OoOoO

A secret changed the world. It was nothing as grand as a covert political alliance, nor so insidious as a plot to commit murder. The nation of Goran had more than enough history behind its royal house to render such things mere footnotes in time. This was a family secret, conceived on a fresh spring night as the nightingales sang in the gardens of Vaelona.

            Vaelona was, and still is, widely considered to be the crown jewel of culture in the west. Its pristine streets, ornate architecture, and affluent populace made it a haven for those of refined tastes. Here the nobility reigned supreme, second only to the might of the ruling Amenthis dynasty itself, far away in Amenthere, the capital of Goran. Most notable and influential among all the noble families were the Tremaris, Iralar, and Saurivic families. To bear the heraldry and name of one of Vaelona's premier three families was to have the world at your feet.

Some matters, however, give no consideration to wealth or class. Rosarin Saurivic was dying. All of the Saurivic family's wealth and status had proven useless to save the wife of its scion. Healer after healer had been sent for over the past several weeks. Not a one succeeded in stemming the pooling of fluid in Rosarin's lungs. Her gasping coughs filled every corner of the estate. Even the crickets in the hedges fell silent, overshadowed as sorrow descended upon the Saurivic estate.

Through a windowsill framed by flowering ivy, Jahaelis, Rosarin's husband and the eldest child of Lord Jalborn Saurivic, paced the sickroom in anxious circles. His usually well-groomed brown hair jutted up at odd angles where he had shoved his hands through it. Dark stubble shadowed his pointed chin and high cheekbones. The velvet waistcoat and vest Jahaelis wore were the same he had slept in the night before. 

"Useless, they're all useless!" Jahaelis exclaimed, the panic ringing clear in his voice. "Father, I thought you said the last healer came recommended from Castle Armathain itself?"

             "They did."

Jalborn Saurivic sat in a large green armchair, directly facing the bed where his daughter-in-law languished. Even as he aged, the head of the Saurivic family remained tall and hale. His clear brown eyes watched Jahaelis pace overtop of laced fingers, their sharp focus in defiance of his cloud-white hair and brows.

"Then what are we to do?" Jahaelis exploded, his cry ringing off of the gilded ceiling. "Father, I can't just stand here and watch her die. I won't!"

"What you won't do is help with all of your shouting," Tyene Saurivic said crossly from her place at the bedside.

All dark colors and sharp angles, like her brother, Tyene was usually the voice of practicality. The tight sleeves of her heavily embroidered gown were turned up to the elbows, badly crushing the delicate fabric and leaving red marks on Tyene's skin. Frowning, she dabbed at Rosarin's fevered brow for the thousandth time with a damp cloth. "She's still coughing up foam."

"Jahaelis." Jalborn sighed, an unusual show of fatigue from the old nobleman. They had been up with Rosarin all day and all the night before. "You heard the healer; she has water in her lungs. There is nothing we can do to save a person from drowning from within."

A sudden sharp gasp stole everyone's attention as Rosarin jerked on the bed. Jahaelis came to his wife's aide quicker than a thought. Together with Tyene, they rolled their charge onto her side to clear her airways.

Dark golden hair clinging to her forehead in damp locks, Rosarin's thin, bony frame shook with coughs. The silken nightgown she wore was stained with sweat, as were the sheets. Dark circles like smudges of ash stood out against the grey of her cheeks. Even Jahaelis's croons of encouragement brought no spark to her contorted face.

When finally the fit subsided, Jahaelis and Tyene carefully lowered Rosarin back to rest. The fact that they were even caring for the stricken woman themselves was a grim testament to her condition. In Goran, it was believed that only family must handle the dying. For strangers to attend to a person in their final moments was the gravest act of abandonment and neglect. Tyene had insisted that the servants be dismissed from Rosarin's care after she started coughing up blood. Jahaelis would have fought his sister harder on her pessimism if he hadn't wanted so badly to be at his wife's side.

"I won't let her die."

Jahaelis's face was set, determined. He stared down at Rosarin with an almost fanatic intensity that smoldered in his dark eyes like burning coals.

"People die," Tyene snapped at her brother. "Even people as young and beautiful as Rosarin."

"I won't let her die," Jahaelis repeated.

"Healers can only do so much, Jahaelis." Jalborn stood, preparing to handle an outburst if need be. He faced his firstborn with soothing caution, as one would a wounded animal. "They cannot perform miracles."

At the last word, Jahaelis looked at his father strangely. For a moment Tyene worried he might even strike Jalborn. Then Jahaelis abruptly turned and rushed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Tyene called out after him.

Jahaelis did not pause or look back. He rushed down the marble steps toward the foyer so quickly his feet nearly slipped. The only thing on his mind was the rumor he had heard earlier in the week from a city archivist.

"To find a miracle."

OoOoO

Tomur, a Blue Obad of Goran, and servant to King Mahaedron of the Amenthis dynasty, stood patiently awaiting his librarian guide. His salt-and-pepper beard rose and fell as he lapsed into a familiar breathing meditation to pass the time. The dark azure robes that marked him out as an elemental sorcerer were slightly too hot for such a beautiful May evening. Tomur never even considered the desire for lighter garments though. The robes of an Obad were his second skin after more than thirty years in Goran's Magicol.

The Library of Vaelona was one of the greatest national treasures of Goran. Even Castle Armathain at Amenthere could not rival the Vaelonese trove for its wealth of handwritten, original documents. The constitution of Goran itself was here, penned by  King Amenthis' own hand. Within its rows upon rows of curved cherrywood shelves, spreading out from the central rotunda like ripples, the Library of Vaelona preserved nearly the entire history of the nation.

            That was why Tomur was here. King Mahaedron had dispatched the sorcerer to Vaelona in search of very particular records which had to do with the Magicol itself. Tomur had been stunned when the document in question was not to be found within the Magicol's own formidable library. A further search of the castle archives had turned up nothing.

At last, defeated, High Obad Lirien had been forced to send Tomur out to Vaelona in search of the records. Lirien and Maheadron had both hinted at the contents of the documents to Tomur before he left. If what the king and the High Obad implied were true, it could have dramatic consequences for the future of their kind at the right hand of the throne.

            Now, waiting for the rather fidgety librarian who was to be his assistant to return, Tomur attempted to contain his uncertainties. Casting his eyes to the library ceiling, he marveled at the beauty of the paintings across the great dome.  First King Amenthis was there, as were his noble siblings, Aryna and Anders. The three were depicted in exquisite detail, gold paint lining their clothes and eyes. Before them, the great serpents, giants, ghosts, and dragons of old were scattered.

It was the Amenthis Three who led humans to rise up and conquer the land, making Goran safe for civilization to spread. The documents Tomur sought might just reveal a missing piece to the founding tale. The record in question had been written by Taebor Saurivic, youngest (and illegitimate) son of First King Amenthis, hundreds of years ago upon the eve of his father's first victory. If it was not in the library at Castle Armathain, then perhaps Taebor had brought the document here with him to Vaelona, the city that he himself founded.

            The quiet hum of the library was abruptly shattered when the main doors behind Tomur flung open. Two guards rushed forward from their alcoves on either side of the entrance to accost the intruder. It was a lone man wearing fine clothes and a look of desperation.

            "Obad, help me!" the man cried, rushing straight at Tomur.

The library guards tried to catch hold of the nobleman's arms to pull him back from the startled sorcerer. Before they could lay a hand on him though, he threw himself to his knees at Tomur's feet.

            "Please, I beg you to help me."

             Tomur's memory prickled, and he recognized Jahaelis Saurivic, eldest child and heir of old Jalborn. The Saurivic family was one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Vaelona, and its members often made appearances at court in Amenthere. For Jahaelis to humble himself like this in public was quite beyond imagining.

            "Lord Jahaelis, you are causing a scene. If you will please let us escort you to-" One of the guards tried to put a hand on Jahaelis's shoulder. Jahaelis rounded on the man and drew back as if to strike. Tomur caught Jahaelis's wrist just in time to prevent violence.

            "I can see that this is a matter of some urgency. If you will excuse me..." Tomur nodded to the librarian, who had finally come scuttling back. "...I will return after speaking to Lord Jahaelis outside."

            Leaving the perplexed library patrons and staff inside, Tomur guided Jahaelis out with a firm grip on his upper arm. The night air greeted them with the scent of peonies and perfume. Tomur continued to walk until they were a safe distance from the library doors. The light of a stained-glass lantern cast blue and gold patterns across Jahaelis's tight face in the dark.

            "Now then, this must concern life and death itself to warrant such an entrance."

            Tomur's light, airy tone did nothing to calm the young lord. If anything, Jahaelis only become more agitated.

            "It does, Master Tomur, it truly does. My wife, Rosarin, she..." Jahaelis had to pause and swallow hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "She is dying. None of the healers we've sent for can do anything for her. You must help me. Help her."

            "I am very sorry for your wife's condition." Tomur folded his hands into his wide sleeves, settling back on his heels. "But I am no healer, not even a village High Elder. I doubt there is anything that I could do for your wife, besides offer my condolences."

            "Spirits take your condolences! My wife is drowning from within, that is what the healers told us. Her lungs are filling with water, stealing her voice, choking her breath."

            Jahaelis's last words trailed off into a sob, and now Tomur understood why the nobleman had come searching for him. The Blue Obad glanced furtively toward the library steps before answering in a hushed murmur.

            "You do not know what you are asking, Lord Jahaelis. The magic of the Obads is elemental, not meant for healing. Such a request would, without question, be rejected out of hand by the High Obad."

            Jahaelis stared hard at Tomur, the desperation in his eyes burning straight through the older man.

            "You are not the High Obad, Master Tomur, and I am begging you. Please, I'll do anything, please just try. We have no one else to turn to."

            "Death comes to us all," Tomur said gently. "We all must take our last breath sometime, whether that be today or fifty years from now."

            Jahaelis's face hardened into stone. "What about a child who has yet to take even their first breath? Please...Rosarin is pregnant."

             "I see."

            Tomur stood silent for a time in the colored lamplight. The flickering candle cast shadows across the early network of lines that were beginning to weather the Blue Obad's face. Being an Obad in service to the king, Tomur had never had a family of his own flesh and blood. He had students though, and in his own way loved the young Ovates like surrogate children.

            Jahaelis was just about to give up hope when Tomur took a long, deep breath.

            "Very well, Jahaelis. I will see what, if anything, my magic can do for your wife. In return though, you must do two things for me."

            "Anything."

            Tomur nodded, satisfied. "Firstly, you must permit me access to your family archives. It just so happens that what I have come to Vaelona seeking is most likely to be found within the Saurivic library. If I do find the document, you will permit me to take it back with me to Amenthere, no questions asked."

            "Of course, take whatever you like!" Jahaelis looked relieved that the first requirement should be so small and insignificant seeming of a request. 

            "Second, and far more importantly, you will never speak of my actions this night to another living soul. You and your family must all swear to utter secrecy. Tell others that your wife made a miraculous recovery, if we should be so lucky to have a positive outcome. If I ever hear so much as a whisper about magic from the Saurivic family, before I am likely thrown in prison, or worse, I will make certain that you regret this conversation forever. The same applies even if Rosarin dies."

            "I understand," Jahaelis said solemnly. "You have my word, Master Tomur. I swear by my honor and my family name that no one shall ever know of the events of tonight, ever."

OoOoO

Tyene and Jalborn both turned sharply as the door latch slid open. Rosarin's condition had only worsened since Jahaelis's abrupt departure, and Tyene put a hand to her heart in relief. Both she and her father had feared that Rosarin would die in Jahaelis's absence. That relief quickly turned to confusion when Jahaelis entered the sickroom with a blue-robed Obad behind him.

            "Thank the stars you came back." Jalborn rose from his seat and put his hands on his son's shoulders. Father and son shared a brief moment of understanding before Jalborn turned his attention to their guest. "Master Tomur. This is an unexpected honor."

            "Lord Jalborn, it has been too long. Although I wish better circumstances than these had brought me under your family's roof tonight."

            Tomur exchanged the traditional Vaelonese greeting, pressing the pads of their index and middle fingers to their lips, and then touching their fingertips together. Jalborn was more than a decade the Blue Obad's senior, but still loomed nearly a head above Tomur.

            "Lady Tyene." Tomur likewise greeted Tyene. Tyene remained at Rosarin's bedside, but nodded politely from across the room.

            "Why have you come here, Master Tomur?" Tyene's sharp brown eyes accosted her brother, demanding answers. "This is a house of sickness, and not fit for hosting guests."

            "That is precisely why Jahaelis asked me to come."

            Jalborn looked sharply at Tomur. "Is such a thing even possible?"

            "I cannot say. We Obads have never dabbled in the healing arts before, at least not in recorded history. Jahaelis made a very compelling case though." Tomur looked to the bed where Rosarin lay unconscious, her breaths short and shallow. "She could not have wished for a more devoted husband."

            "There are two conditions, Father," Jahaelis began to explain.

            Once Jalborn had acquiesced to granting Tomur unrestricted access to the family archives, and vows of silence had been extracted from both him and Tyene, Tomur assessed his task. He could hear the watery gurgle behind each of Rosarin's labored gasps. Poor thing, he clucked to himself. Small wonder for Jahaelis's desperation; this really was the end for both mother and unborn child if nothing were to be done.

             Jahaelis, Tyene, and Jalborn sat across the room, their eyes fastened on Tomur as he circled the bed. No one spoke. The whites of Jahaelis's knuckles showed clearly as he clenched the carven arms of his chair. The candlelight flickered, casting Rosarin's face into shadows. Was that the outlines of a skull's grimace Tomur saw lurking just beneath the noblewoman's lovely visage?

            There was no time for further stalling. If Tomur was to act, it must be now. Ignoring the prickling of his conscience telling him that this was wrong, Tomur took a deep breath and let his eyelids flutter shut. In mere moments the experienced Obad fell deep into the trance used by all Obads for spell casting. They learned its technique from a young age, as well as its necessity. But had it always been so? The document Tomur sought here in Vaelona might say otherwise. What that would mean for Goran's Magicol, Tomur did not know. Such knowledge could either free the Obads, or unleash them on an unsuspecting world.

            Holding out his hands palms down over Rosarin's prone body, Tomur began to hum, low and quiet in the back of his throat. It was a droning sound, like a beehive or ocean waves. There was no melody, only the single, steadying tone.

            As Tomur hummed, the air beneath his outstretched fingertips began to ripple and wave. Tyene let out a sharp gasp and dug her nails into Jahaelis's forearm. Jalborn watched with an intensity that rivaled his son's. The ripple of air stretched downward and outward, settling across Rosarin's chest like an invisible mantle.

            At first nothing seemed to happen. The droning went on, and the air in the room became thick and humid. Then a change came over Rosarin. Her cheeks took on color again, shedding their grey hue. They also shrunk inward, shriveled almost. The once full, pink lips became thin and dry, and even the very sweat from her brow evaporated in an instant. Rosarin Saurivic looked very much alive once again, but also partially desiccated, mummified.

            "Stop!"

Jahaelis sprang to his feet, reaching out toward Tomur. Abruptly, Tomur dropped his hands, his trance broken. The Blue Obad looked just as surprised as the Saurivic family when he saw what his magic had wrought.

"What have you done to her?!" Jahaelis cried. He ran to his wife's side, concern and horror masking just the tiniest glimmer of hope. Tyene let out another little gasp and put her hands to her mouth.

"Wait." Jalborn blocked any further cries of protest with a single, authoritative word. "Wait. Does she live?"

            Putting aside his shock for a moment, Jahaelis leaned in close above Rosarin. Her skin was parched, flaking around her mouth and hairline. He couldn't hear anything. Then Rosarin's bright blue eyes flew open.

            "Rosarin, can you hear me?"

            Jahaelis's voice shook with every word. Tyene's hands still remained tightly clamped over her mouth, her eyes wider than the buttons on Jalborn's surcoat.

            "Ja...lis..."

            Rosarin's voice was hoarse, like someone parched for water in the highest heat of summer. Her lips cracked when she spoke, and she tentatively licked them. There was no soothing moisture on her tongue though. She drew in a long breath, which went in cleanly with no trace of the watery gurgle and racking cough that had plagued her for weeks.

            "Tomur, what have you done?"

            Jalborn's question held no accusation. Still, the head of the Saurivic family's gaze bored into Tomur like an augur. It took a moment for Tomur to gather himself enough to give a coherent answer.

            "I drew the water out from her lungs. You must understand, elemental magic is not precise, and very hard to produce exact results." He held out his hands helplessly. "I did what I could."

            "You drew the water out from all the rest of her as well!" Tyene exclaimed. Jalborn silenced his daughter with a sharp wave of his hand.

            "She will live though?" he asked.

            "Yes, she will live."

            Jahaelis, who had been hunched over his wife, whispering in her ear, straightened up. He had the haunted look of a man who has made a deal with dragons.

            "And what of the child?"

            Tomur attempted a ghost of a smile. "The child will live as well, assuming nothing else goes ill before Rosarin reaches her ninth moon. No one will die in this household tonight."

            "Then you have done what I asked of you." Jahaelis straightened his vest and smoothed his skewed hair. Crossing the room, he offered a hand to Tomur. "You have my thanks, Master Tomur."

            Jahaelis's words were stiff, formal. Still, they were of thanks. Tomur took the offered hand, ignoring the terrified look Tyene was still giving him.

            "Remember the vow of secrecy you all took. Say whatever you must to explain Rosarin and her recovery, but say nothing of me or of magic. Now then, if you would be so kind as to show me to your library?"

            Jalborn himself offered to escort the Blue Obad to the Saurivic family archives. The servants were summoned back to bathe Rosarin and make her more comfortable. Jahaelis gave them a look so forbidding when they entered the room that no one dared comment on Rosarin's withered appearance. Rosarin, for her part, seemed to regain strength with every passing minute. She had even recovered enough by the time the servants came to put her arms around Jahaelis's neck and let him carry her to the bathing room.

            Only Tyene remained in the sickroom once everyone else had gone. Turning down the tight sleeves of her gown at last, she frowned at the red marks on her otherwise unblemished arms. Vaelona was a city of beauty and culture, and no beauty was prized more highly than that of its citizens. Rosarin may be alive, but her life among the upper echelons of Vaelonese nobility was as good as over.

            "I hope you do not regret this one day, Brother."

            Tyene spoke to the empty doorway. Turning away, she went to the window and looked out over the estate gardens. The scent of sickness was everywhere in the room. Tyene undid the latch and threw wide the glass window panes. An evening breeze immediately carried the scent of lilacs in from the bush beneath the window. After so much ugliness, Tyene prayed that Rosarin's baby would be beautiful enough to make up for all of this.

OoOoO