The Vixen Queen (6.7)

Murmurs broke out all around him. Rin and Zebran shared a tense look.

“The Exigent Protocol has been invoked only once–”

“And in the case of an Archmagus who was not mentally fit to continue serving his term.”

“And now it is being invoked to remove an Archmagus who has all but abdicated her term,” Petris returned. “Has she visited the wounded? Have you seen her grieve the fallen? She already did not fight with us. If we are to enter war against The Imperium, against Rirris or Tjilbrud…is that who you want leading you?”

“Who shall we replace her with?” Zebran clarified. “You?”

“Yes,” Petris answered immediately, confidently.

Nerves besieged Petris now. The precipice had been crossed. There was no return. He now stared not just at the opposition’s advocates, but at gods, ascendants, déclinates, and armies, along death and its many ghosts, all of whom he now feared would stalk him until his final days.

He would face them, though. Who else would dare to be humanity’s voice in this? Who else would fight for them?

His declaration of the protocols and his intentions to take Gemini’s office did not raise discord. In truth, he had not expected them to. They all knew him. Many of them had once been his teachers. Young as he was, they knew his abilities, his love for The Order and the mages in it. Where he lacked in the wisdom of age, devotion and zeal were found in spades. Both were qualities they knew were necessary in a commander, especially in times such as these when The Crossroads invited influence of every kind, from every realm.

Petris was not only the best leader they had. He was their only leader.

“How would you lead us differently?” Zebran inquired. Optimism carried in the man’s rough but high-pitched voice, as if he was giving Petris a chance to speak his truth, to show them his mettle, rather than oppose his motion.

“We know you, Petris,” Rin added. “We trust you and love you. All of us. But what confidence can you give us that you are the right person to lead us through this? I know we all realize the task you are taking upon your shoulders here. It is enough, surely, to break even one after The Archetype’s own making.”

Petris took a moment to consider everything he’d come to hold dear in this world, to order the whirlwind of need that world, and his chosen family within it, had before them. Need he saw so clearly, though the path was still muddy and obscured, even to him.

But he was willing to do what needed to be done to navigate them through it. Whatever needed to be done.

“As you all know, I was left at the doorstep of The Safe Harbor Home in Vislii,” he started. “Growing up, I had only that which The Mothers could provide. Which was little. As an orphan, though, I saw the great hope before me that my life could be more than being unwanted by my own mother, that it could be more than mere sustenance. Hope, Zebran. Rin. Hope, brothers and sisters. That’s what you are to me. Hope and family. Because as I came to this castle, and I began to cultivate my gift in channeling, I came to know the meaning of both.

The power we channel is from the goddess Teleria herself. It is her. Her very essence. She gave it to us to discover for a reason. So that when gods and others came to meddle in our affairs, to direct our history and our lives at their whim, we could stand our ground and say ‘no! We will not yield control of our realm, of our lives to you!’ We are Teleria’s children. We are her stewards. She would not have us be weak.

But as I stand here, that is exactly what we are in danger of becoming. Enemies surround us, seeking to make us their subjects or victims. But an opportunity stands before us as well: The Crossroads. Arapet’s Prophecy speaks not just of darkness, but of light. If we can navigate it effectively, we can deliver such light, such prosperity and blessing of a better tomorrow for not just us, but for the world. Something not even Rirris or Tjilbrud or The Goddess herself can undo! We can awaken humanity to transcend — into what was promised to us should we be able to claim it. We can be their equals, with nothing to fear any longer.

That’s what I wish to do. For my family. For the world.”

“And how?” Rin pressed, barely letting his words settle.

“I — I don’t know.” He shook his head, then clasped his hands together over his heart. “But I know with your help, with us unified around that common goal, we can do it. We cannot, though, if the leader of our Order remains against such boldness. Such courage.”

A clank startled the group. The giant bronze doors to The Inner Sanctum creaked and groaned on their hinges as they opened to Petris’ left. They closed a second later as the thin line of mages parted to let Gemini through. The current Archmagus entered the circle, stopping as she noticed the two opposing groups before her.

An uneasy silence held the room now. Gemini’s slate green eyes felt particularly reptilian and cold as she scanned the gathering. The Magi that looked back at her saw and felt her distance, knowing now that Petris spoke more truth, showed more audacity, than anyone else had yet to in this generation of mages.

“I invoke The Exigent Protocol,” Petris declared, eyes locking onto Gemini. “That Gemini should be removed from her position as Archamgus of this Order and that I take her place.”

Gemini smirked. Her hands shot to her hips.

“Do we have a motion, then?” Zebran asked the group.

Petris turned to Daria. She closed her eyes and breathed, licked and bit her lips, then reluctantly came forward to honor her vow.

“I so move,” she announced, coming to join him on his other side. “I have every confidence that Petris would be an excellent leader of this order.”

The group gasped collectively, surprised to see the authority of Drogos and the integrity of Daria behind Petris’ coup.

“And I second,” Drogos agreed.

Gemini’s smirk became a haughty grin. “Well then, do we have a show of hands?”

Slowly, in a cascading wave, hands raised.

Every hand.

A unanimous vote of impeachment.

Without a word, Gemini turned and left the room, solidifying not just her ouster, but her damaged reputation. Everyone turned to watch her, likely expecting her to utter some angry protest or response. Petris certainly did. But she offered them nothing except gradually quieting footsteps, the clanking and creaking of the doors, followed by their slamming shut.

Gemini now gone, every High Mage now looked upon him. It was truly on his shoulders now. All of it.

He looked back to the doors through which Gemini had made her exit, remembering that night he returned from the upper corridor. Having watched those auroras for hours, understanding that their arrival meant the world would never be the same, another door offered him transformation. Petris refused then and there to be intimidated, to be deterred. Resolve gripped him with tenacity, intent on making a hero out of an ordinary man. And that hero…would deliver Teleria into its most prosperous age yet.

That hero…would make them equal with the gods.

Now, with the doors to The Inner Sanctum closing on his first obstacle, Petris stood taller. His shoulders were thrown back. Looking around at his thirty-two High Magi, he saw paladins, prophets, and crusaders. The image of The Archetype appeared in his head, each of the High Magi with their hands held at their forehead, formed into a triangle. Serpents and dragons danced around them.

Ascendance.

That was their lot.

And come gods or disaster…they would achieve it.

Zebran grunted in disappointment. “Very well. Congratulations, Petris. We have much to discuss in this council, it seems. Where do you suggest we start?”

“How about Tjilbrud?” Rin proposed, her Nihen accent pronouncing the first two letters distinct from one another. “I’d like to know how after a thousand years of the man wandering the earth untouched, it suddenly shows up just as these other events are happening.”

“A valid point,” Zebran noted. “May we start there, Archmagus?”

Archmagus. Petris fought back a smile.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “Valid points, indeed. Drogos.” He turned to the Grand Maester beside him. “I confess I am at a loss as well. Do you have anything to offer us on this subject?”

Drogos, standing with hands clasped before him, gave an angled nod of his head. Light from The Sanctum’s few dozen torches reflected like a flash on the old man’s bald pate. Then, he looked up towards the group, licking his lips as he prepared his words.

“Well,” he began carefully, “Tjilbrud technically has claim to Ganzig any time it wishes. Any time it can reach him, at least. The only things keeping it at bay were his absence from his people’s old land — what we now call The Karhai Wastes — and The Triune itself. If Karhala fell, the first did not matter. So…perhaps, the latter has occurred.”

“A sufficient explanation,” Zebran replied, pursing his lips to signal Drogos’ answer had been adequate enough.

“But we’re forgetting the fact that it simply disappeared,” Clara noted, coming forward from the fray. “If Karhala has fallen, and Tjilbrud has claim to Ganzig’s soul…why did it leave? Why not continue until it finally had him? It killed six of us as if it were nothing. What’s dozens more?”

Many reeled at Clara’s stark handling of their fallen kin’s fate. Petris breathed deep to keep his reaction stoic.

“We pressed the attack quite aggressively thanks to Petris and Daria,” Drogos replied.

“Then why has it still not returned?” Clara pressed ardently. “Ganzig has been in a ward, unconscious, for a week. Yet still Tjilbrud has not come for him. We have not sustained another attack despite that beast knowing he is here.”

Rin nodded in agreement, countenance filling with suspicion. “Does it have anything to do with Rirris’ influence?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zebran laughed.

“How is that ridiculous to ask?” Clara argued. “The man comes back to warn us that she’s returned at the same time Tjilbrud has suddenly appeared to pluck him from this world? And while we’re on that subject, how did he know of Rirris’ return?”

“Well, he was in The Hintria,” Daria offered, shrugging. “The auroras have begun to settle there. Perhaps he had an encounter.”

“How?”

“We can get those answers when he wakes,” Petris stepped in. “As those are details only he knows. All else is speculation. For now, we need to consider the threat of Rirris as an immediate priority — on par with The Imperium. Her return could tear this continent apart — us with it. All eyes not on The Imperium must be trained on Minnehil. Contact must be made with their remaining mages — The Menders and Apothecaries: Xenia, Catalyn, and Elle.”

“There are others in Zarad and Oroslou, as well,” Zebran pointed out. “Arcanists and Evokers. We can use them as eyes and ears as well in the southern reaches while our Spellcasters in The Rockanies can serve as a quick reaction force or support for them if needed.”

“Aren’t the Baciu’s visiting Minnehil Palace right now?” Rin added. “They owe this institution a lot — this council, in particular.”

“Great point,” Petris agreed. “Roxanne is likely traveling with at least one high level Mage. We’ll start there and work out towards the others.”

“Yes,” Drogos approved. “We must figure out what’s going on before we do anything more. We cannot act foolishly. Rirris is shrewd. She is angry and out for revenge. If we are too aggressive we risk invoking her cunning. That is not advised.”

Daria, still on the other side of Petris, turned her head and viewed The Grand Maester with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Eyes squinting, head cocked to the side, holding him under scrutiny for several seconds before returning to neutral. Petris saw, though, that something had stirred her mind in The Grand Maester’s comments. Something, to her, did not feel right.

He disregarded it for the moment.

Clara circled back to an earlier subject. “Are we safe from Tjilbrud? For now?”

“I believe so,” Drogos answered. “We will have to be. We must talk to the warlock. He has many of the answers we need.”

The reactions from the council were uneasy. Clara seemed unconvinced, her normally cheerful, freckled face and bright green eyes were fraught with worry. Zebran, Rin, and the others were not far behind.

“But I promise you,” Petris insisted, taking one more step forward and turning round on his heels to view the entire council. “We will not falter in the face of such opposition. This is not the time to fear. This is the time for courage. No weapon formed against us — whether of the gods or men — shall prosper! Our enemies’ thirst for vengeance will not avail them!”

“Yes. Yes,” came concurrence from the group.

“This is our time,” his voice lowered. “Our time.”

“For the fallen.” Zebra smiled.

“For the world,” Petris finished. Then, sighed. “Let us conclude there for now, with the understanding that we will reconvene as necessary, in emergency capacity, to deal with these crises as information comes to us.”

“Agreed,” several replied.

“Good.” Petris brought his hands to his forehead, forming them into a triangle. “The infinite in me, sees and honors the infinite in all of you.”

The High Magi followed suit, bowing to him in the old tradition — one that Gemini has relaxed under her tenure.

“The infinite in us, sees and honors the infinite in you.”

At the bottom of their bow, the four, somewhat mobile ghosts appeared. Kasia, Elis, and the horse were littered between him and the others in the center of the circle, their blood and guts staining The Cosmos.

And I see and honor the infinite in you.

Blessed be your souls.

But still…Petris heard screams.