no other reason than that it irks my
mother.”

Morgin frowned. “But the Lady Olivia calls
her a murderous thief all the time.”

Roland chuckled. “Well now, my mother has
never gotten along with Aiergain, and she likes to think the worst
of her. But that’s beside the point. Let’s get back to my
story.

“Now after the Great Clan Wars the three
tribes that still had living kings were the least devastated. They
formed the Greater Council, and from them order grew out of chaos.
But their order was harsh, and the four lesser tribes, whose kings
were all dead, were not allowed to crown new kings. And so for more
than a thousand years the three kings of the Greater Council have
ruled the lesser tribes. Their law has been that of the sword, and
their justice that of the mailed fist. They’ve crushed us time and
again back into barbarism, but we nevertheless prevail. Slowly, in
spite of their kings, we’ve pulled ourselves up out of the muck and
cleansed the land. People no longer starve, and while bandits are
always a problem, they are much less so with each passing year, and
their activities are confined to the hinterlands. We have done
well—at least as well as we can—but we Lesser Clans pay tithe to
the Greater Council, and should one of us show any promise, we
usually end up paying a tithe of blood. But
someday . . . oh someday . . . that
will end.”

Roland had actually become angry while
speaking. It frightened Morgin, for except in Olivia’s presence
Roland never became angry. But then the anger vanished suddenly.
“Well I’ve answered your questions,” he said. “But no more—not
today. I have work to do so you run along.”

Morgin jumped down from Roland’s desk, threw
a quick “Thank you,” over his shoulder, and ran out the door.

~~~

The moon was full and bright, and it cast a
silvery glow upon the steadily ripening wheat that surrounded the
castle. Morgin loved to walk in the fields on such a night, for
here he could find a solitude that was not available within the
castle walls where the clan was everywhere. There seemed to be an
endless number of brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and
uncles—somehow all related. And that didn’t count servants and
retainers and field hands, and all those others not of the
clan.

Morgin was ten years old now, and after four
years of living with witches he had finally come to understand the
hierarchy of the clan. There was the Lady Olivia at its head—she
ruled absolutely and her word was law—and the only people who dare
argue with her were her two sons Malka and Roland, and their wives
Marjinell and AnnaRail. But the old witch seemed always to have the
last word, even, it appeared, when she was conceding a point.

Malka and Marjinell had two sons:
MichaelOff, who, at twenty, was the oldest of the boys; and
Brandon, who was fourteen. Roland and AnnaRail also had two
sons—DaNoel, fourteen; and JohnEngine, ten—and in addition they had
two daughters—Annaline, twelve; and NickoLot, four. And that was
House Elhiyne.

Except, he had forgotten Tulellcoe, the only
son of Olivia’s dead sister Hellis, strange and dangerous
Tulellcoe. He didn’t like Tulellcoe, feared him even, though not in
the way he feared Olivia, for the old woman was hot fury, while
Tulellcoe was a cold madness stalking silently at the edge of one’s
senses.

That was House Elhiyne, the family that
ruled the clan that ruled the eighth tribe of the Shahot. Morgin
wasn’t sure if he understood all of that, but that was the way the
old men that taught him put it. They also taught him that he was a
clansman by virtue of his magic, an incomprehensible power he
pretended to understand only to avoid a thrashing during his
lessons. They said that anyone who had the power of magic was a
clansman by right, though the distinction was often hard to see.
AnnaRail said it was not unusual for common parents to bear a child
possessed of power, in which case the child was readily accepted
into the clan. There were also men and women of the clan who
married outside of the clan, though it was usually a poor or ugly
clanswoman who had found herself a rich merchant, a man who desired
clan connections, or hoped for clan children, or both. But the
merchant, or the child’s parents, were not themselves clan unless
they displayed some facility at magic, no matter how slight.

Morgin was also beginning to understand his
place within the clan, where rank was determined by relationship to
House Elhiyne: the closer the relationship, the higher the rank,
and since the majority of the clan could claim some kinship to
Elhiyne, they all held some elevated rank or station. Then there
were the few like Morgin who were related to no one, and could
claim no rank whatsoever. Morgin had a thought that made him
chuckle: the clan had Olivia at its head, and Morgin at its
tail.

His attention returned to the night that
surrounded him so comfortably, and the moonlight, and the wheat
fields. He was perched on an outcrop of rock on a small hill
overlooking the castle in the distance. The moonlight gave the
wheat a soft shimmer, as if it were swaying in a light breeze, but
the night was still and calm, with the lights of the castle casting
a glow high above the trees that surrounded it. And in the village
a single lonely spark of a lamp told of someone working late.

His eye caught a flicker of motion down on
the road: someone coming from the castle. He knew in some way that
it was AnnaRail, and he watched her walk casually up the road, then
stop and look his way. “It’s late, Morgin. Time to come in.”

He climbed off his perch and gained the
road. She held out her hand and he took it. “It’s a lovely night,”
she said. “You like to walk in the moonlight, don’t you? Aren’t you
afraid of the dark?”

Morgin could not understand why anyone
should be afraid of the dark, with all its shadows so deep and
warm. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Why would I be afraid of
the dark?”

~~~

“I don’t understand,” Morgin pleaded. “I’m
trying, but I just don’t understand.”

AnnaRail smiled, reached out and touched him
on the shoulder. It tore at her heart to see him this way. He cared
nothing for magic, but he so wanted to please her, and if that was
what she wanted to teach him then he was determined to learn, no
matter how frustrated and confused he became.

“Relax,” she said softly. “I know you’re
trying, and I’m not surprised that you’re confused, for this is
complicated. Now take a deep breath . . .”

He did so.

“. . . and let it out slowly.
There. Doesn’t that feel better?”

He nodded.

“Good. Let’s try again, and we’ll start from
the beginning. Can you tell me the three Planes of Existence?”

She had purposefully chosen something he
could answer. He did so eagerly. “The Celestial Plane, the Mortal
Plane, and the Nether Plane.”

“Good,” she said. “And how many levels of
existence are there within the three Planes?”

That too he knew. “Twelve.”

“How many levels are there in the
Celestial Plane
?”

His confidence faltered. “Seven?”

She nodded approvingly. “And what are
they?”

“The Seven Heavens of the
Celestial
Plane
. And the Seventh Heaven is the highest level of all
existences.”

“Yes,” she said. “Very good. Now what about
the Nether Plane?”

His confidence disappeared completely, and
his answer came out more as a question. “Nine?”

She nodded again. “Go on.”

His brow wrinkled with confusion. “The Nine
Hells of the netherworld. And the Ninth Hell is the lowest level of
existence.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Excellent. Now, the
Mortal Plane.”

He grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There aren’t any levels left,” he pleaded.
“Nine and seven are more than twelve, so we can’t even fit both the
Celestial Plane
and the
Nether Plane
in the twelve
levels. Where is there room for the Mortal Plane?”

“Ah! Now I see the problem. It’s so simple,
and yet I’ve made it difficult for you by not explaining properly.
What you’re missing is that the
Celestial Plane
and the
Nether Plane
overlap. As you said, the Seventh Heaven is the
highest of the twelve levels, and the Ninth Hell is the lowest. But
in between they overlap. The level that is the Fourth Heaven is
also the First Hell. The Third Heaven is also the Second Hell. The
Second Heaven is also the Third Hell. And finally, the First Heaven
is also the Fourth Hell. There are only twelve levels of existence,
but four of them are part of both the
Celestial Plane
and
the
Nether Plane
.”

Morgin’s eyes opened with wonder. “Now,” she
said before he had a chance to think, “The Mortal Plane. How many
levels?”

He frowned again. “Four?”

“Exactly. And which four levels do you think
they are?” She winked. “I’ll give you one guess.”

Comprehension dawned so visibly on his face
she almost laughed, but she was careful not to. “The four that
overlap,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. She reached out and hugged
him. “Now you see, don’t you? The four levels of the Mortal Plane
overlap three ways. Each is at once part of the
Celestial
Plane
, the Mortal Plane, and the
Nether Plane
. And that
is why
gods
and demons can walk the Mortal Plane, for all
levels of the Mortal Plane are also levels of the other two.”

She could see he understood, so she kept at
him. “Now think carefully,” she said. “Do you see any special
significance to the Mortal Plane?”

He thought for a long moment, and when no
answer came she said, “Consider this. The highest three levels of
existence, the Fifth through Seventh Heavens, overlap on no other
Plane. And since demons can walk only upon the
Nether Plane
,
those three levels are closed to them. Likewise, the lowest five
levels, the Fifth through Ninth Hells, overlap on no other plane.
And since
gods
can walk only upon the
Celestial
Plane
, those five levels are forever closed to them. Now do you
see the significance of the Mortal Plane?”

She could see in his eyes that he had the
answer, but he was unsure of himself. “It’s the only place where
gods
and demons meet?”

“Yes. But it’s more. It’s the only place
where
gods
, demons, and mortals meet. And too, there is also
a special significance to mortal existence, for we mortals are the
only beings that have within us the power to walk beyond our own
plane of existence. It is possible for us to walk the highest
levels of the
Celestial Plane
, and the lowest levels of the
Nether Plane
. It takes great power to do so, enormous power,
and the further one ventures the more power that is required, so
much so that there are few alive today who can venture even one
level out of the Mortal Plane. And yet, the ability to walk all
levels is inherent within all of us, as it is forever forbidden to
gods
and demons.”

She looked closely at Morgin, a little boy
who wanted desperately to understand, and within her something old
and arcane made her speak. “Someday you will walk the netherworld,”
she said to him. “I can sense that within you. I do not know how
far you will venture, nor for how long, but beware, for the
netherworld is a trap for those who are ignorant. And if you are
caught, you will suffer its Hells for all eternity.”

“Hurry, Morgin,” JohnEngine shouted. “We
mustn’t be late.”

“I’m hurrying,” Morgin shouted back,
frantically tying the laces of his jerkin. “Go on without me.”

“I’ll wait,” JohnEngine said. “But hurry.”
He returned to his cot, sat down to wait, and but for the two of
them the boy’s dormitory was empty.

With his jerkin laced, Morgin sat on his cot
to pull on his boots. They were working boots, steel shod, with
heavy soles and thick leather about the toes. Roland had paid a
high price for such fine craftsmanship, and Morgin was proud of his
new boots, presented to him on his twelfth birthday only the month
before. Actually it had been JohnEngine’s birthday, and JohnEngine
had received a pair of boots of his own. But since no one knew
Morgin’s birthday, and the two boys were of an age and were
inseparable, they were treated as twins.

Morgin jumped to his feet. “I’m ready. Let’s
go.”

They rushed out of the dormitory, down a
long flight of stairs and onto the main floor of the castle. They
cut through the kitchen, out a side entrance, then through a narrow
gap between two buildings. Bursting into the main castle yard, they
crossed it at a sprint and joined a small cluster of boys seated on
the ground there.

Breathless, and seated among their fellows,
JohnEngine leaned toward one and asked, “Are we late,
Dannasul?”

“No,” Dannasul said. “What kept you?”

Morgin answered. “Mother kept me at my
lessons.”

Dannasul gave a knowing nod. Everyone knew
that the Lady AnnaRail gave Morgin special tutoring. It was no
secret that Morgin could barely read and write, so they all assumed
he was slow. They didn’t know that the tutoring was in the arts of
magic, nor would they have guessed, since such training was not
normally begun until manhood was attained at the age of twelve. And
Morgin, who considered his magic a sickness to be kept quiet, was
not going to be the one to enlighten them.