Aven gulped down the bite of stew in his mouth. Was that the fate awaiting him? “But how can a slave roam Akaria freely like she does?”
Regin gave a dark, bitter smile. “Ah, yes, she looks so normal, does she not? I wouldn’t have known it if I hadn’t met another mage slave, years ago. Those Old Ones—they didn’t lock the king up and feed him only bread and water, did they? There were no shackles. No, it wasn’t a physical enslavement. It was an enslavement of the mind. They took over his thoughts. It was his very being they enslaved, and they could make him do their will.”
Aven felt himself go cold.
“And so when the king was finally freed, he turned their magic back on them. As they enslaved his mind, so he ordered to be done to all the other mages,” Regin said in his gravelly old voice, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. “The last Old One, the last conspirator, before they killed him… they set him to the coals in the smithy and then forced him to use his magic one last time. Not to enslave anyone but to make a tool—a brand—that would allow its wielder to enslave, even if they had no magic. The king himself could do it. And probably did.”
Aven found he was holding his breath. He let it out and forced another deep breath in. “Her wound, the wound on her shoulder, that’s how you knew she was a mage slave.”
“Yes.”
“That brand made it?”
“Yes.”
“It never heals.”
Regin shook his head. “Sometimes it’s almost a scar, sometimes it’s bloody, never makes up its mind. The mage slave I knew was a good man; he told me what I know of this.” He sighed and was quiet for a long moment. “So you see, they do not need chains or locks; they are enslaved from inside their heads out.”
Maybe the stew was bad; maybe the idea was sickening. His stomach turned either way. It all made sense now. Was that why the wolves had attacked and turned away? Had his mother figured this out? “And all mages in Kavanar must submit to this?” he grunted through his anger.
“Yes. Their king made it law, not long after the Dark Days. He supposedly didn’t want them getting out of control again. But some say it was more than that. Some say he wanted their power to be his alone, and mages were too powerful to tolerate as rebels. And so instead, he found a way to harness their power for his own ends. An excuse.”
“Bastard,” Aven whispered. The thought that a king could conceive of enslaving his people, let alone desire to—that wasn’t just disgusting, it made his blood start to boil. Only a weak king or an evil one would be so afraid of rebellion. A good king wouldn’t need to worry, or at least he hoped that was true. No freemages had ever shown up trying to enslave his father, at least not that he knew of. “How corrupt.”
“Well, don’t say that around the church. Or the Devoted. Or in pretty much any part of Kavanar or half of Akaria. The church has grown into an ally of the slavers. They preach righteousness, they celebrate their slavery. Thank King Demikin for keeping them safe. A right crock of shit, if you ask me. No one is asking, though, of course.”
“I am,” Aven said boldly, without thinking. “I am asking.”
There was a little too much meaning in his voice. Regin could hear the arrogance behind those words, the kind of arrogance that came from someone with power. He raised an eyebrow but was wise enough not to press. Their eyes merely met for a moment, acknowledging the trust Aven showed in revealing the tiniest hint at a very large secret.
“Well, if you’re asking, then I’ll tell you. In the Dark Days, mages using magic to enslave others. That was against the Way. How can they possibly argue that someone else using magic to enslave mages is not against the Way? It’s the same damn thing. It’s as simple as that.”
Aven nodded.
“How can a church claim it’s not evil to enslave hundreds of children before they even know they’ve got magic? Seems like the same thing to me, only instead of being done to one stupid, greedy man, it’s being done to hundreds of innocents. Thousands, for all I know.”
Hundreds, Aven thought. Thousands. If Demikin and his fathers before him sought to harness mage power, Kavanar could be building a military force of thousands of mages like Mara, perhaps some even more powerful. By the gods.
Regin continued. “How does that make sense? How does that add up? No preacher or Devoted is going to feed me that nonsense. It’s not the Way of Things, that’s for sure, and no one will ever talk me out of that. That king is building up a mighty debt against him, and someday I tell you the Balance will set things right.”
Regin regarded Aven for a long moment. Aven hoped he would go on, but he seemed to be waiting for a response. Aven shrugged a little and spread his hands before him. “The Way says that it is natural for people to be free. Of course, if they go against the Way, everything goes out the window. I guess that’s how these slavers justify their actions, not that I agree.”
“Who gets to say what is against the Way, or what is a just punishment once you’ve gone against it? Who gets to judge?” Regin spat. “Let me ask you something—did your magic feel against the Way? Did it feel wrong? Could you hear that little voice in your heart telling you not to use it?”
Aven snorted. “No. It feels… so far from wrong. I’ve never felt so right in my life.” He paused. “How can they justify punishing hundreds or thousands of mages for the sins of a few?” He shook his head, feeling a dark mixture of despair and fury.
“Don’t know,” Regin said. “I suppose they no longer need to justify because no one’s questioning them. Except us in this little tent.” Regin grinned. “Kavanar’s pretty much gotten away with it for this long. Those poor mages must follow their orders; from within their minds they are compelled.”
So, it was just as it sounded, really. She was a mage, therefore she was a slave. She belonged to another and had to follow the whims of another—like kidnapping the prince of a foreign land. This is what she meant about not having a choice. This was why they couldn’t just stay in the forest as chipmunks forever. This was why she could not settle things peacefully. She was compelled, as fully and completely as anyone could be compelled, by magic. Her choices were not her own.
No, it couldn’t be. Just as Regin said, it was so wrong, so against the Way of Things. How had the Balance not righted itself already? How many decades had this gone on? There had to be some way to right the situation—to fix things—to make her whole again.
Regin gave a dark, bitter smile. “Ah, yes, she looks so normal, does she not? I wouldn’t have known it if I hadn’t met another mage slave, years ago. Those Old Ones—they didn’t lock the king up and feed him only bread and water, did they? There were no shackles. No, it wasn’t a physical enslavement. It was an enslavement of the mind. They took over his thoughts. It was his very being they enslaved, and they could make him do their will.”
Aven felt himself go cold.
“And so when the king was finally freed, he turned their magic back on them. As they enslaved his mind, so he ordered to be done to all the other mages,” Regin said in his gravelly old voice, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. “The last Old One, the last conspirator, before they killed him… they set him to the coals in the smithy and then forced him to use his magic one last time. Not to enslave anyone but to make a tool—a brand—that would allow its wielder to enslave, even if they had no magic. The king himself could do it. And probably did.”
Aven found he was holding his breath. He let it out and forced another deep breath in. “Her wound, the wound on her shoulder, that’s how you knew she was a mage slave.”
“Yes.”
“That brand made it?”
“Yes.”
“It never heals.”
Regin shook his head. “Sometimes it’s almost a scar, sometimes it’s bloody, never makes up its mind. The mage slave I knew was a good man; he told me what I know of this.” He sighed and was quiet for a long moment. “So you see, they do not need chains or locks; they are enslaved from inside their heads out.”
Maybe the stew was bad; maybe the idea was sickening. His stomach turned either way. It all made sense now. Was that why the wolves had attacked and turned away? Had his mother figured this out? “And all mages in Kavanar must submit to this?” he grunted through his anger.
“Yes. Their king made it law, not long after the Dark Days. He supposedly didn’t want them getting out of control again. But some say it was more than that. Some say he wanted their power to be his alone, and mages were too powerful to tolerate as rebels. And so instead, he found a way to harness their power for his own ends. An excuse.”
“Bastard,” Aven whispered. The thought that a king could conceive of enslaving his people, let alone desire to—that wasn’t just disgusting, it made his blood start to boil. Only a weak king or an evil one would be so afraid of rebellion. A good king wouldn’t need to worry, or at least he hoped that was true. No freemages had ever shown up trying to enslave his father, at least not that he knew of. “How corrupt.”
“Well, don’t say that around the church. Or the Devoted. Or in pretty much any part of Kavanar or half of Akaria. The church has grown into an ally of the slavers. They preach righteousness, they celebrate their slavery. Thank King Demikin for keeping them safe. A right crock of shit, if you ask me. No one is asking, though, of course.”
“I am,” Aven said boldly, without thinking. “I am asking.”
There was a little too much meaning in his voice. Regin could hear the arrogance behind those words, the kind of arrogance that came from someone with power. He raised an eyebrow but was wise enough not to press. Their eyes merely met for a moment, acknowledging the trust Aven showed in revealing the tiniest hint at a very large secret.
“Well, if you’re asking, then I’ll tell you. In the Dark Days, mages using magic to enslave others. That was against the Way. How can they possibly argue that someone else using magic to enslave mages is not against the Way? It’s the same damn thing. It’s as simple as that.”
Aven nodded.
“How can a church claim it’s not evil to enslave hundreds of children before they even know they’ve got magic? Seems like the same thing to me, only instead of being done to one stupid, greedy man, it’s being done to hundreds of innocents. Thousands, for all I know.”
Hundreds, Aven thought. Thousands. If Demikin and his fathers before him sought to harness mage power, Kavanar could be building a military force of thousands of mages like Mara, perhaps some even more powerful. By the gods.
Regin continued. “How does that make sense? How does that add up? No preacher or Devoted is going to feed me that nonsense. It’s not the Way of Things, that’s for sure, and no one will ever talk me out of that. That king is building up a mighty debt against him, and someday I tell you the Balance will set things right.”
Regin regarded Aven for a long moment. Aven hoped he would go on, but he seemed to be waiting for a response. Aven shrugged a little and spread his hands before him. “The Way says that it is natural for people to be free. Of course, if they go against the Way, everything goes out the window. I guess that’s how these slavers justify their actions, not that I agree.”
“Who gets to say what is against the Way, or what is a just punishment once you’ve gone against it? Who gets to judge?” Regin spat. “Let me ask you something—did your magic feel against the Way? Did it feel wrong? Could you hear that little voice in your heart telling you not to use it?”
Aven snorted. “No. It feels… so far from wrong. I’ve never felt so right in my life.” He paused. “How can they justify punishing hundreds or thousands of mages for the sins of a few?” He shook his head, feeling a dark mixture of despair and fury.
“Don’t know,” Regin said. “I suppose they no longer need to justify because no one’s questioning them. Except us in this little tent.” Regin grinned. “Kavanar’s pretty much gotten away with it for this long. Those poor mages must follow their orders; from within their minds they are compelled.”
So, it was just as it sounded, really. She was a mage, therefore she was a slave. She belonged to another and had to follow the whims of another—like kidnapping the prince of a foreign land. This is what she meant about not having a choice. This was why they couldn’t just stay in the forest as chipmunks forever. This was why she could not settle things peacefully. She was compelled, as fully and completely as anyone could be compelled, by magic. Her choices were not her own.
No, it couldn’t be. Just as Regin said, it was so wrong, so against the Way of Things. How had the Balance not righted itself already? How many decades had this gone on? There had to be some way to right the situation—to fix things—to make her whole again.
