The Burning Stone

“The Aoi are not utterly vanished from the earth,” objected Liath. “There are shades in the deep forest.”



“Are these shades truly of earth, or are they only trapped somehow between the living and the dead, between substance and aether, doomed to live as shadows?”



Like the servants, doomed to live in bodies that only mimicked those of humankind. But he did not voice the thought out loud. He knew better than to challenge an opponent in an open battle when he was outnumbered and held inferior weapons. He wasn’t desperate yet.



“You have not listened carefully, Liath,” scolded Anne. “Biscop Tallia was the first scholar we know of since the days of the Dariyan Empire who gained enough knowledge to calculate the message written in the heavens. For the heavens do not lie. They only record God’s creation. She discovered that on the date that you mentioned, great forces might be unleashed. From ancient records pieced together out of the archives of the old Dariyan Empire, she discovered that we have enemies lying in wait to destroy humanity. For this service to humankind, Biscop Tallia was humbled by the church at the Council of Narvone, because they envied her.”



When neither of them responded, she went on. “But Biscop Tallia did not let her knowledge die with her. She passed it on through her companion in the arts, Clothilde, who in her turn made sure that there would always be others to follow her. We are the ones who seem to be sleeping while the world wakes around us, only we are in fact waiting here in our hidden place to save humanity from that which threatens it. Seven is our number, because we are in number like to the seven planets: the Sun, the Moon, fleet Erekes, bright Somorhas, Jedu, who is the Angel of War, stately Mok, and sage Aturna.”



“The Seven Sleepers,” murmured Liath. “I’ve been so blind. Ai, God, here comes another one.”



He let her clutch him, fingers digging into his arm. There was nothing else he could do.



“You should not have allowed yourself to become distracted from your true purpose,” said Anne coolly, not moving to touch Liath as the wave came and went. “It is Bernard who is to blame for this weakness in you.”



Liath made a sound halfway between a cry and a gasp. But it wasn’t from physical pain. “You have no idea what we went through! Da died to protect me.” Suddenly tears came, unbidden, unexpected, as if all of it, the memory, the fear, her utter helpless despair at losing him, had finally crashed down with the weight of the heavens. Sanglant had never seen her weep over her dead father. Now it overwhelmed her.



The storm was brief but tempestuous, and Anne waited it out without any response except to carefully take the old book from her and close it so that the pages wouldn’t get damp. She locked it away in the cupboard, flicked a finger toward the ceiling, and the servant fluttered down and vanished.



“Sit down, Liath. You are overwrought. The servant will bring you something to drink to restore yourself.”



Liath sat obediently, shoulders shuddering under the weight of that old grief. Sanglant did not sit. He, too, had lost a parent and never cried for that loss. “Where did my mother come from?” he asked now.



Anne seemed as usual unsurprised by the question. “Henry found her in Darre, but she had before that been in Salia, or so we assume, because Salian was the tongue she spoke best. From whence in Salia she came no one knew or could guess, and she revealed nothing.”



“‘There will come a moment,’” said Liath in the steady voice she used when she quoted from memory, “‘when all the power that churns through the universe, the force that moves the spheres themselves, can be touched by human hands. When it can be drawn down and manipulated for the greater good by those who have the knowledge and the will to risk themselves in such an undertaking.’ That’s the art of the mathematici. Which was learned from the Babaharshan magicians, who learned it from the Aoi long ago, so the stories say.” She grimaced, shifting awkwardly, and for an instant he thought another pain was coming, but she was only uncomfortable. If God willed, the child would come soon and without incident. That would truly be a blessing. Liath looked up at Anne accusingly. “That’s what you’ve been hiding all along. You believe the Aoi manipulated the power in the heavens to remove themselves from earth.”



The servant returned and set a tray with three cups of cider on the table, then skittered away into the eaves. Anne glanced at the tray, surprised by the cider or by the number of cups; he wasn’t sure which. He handed Liath a cup and made sure she drank before he drained his own. Anne had already begun to speak.