Chapter 7: The Axe

Chapter 7: The Axe

The Axe

Iven Orellen was lifted up from the familys third circle to the first overnight.

His education came under the direct supervision of the council. His pitiful background in enchantment became his cover story, and to her eternal horror, his former master was ordered to spread rumors that he was gifted in the field.

All of the sudden, luck magic was a desirable quality in ones offspring. Iven was encouraged to marry as soon as possiblepreferably someone within the family, definitely not anyone with the overly dominant spatial magic inclination their line was so famous for.

This presented a problem. Iven had only ever thought of romance as an abstract, unobtainable sort of concept. He'd never seriously considered courting anyone because he knew he would be rebuffed in an instant. After all, for the entirety of his teenage life he'd hovered somewhere between pariah and running joke.

He'd assumed that one day, after he'd made something more serious of himself, he would befriend a girl and see if it turned into something more.

But with an entire council full of elderly sorcerers breathing down his neck and offering him disturbing advice, he couldn't ignore the matter. He was afraid that if he didn't do something on his own in a timely fashion, some busybody was going to drag him in front of an altar, introduce him to a total stranger, and tell them to get to work making children with each other.

So, when he was only eighteen he found himself standing outside the house of a young woman he had spoken to a few times in the library. He was holding a basket of braided bread loaves, dried figs, and a bowl of butter he'd churned himself that morning. He felt like an utter fool.

Atra opened the door at his knock, stared down at the traditional courtship offerings and said, "I'm the only one home right now. The others are all at work."

"I know that." Iven could feel his whole body heating. He wondered if anyone had ever died of blushing before. "These are for you."

Atra shared a house with three other women who'd been outsiders before being accepted into the Orellen family. Timing this visit so that she would be the only one home had required a lot of improper spying on Iven's part.

He held out his basket, hoping that she wouldn't be overly put off by the fact that he was visibly sweating. "Normally it's just bread and butter, but you're from Untar originally. So I added the figs. I heard that was the tradition there. I hope I got it right."

She didn't take the basket.

"I'm...extremely flattered, Iven. But I'm too old for you."

"Aren't you twenty-two?"

"That's too old for you."

Iven couldn't be deterred just yet. He didn't have a back-up fianc in mind, and the only thing more humiliating than carrying a courting basket across the entirety of the Enclave while people stared at you was having to take that same basket back the way you'd come.

"I...I realize we don't know each other well. But if we get on each other's nerves too badly we can just call the whole thing off before it goes very far. And I have some good qualities! I enjoy reading. I know you do, too. And I'm very opposed to infidelity so you'll never be embarrassed of me on that front. And I think the family will make sure I have a good living. I'll have a properly funded household at least. I've been raised to the first circle now."The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

"I heard that," said Atra, not looking at all impressed. "Apparently, you're great at enchanting."

Though it scarcely seemed possible, Iven's blush deepened. Of course she wouldn't have believed that cover story. She'd seen him studying nothing but luck magic texts whenever they met!

"Also, I like you," Iven said. "Not because you're pretty. Though you are! I'm not saying you're unattractive. I mean--"

"What do you think you like about me then?" Atra crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was unyielding.

Iven was aware that his answer would be ridiculous. But he was also aware that he wasn't suave enough to pass off a non-ridiculous answer as the truth.

"I...Aunt Teth complained about her back aching one day while we were both in the library studying, and the next day you brought her a seat cushion."

It wasn't enough, he knew. It was too small a reason to propose marriage to someone. But though Iven had done many things he probably should have felt guilty for in his young life, he'd never felt quite so sharp a sting of shame as when he'd seen Atra place the cushion in the elderly librarian's chair.

How much help and support had old Teth given Iven over the years? She was the only one who'd even been willing to entertain the idea of helping him study luck magic. And how many times had he heard her complain about her back at the end of a long day's work? He'd always been so focused on himself and what he needed. He'd never even offered to help with the shelving.

"I would have brought her a cushion if I'd thought about it. But I never thought about it. I'd...I guess I like you because I hope to be more like you? I want to be the kind of person who pays better attention to what's around him in the future."

Atra stared thoughtfully off into the distance while Iven squirmed. "I guess you'd better bring the basket inside," she said finally. "Your butter's going to melt out here in the sun."

#

Atra had been raised as a blood magician by a small southern clan before she'd run away from them to join the Orellen family and pursue general spellcasting instead. It hadn't weighed much in Iven's consideration of her, but the council was pleased. Apparently, an affinity for blood magic had to be deliberately fostered in ones children, so the chances of them producing an heir with Ivens own talent were increased.

They were married to each other more quickly than either one of them wanted, but they grew together. In time, mutual dedication turned into a very comfortable and certain kind of love. By the time they became Lord and Lady Orellen, they had two children. Both of them were reasonably talented spatialists.

Twelve years later, they had seven.

Their youngest, Rella, was the only one to inherit Ivens luck magic. She was three years old on the day Hamilas prophecy was delivered, and she was already under the care of the best Novice tutor in the Enclave.

What? Why? was a common response.

You might not know this, the healers said brightly, but someone practicing the healing arts at the sorcerer level can learn ever so much from a single strand of hair!

Well, why not? If one of the familys prized sorcerers wanted your hair, you gave them your hair. And you were grateful they werent asking for anything more dear.

Every hair was carefully cataloged in its own envelope, with a surprisingly large amount of detail about its owner scrawled on the outside. The healers delivered thousands of them to the senior whod sent them out after them in the first place. They wished her great success in her research, most of them hoping they might be chosen to assist.

The tall, gray-haired woman, whose name was Yora, promised them all shed tell them about her results when she was ready. Its a long and delicate process, she said. You must be patient.

In the privacy of her quarters, she packed the envelopes carefully into her largest medical chest. Atop them, she placed spelled vials full of the highest quality sleeping potions and mental focus elixirs the Orellen family could produce. On top of those, she added a collection of scrolls and books so covered in preservation magic that they gave off a faint glow to her eyes.

Her hands trembled a little as she locked the chest tightly.

Steady, Yora murmured to herself. Your part in this isn't the hardest one.

But it wasn't the easiest either.

When theyd called her to the council room and asked her if she could delay a pregnancy, she had confidently answered that she could. For a few weeks, even, shed said. If my magic aligns well with the mothers.

What if we wanted you to delay one for years?

I dont understand. That would be irresponsible even for the best healer.

What if we needed you to do it?

I cant imagine a situation where such a thing would be necessary.

What if there was one?

Indeed. What if there was one?

Yora would be the first healer to lay hands on Atra. Lady Orellen had only just realized she was pregnant a few days before disaster descended upon them. But everyone involved already knew what Yora would find.

Twins. It had to be.

Simple logic.

Lord Orellen had seven children at present. The prophecy said he would have nine. Hamila was never wrong. But Iven and Atra were sensible young people who wouldnt produce a ninth child if it meant the destruction of their entire family. Soit was most likely that they had already done it.

Can you delay the pregnancy? Can you delay it for years? Can you do it even if it hurts the mother? Can you do it when failure has so high a price?

Yora didnt know. But she would try.

One more thing, Dowither had said before she left the council room. Exhaustion seemed to have stolen all the mans usual crotchetiness and replaced it with a sort of depressive practicality. Well need you to come up with an excuse to take hair or fingernail trimmings or something similar from all the family members. Iven needs them for his scrying.

Well, thats easily done at least, she said. But does he really intend to scry the whole family?

Yes, the man said simply. Hell start right away even though hes still trying to tie up loose ends in Kler.

Shouldnt you bring them back here sooner rather than later?

Dowither shook his head. Were increasing his staff instead. We cant suddenly pull him back to the Enclave and keep him in seclusion. It will look suspicious to the other families. Were going to try to maintain the appearance of normal operations for as long as possibleso that when the time comes for us to move they wont be looking too closely at us.

She nodded. I understand. But realistically, what kind of move can we make?

Dowither stared down at his own clasped hands.

We wait for Iven to find it, said one of the other council members grimly. He couldnt be more highly motivated, given the circumstances. If we make enough time for him, hell find it, the same as he always does.

Find it?

The luck. If you pour enough money, time, and trust into that man, he eventually finds the luck. It may be that the gods have left us none, but if theyve dropped a single crumb of it, hell lead us to it.

It may be the best we can hope for, said Dowither, sighing. Though were still trying to come up with something surer. Anyway, keep him on his feet for us, Yora. Do whatever you have to. His brother says he hasnt slept in days.