Leo woke up the next day ready to go. The weekend seemed long, but here he was on the second day, washed and walking to the farm, even though the sun was still trying to creep its way over the trees.
“Already working?” Leo didn’t know why he was so shocked. He knew Danais took his job seriously, but still, the sun was only just managing to shed some light on the fields.
“Yes. I suggest you go out and get to work unless builders are afraid to get their nails dirty.” Leo didn’t even dignify Torak with a glare. If any of Salinor’s people were accustomed to getting dirty, it was the builders. It was a running joke that one could only tell what a Mironian looked like after he washed off the dirt. Leo’s direct dismissal of the comment only appeared to make it even funnier to Torak, so Leo thought it best to leave the laughter behind as fast as possible.
As he walked out across the fields, for the first time he realised just how large the farm was. It was no wonder it could supply the town and the closest parts of the city of Leanor. It was even harder to believe that all this land was halfway up the side of a small mountain. The climb up from the town was so easy that sometimes one forgot that most of Atorath was way above sea level, though not as high as most mountains in the region. It took him a while to find Danais, and when he did, Danais wasted no time in showing him the most efficient way to get a potato out of the ground. By the time the sun was in full bloom, Leo realised that he couldn’t survive the sun with his shirt on. It wasn’t so much that it was that hot; it was much hotter in Mironi, but the work made the shirt a burden. His pants were okay, but the shirt he wore just wasn’t equipped for the gruelling work, and he was bound to rip it to shreds.
“I’m glad that you came.”
“You mean my arms are bigger, and hanging sacks over my shoulders makes for quick work.”
Danais let out a good laugh. “True. However, you’re good company, even if we haven’t said much so far.”
“So how does lunch work on the farm?”
“A cart travels around with bread, and there are carts of water around the fields. Bread serves as energy. Too much real food tends to make us too satisfied, and we don’t feel like working.”
Leo smiled at that. He was raised as a builder, so he understood the need for energy food rather than filling food.
“Usually there’s a very light meat stew as well, so you get your meat and bread. Uncle treats us well. Considering the pay of a peasant, it helps to not have to bring your own food. I hear most farmers aren’t so generous.”
“They aren’t. That would explain why the workers here are so happy.”
“So tell me about Ronilas.”
“Ronilas?”
“Yes.” Leo was impressed. Danais clearly seemed to have an interest in learning more about his own people. Maybe it was just a phase of his youth that the boy was coming out of. In any event, Danais had chosen him to be the one to tell him. This pleased Leo very much.
“Ronilas was an exceptional woman. She was good in everything that each province is known for.” They off-loaded some potatoes then headed back to their spot before Leo continued. The potato carts followed the workers in each row and left when full, to be replaced by other carts. “She taught her children these skills and each excelled in a different one. She was also an excellent seamstress, which gave her good standing in a magician-ruled world.”
“Good standing?”
“There wasn’t equality through the land during that time. There were magicians and peasants. Everyone not a magician was lower class. And Atorath was the only province without any native magicians. Occasionally, there were a few people so good at what they did that the magicians gave them a certain amount of status in the realm.”
“How did she teach her children such skills? I thought it was unlawful for none-magicians to learn combat and writing back then.”
“It was. But one of her uncles on her mother’s side—her mom was part Keldonian, Ronilas was full Atorathian—was born a magician. In those days, magicians were immediately sent to schools in the area and cut off from their less worthy families so much that they didn’t even recognise them in later years. Ronilas’ uncle, however, never forgot his family. He kept in touch with all his non-magician relatives, and a few generations down Ronilas was born. There was something about her that made him go beyond just keeping in touch and secretly providing for his family. He taught her.
“It wasn’t easy work; he had to do it in secret. But she was amazingly adept at all he knew, so he encouraged friends he trusted to also teach her what he could not. Ronilas then taught these skills to her children. The eldest, Stran, was the sculptor. He was very good with his hands, and he would wield them as weapons. The second, Nera the daughter, was the assassin. She had a keen eye for detail. She was exceptionally good at stealth, unarmed combat and all forms of weaponry. And the last, Atora, was the hunter. He could track anything. Ronilas kept her talents well hidden but enforced them through the guise of a seamstress. Wisdom was by far her greatest talent.”
“How so?”
“When she would get invited into the homes of the rich, they would naturally hold important conversations while she measured and consulted with them on colours and material. She would manipulate them into doing things that would benefit the less fortunate in such a way that they wouldn’t dare hold her accountable, because it would admit they were not smarter than a peasant. And an Atorathian at that.”
“But they would’ve figured it out. Why keep using her?”
“Simple vanity. They wanted her work so badly that they were willing to sacrifice the chance of being used. You dropped a potato. Sometimes she also helped them with political endeavours as well, so the meetings also worked to their benefit. She’s the only peasant in that time recorded to have gained the trust of the magicians in such a way; they used the guise of seamstress much the same way she did.”
“So they valued her much in the way that we can now be guards or protectors for the magicians.”
“Yes. The best Atorathians, especially those trained as assassins by the Mironians, are resistant to the most powerful of magics. It also helps them to track other magicians, either to kill them or use them to sense trouble when it comes. And it is notoriously hard for anyone but an Atorathian to track an Atorathian—and even harder to track a Mironian, which is why they make the best assassins. Mironians are exceptional at being able to get into and out of a situation without leaving even a magical trace —let alone a human trace.”
“So magicians and Atorathians, though they can be enemies, have found a way to work together. Magic has its uses, and our gifts seem to blend well with that.”
“Exactly.”
“So what is different now than when she did it?” Leo decided not to answer. He was willing to give the boy all the answers, but Danais had to learn how to figure things out on his own if he was ever going to get through his impatience. Leo remained calm and impassive through Danais’ tantrum and then dug in silence for a few moments after.
“The Tyrant.”
“Yes. Do you know why?”
“Well, I guess now it’s not so much just serving internal politics as just the need to be alive.”
“Yes. With the Tyrant, the need for our services on both sides helps to both protect the good and bad people from revealing what side they are on. It’s those that aren’t obviously left or right that you have to worry about, and Atorathian guards help keep the secrets, should they get out, by being the fastest to track enemies. Mironians are usually called in when even more secrecy is needed, because they are the best at not being discovered. They are the best at hiding their magical aura because it is a necessity for stealth. Even Atorathians find this makes them hard to track.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. But only those trained as assassins. To hide your aura is one thing, but to hide it still shows enough that you are a magician. The assassins actually appear to be human. They are the only ones able to make it hard for Atorathians to track them, which is a feat in itself. Even the Tyrant has his own hunters.”
“We would never serve the Tyrant,” Danais said. Leo could see that Danais strongly doubted that. No doubt he was going through a mental struggle, realising that it wasn’t just Atorathians but all of Salinor was willing to work for the Tyrant. Skills were up for sale. The better one was, the more money one made. For some, whom one worked for was irrelevant. It had to be eating him to think that his own people would sell their skills to serve evil. Equality clearly had its downfalls. Leo was contemplating saying that they succumbed to the most extreme of magic. The resistance could only go so far after all. “Don’t do it. Don’t lie to me.” Leo could see the anger that had risen on Danais’ face and decided to move on.
“So I told you Atora’s story yesterday. And now you’ve asked for Ronilas’. After they reached the top of the mountain. . .”
***
“Would you allow my mother the chance to save herself?” Atora asked. Salinor considered this. She decided there was only one answer. “Yes. I commission her to weave my daughter a dress. And she is to use the material of the gods.” Atora knew that only the gods could work the material. Setting this task was just a more elaborate ‘no’ like the one he had previously been given. Still, he journeyed home and relayed the message. Salinor had only given her three days to do this task. On the night before the first day, Salinor’s Phoenix arrived with the material to be used. All three children were present at the time. She asked the Phoenix for the whole week. Salinor, thinking it an impossible task, granted the extra days, speaking through the Phoenix.
As the bird left, Atora and Nera fled the house. Ronilas took the fabric and slept with it for three days then toiled over it for the last four days. On the last day, a big ceremony was being held on the island. The island’s name wasn’t Leanor then. The Gods were sure this would be a death celebration. The humans were just intrigued by the entire idea that another human was commissioned to do a work for the gods. No one knew if she had succeeded, but everyone doubted she could do it. No mortal could work with the material of the gods.
“I see you have come bearing gifts.”
“Yes. My apologies for capturing your Phoenix.” The Phoenix is by far the hardest animal to catch by humans. They always seem to disappear right before one can entrap them. “But I needed it for your gift. My son is an excellent hunter, and my daughter has eyes better than any mortal. He tracked him, and she took it down. With my youngest son’s memory of your horse from atop the mountain, I commissioned my eldest son to carve a life-size likeness of you atop the horse with the phoenix perched behind you. I assure you no permanent damage was done to the Phoenix.”
“How did you handle the yellow stone? It has never been done before. None of the buildings here are built with it.”
“I assumed that some of the power of the gods would be imprinted on a Phoenix that spent so much time beyond the gate. It was a very hard spell to work, but a magician friend of mine managed to give my children power just long enough, under my eldest’s guidance, to complete the statue. I doubt it will ever happen again unless another creature that has spent more than a lifetime beyond the gate should happen upon us.”
Salinor could not hide her amazement. She was thoroughly pleased—not pleased enough to spare the woman, but definitely to give her the praise due for such a godly gift.
“Am I to believe that is the dress you have in that bag? Or are you stalling because you have failed?” Salinor seemed too confident. Ronilas looked at Leanor and could see that she actually looked broken at the fact that she would be gone. Indeed, it would be a loss for a woman on her last days to be given renewed strength for a week, only to be killed. But there was more. Ronilas was prepared to stake the life that was already on the line, that Leanor was as smitten with her son as he was her. And he could stare directly at her: a feat Ronilas was finding more difficult with each second. Her glow did not bother Atora at all, and he was not overwhelmed with unnerving lust or the need to kill to see more of her beauty. That was often the effect she had on men and women.
“What is your name, mortal?”
“Ronilas.” This Salinor also found interesting. It was, of course, her name in reverse. Maybe that had something to do with why she was so intrigued by this person.
“My mother, though unable to read, was fascinated with any verbal wordplay, puzzle, or game. If she could have written, she would have spelt it backwards. As it was, she could only play with the sound of the name.”
***
“Ronilas took the dress and handed it to her son. There were gasps from everyone and a look of complete shock on the face of Salinor. Leanor smiled as Atora brought the dress toward her. She stripped, put on the dress, and only then decided to let down her glow so all could see the gown. The bottom half of the gown seemed to be made of different layers of a sheer blue. As it flowed in the wind, it gave the effect of a rippling ocean. The middle section of the dress was embroidered with the Phoenix: red, blue and purple in more than one shade of each.
There was a laced rope design zagging across the chest. The back was also made of the same solid material as the front, and in the same shade of blue with an extremely detailed depiction of Salinor’s tree, said to be the birthplace of Leanor. The sleeves were solid as well, with the sheer fabric flowing on top of it. The sleeves were loose and widened down the arm, but stopped halfway down Leanor’s thumb. The way the dress sparkled and mimicked flowing water was breathtaking. Salinor then and there decreed that anything of indescribable beauty would be described as “beautiful as Ronilas’ gift to Leanor.”
***
“That would explain why she has the largest temple in the middle of Leanor. Ronilas was the mastermind behind the operation,” Danais stated.
“Exactly.” It was now about an hour after lunch, and the harvesting still didn’t seem to see an end. “She started the Alliance, which was crucial to the change in the land. With the new powers gifted to the people of Atorath—it was called something different back then—she destroyed the magician who poisoned her in hand-to-hand combat. The resistance to magic was the gift of Salinor, and the hunting abilities the gift of Leanor because those were the talents Atora used to follow her.
“Ronilas sent her three children to help recruit for her army while she secretly trained in Atorath. It was the daughter who first noticed that there might be more to the unique talents of each province. She sent a message back to Ronilas, who gave her a name of someone in Mironi so she could talk to them. The magicians did some research and found out that the building skill wasn’t just a natural talent: it was the result of magic. The magicians of the age only took those with exceptional skills for training. As such, they would’ve never thought that some skills were from magicians’ qualities and not just natural.”
“This discovery led to an underground schooling system, along with the underground training for the alliance. So each of the children went through the three provinces to recruit magicians and have them look out for the overlooked magicians.”
“What about the peasants?”
“Sadly, peasants aren’t good at fighting with other powerful humans. They died too easy, and it was risky in war. They could, however, help with things for the Alliance, so they were recruited for such things. Once they had been to all the provinces and scouted all the land, Nera, the daughter, sent word to her mother of the perfect place for the secret location of the Alliance.”
“Nera, stayed for a time in Mironi. This is why they are the best assassins. Those were her skills. So she trained the magicians there in that area, as they were the most adept in all the provinces. Atora stayed in Keldon. That is where the best magical herbs are; Keldonians’ natural skill was healing. He was good at helping the magicians there with understanding how the body works and making good use of the herbs after the magicians explained to him what they were. Domal stayed in Danais. They were exceptionally good at making weapons with magical qualities. And he could help them refine their art.
“Ultimately, once they felt they had trained at least one person well enough to continue training others, they each took a group with them to the secret location to continue training and grow the Alliance. Nera became second-in-command, working from the Alliance headquarters while her mom began to restructure what is now Atorath.”
“So even right from the beginning, it was in secret. I guess it only makes sense. If the ruling magicians knew, they might have tried to stop her plans.”
“Yes. So that is most of the story of Ronilas. Equality began with Atorath, and it was fought hard for. That’s why it’s so sad that we have people in each province thinking they’re better than the rest, looking down on peasants. We’ve strayed so far, especially in Atorath. Here the example, the standard, should be being set instead of falling prey to the same prejudices the rest of the land has succumbed to.” Leo could see that Danais was upset at that last statement, but he had to let him know he disapproved of Danais’ attitude in that area. He was pleased to see that this time Danais didn’t throw a tantrum.
“Thank you for coming today.”
“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.” Danais looked up at him and smiled.
“Everyone’s looking at you like you’re a slab of beef.”
“Bah. Let them look. Hopefully, they’re thinking what you think when you look at me.”
“You’re reading my mind?” Danais was instantly on the defence.
“No. But you just confirmed your unclean thoughts of me.”
“That’s unfair,” Danais said with a pout, getting back to work.
“Unfair?” Leo feigned confusion.
“You baited me. You knew I’d assume you’d read my mind.”
“A man has to have some fun. And you look good when you pout.”
“Ah, so it wasn’t about getting me angry; it was more about the pout after.”
“And the smile after the pout.”
“Just stop talking and fill the sacks,”
Leo did as he was told. He was glad to see that Danais was eager to learn and growing to like him. He was increasingly sinking into his feelings for the boy—so much so that he wanted to tell him of the chance of danger. But he wouldn’t. He had promised Barton that he wouldn’t.
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