phenomenon.
But if it was so easy for me, why haven’t others done it?
He shivered. Likely they had, hundreds if not thousands of times, perhaps tens of thousands of times. But just as with Mugwump using magick of which he had no clear understanding, a spell could drain a man, hurting him badly. In the battle for Fort Cuivre, Makepeace Bone had fired a swivel-gun, assuming it was, in essence, just a big musket. While that was true, the magick necessary to fire it off had bruised his arm to the elbow and left him completely exhausted. Had he been a smaller man and lacked the constitution of a mammoth, it likely would have killed him.
The Prince looked at his right palm. Blood had risen in tiny blisters, barely the size of freckles, in a circle the diameter of the disk. The presence of blood did not surprise him-but he had expected to see more. Why would I get away so easily with a new spell?
Vlad tapped a finger against his chin. It was easy enough to suppose that the Church began imposing limitations on magick as a way to prevent people from killing themselves. This would naturally lead to them refusing to teach spells or branches of magick that they found morally objectionable-necromancy being a case in point. That did not mean, however, that Church officials would not study it, or other things, in order to understand the true nature of the threat they imposed. From there, the creation of a self-perpetuating thaumagarchy would only make sense. It would have to destroy any threats to its monopoly on power and knowledge, and would do so behind the guise of preventing people from unleashing unspeakable evils.
The difficulty there was simple: they had no monopoly on magick, only a monopoly in Auropa and the Near East. The Twilight People had their own magickal traditions. Vlad assumed the same was true of the Far East and of the Dark Continent. The Tharyngians, since their revolution, had created yet another magickal tradition, the destruction of which could explain why Norisle was willing to bankrupt itself waging wars it could never be truly expected to win.
That thought brought him all the way back to Ezekiel Fire. Assuming the man knew at least as much as Vlad did, there seemed no question that Postsylvania could be home to its own, brand new, magickal tradition. Not only would it have the freedom of the Tharyngian system, but it would be paired with an absolute belief that God intended men to know this new way of magick. Power, when coupled with a vibrant theology, often wrought havoc.
Vlad rose and left the laboratory, walking down toward the river. He looked west. “If you find a new magick out there, my friends, I don’t know whether I hope you bring it back, or destroy every trace of it. My fear is that if any of it is even rumored to exist, Norisle will feel forced to extinguish it, and I do not think the Crown will be particularly concerned with how many people die to make that happen.”
Chapter Twenty-one
10 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria
The Steward gestured gently toward the ceiling. The rifle’s muzzle rose accordingly, despite Nathaniel’s valiant effort to keep it centered on Branch’s chest. “You will find, gentlemen, that your guns will not fire within the precincts of Happy Valley.”
Owen pointed his rifle at the floor and covered the firestone with his thumb. He invoked magick, but nothing happened. How is that possible? He let that question linger in his mind because du Malphias had moved Owen’s own musket aside the same way Ezekiel had raised Nathaniel’s. With contempt on his face, not the Steward’s kindness, but it was the same nonetheless.
“I don’t need no rifle to kill you, Branch.”
Ezekiel raised a hand. “Please, Brother Nathaniel…”
“I ain’t no member of your flock.”
“But the Good Lord commanded us to consider all men our brothers.” The Steward imposed himself between them and Rufus Branch. “Brother Rufus has been among us for over two years now. I have spent long hours with him, teaching him to read and write. He is a very peaceful man and has been of great help to me. He has borne witness to his sins, but they are in the past. They have been forgiven.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “I ain’t done no forgiving for his poisoning me, trying to murder me. Murder for hire, too. And I don’t suppose his wife done forgive him none for abandoning her and a half-dozen halfwit children in Temperance.”
The older man smiled indulgently. “You should understand that Brother Rufus was most candid about his misdeeds. We did not accept him immediately. However, he worked with us and for us. He proved himself to us. Though we value children highly, because he has left a wife and children behind, we have not let him wed. Even so, he does his share of duty minding children. He also has not taken a drop of hard cider, ale, or whiskey since he has been with us.”
Nathaniel let his rifle rest back on his shoulder. “I find that hard to believe.”
“But you must believe it, or believe I am a liar.”
“Begging your pardon, Steward, but I onliest got to believe you done been fooled.”
Rathfield stepped up and laid a hand on Nathaniel’s left shoulder. “I think, Mr. Woods, we should take the Steward at his word.”
“Colonel, this man tried to murder me.”
“I appreciate that, but I would point out that Colonial authority ended somewhere back at the crest of the Westridge Mountains.” Rathfield addressed the Steward. “I would think, sir, that you would agree that Mr. Woods’ grievances do deserve to be aired.”
Ezekiel Fire nodded solemnly. “Confession is the first step to redemption. Brother Rufus, you will attend a council meeting this evening. We shall discuss your situation.”
“Yes, Steward.”
The way that Rufus bowed his head, and the respect in his voice, surprised Owen. Rufus Branch had been a loud, lazy, corrupt braggart who drank and brawled and ran a gang of ne’er-do-wells in Temperance Bay. Though he joined the Mystrian Rangers and fought valiantly at Fort Cuivre, he fled the Crown Colonies when he failed to murder Nathaniel. Save for a musket ball fired by Makepeace’s little brother, Justice, he would have succeeded.
But the man before them was a man transformed. He clearly wasn’t afraid of any of them, but neither was he defiant. He’d become passive and accepting. Owen had no idea what had happened to him, but the change was nothing he could have believed without seeing it with his own eyes.
And I am still not sure I believe it.
The older man smiled. “Until then, you will remain here and continue your translations. You’ll have no supper, of course.”
“You are very kind, Steward. Thank you.”
Ezekiel guided them back out of the large building and back to the workshop. “You will understand if I have you stay in the workshop loft, rather than split you up and install you in our homes. No matter what verdict is rendered this evening, some hard feelings will result. If you do choose to wander the village, I would ask that you leave your guns in the loft. I promise no mischief will be done. It is just that guns do excite the blood of the young, and we would seek to avoid that.”
Owen lifted a hand. “This evening, when Rufus stands before you, what might his punishment be?”
The older man clasped his hands behind his back. “He will atone for his sins, but please do not imagine that his punishment will be based on the need for anyone to be vengeful. I understand, Mr. Woods, that you are aggrieved, and rightly so. But I would ask you to understand that in committing the sins he did against you, that Brother Rufus removed himself from the state of God’s Grace. Our punishment will be intended to bring him closer to God.”
“Give me ’bout three minutes with him, Steward, and I can guarantee you he’ll be as close to God as he’ll ever get.”
Ezekiel Fire glanced at the ground for a moment, unable to hide the hint of a smile which greeted Nathaniel’s words. When he looked back up again, he’d composed his face in such a manner that it made Owen think of a kindly
