To Save a World Ch. 04

Before anything else, I want to express my deep gratitude to the people who helped me with this chapter. You guys lent me your aid in so many different ways that I can't keep track of them all, and without you this wouldn't have turned out as well as it did. I may have thought of the words, but you were the ones who made the magic come to life.

Thank you, Larry and Janet.

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The White Palace was in a silent, secret uproar.

Granted, the White Palace was always in some kind of an uproar. It was simply impossible for the place to be the center of the magical world and not be right in the middle of some complicated, high-stakes problem one way or another. But this time the crisis really set the ruling people of the city on the edge of their seat. Quite literally.

"Is he not here yet?" Domil Mightarm demanded from the edge of his seat at the round table. He was a man advanced in his years, although each passing day seemed to only sculpt his regality. His features were of a true Syndian, his long, silvery hair falling straight down to his shoulders, framing a face with high cheekbones, a long, haughty nose, and eyes of a freezing blue. The man was a High Talent born from a thoroughly magic-obsessed High Rule family who thinks of their lineage as blood of the gods, and as such Domil has always had the magical strength of many mountains with the matching patience of an active volcano. He glowered like lava even now, imposing his displeasure on the five other people present in the room, staring them down from the distance of his high-backed seat at the round table.

"Are you becoming senile, old man? Do you see that bald head anywhere in this small room? Or do you just like the sound of your own voice so much that you ask about the obvious?" Sarasswena purred from her spot right across the glowering form of Domil, dark brown eyes laughing at him as he visibly turned red with rage at her goading.

"How dare you speak to me like that, you low-born whore-"

"Blah, blah. All I'm saying is; you better suck your impatience up your arrogant ass like the rest of us, because honestly -- and I speak for all of us here -- I'm getting tired of your pathetic whining."

Domil sputtered as his anger seemed to get the better of his speech. That was Domil's major flaw; he was arrogant, impatient, and easily bested by his fiery emotions. Of course, he does have the strength to level mountains to make up for it, but for someone like Sarasswena, his reactions were the single ray of light in these boring meetings.

Besides, this is the only place that she could tease him like this. The Room of Equality, by some ancient, unknown magic that Sarasswena does not care too much about, completely prevents the use of any magic within its vicinity. In this circular room, at the highest point of what is considered to be the most well-preserved relic of the Age of Harmony, all life stands equal.

Well, all except for herself; Sarasswena of the Illusions. She wasn't exactly here.

Sarasswena has always fancied herself as some sort of a court jester, but instead of insulting others for the amusement of a single ruler, she loved aggravating the stuck-up, close-minded, arrogant, walking calamities that virtually rule this side of the world through proxy. She revelled in the fact that she could grate on the nerves of powerful beings like Domil, who would absolutely turn her into dust in a straight fight, and get away with it due to the simple fact that she was, in some ways, just as -- or even more -- powerful than they are.

Where others sat rigidly, formally, at the edge of their seat, Sarasswena lounged; her arms rested easily on the padded support of the dignified chair, her long legs crossed lazily in front of her. Even her mode of dressing seemed designed exactly to spit in the face of formalities, as where others in the small gathering wore ostentatious robes of purple, gold or white, she was dressed in a simple, flowing, long black gown that had no sleeves and a slit almost reaching to the side of her hips, exposing leagues of smooth, warm, chocolate skin.

"You have no right to disrespect me like this, woman!" Domil rallied his outrage, turning to the people around them, "Tell me, brethren, is it right for this lowborn chit to openly disrespect us like this?"

"We're only ever your brethren when you're getting bullied, Domil." A new voice entered the fray. L'Asandre's voice drawled like honey in his exotic Tannian accent, slowly pouring his viscous words into Domil's wounded pride. "Which is quite often, I might add. But if you want my help in fending off little Sarasswena, then it's going to cost you."

L'Asandre Leaguewalker sat upright in his chair on the left of Sarasswena, his back rigid with the ease and poise of nobility so that it seems as though he is lounging even when he sits straight. Sky-blue eyes passively shifted from the two arguing Talents under a mop of curly hair so blonde that it was almost white. Domil growled dangerously in his chair. Sarasswena smirked openly. Honestly, she thought, this old man should've known better than to even notice me at all, bet he never learns his lessons.

"It is time." This time, the voice that intruded in their little banter was calm as still pools of water. No ripples of disturbance could be gleaned from Iobecc's words, as if entities possessing the power to destroy the world as they know it weren't arguing within her immediate vicinity. In fact, Iobecc never appeared to show any emotions at all, in every aspect of her life and not just in her manner of speaking. Sarasswena has never seen the Talent in action, but rumors about her and her peculiar mannerisms abound. She didn't know which was fact and which was conjecture, but everything she's heard has made her very cautious of Iobecc indeed.

"So I guess the speaker is truly absent." Sarasswena noted, glancing at the vacant seat on her right.

"Who's stating the obvious now?" Complained Domil from across her. The woman flashed him a smile that further darkened his countenance.

"We will have to start without him." Iobecc announced unemotionally, "Which would be quite difficult, given that he is the main reason of this discussion. I assume it is the reason why everyone is so anxious."

The atmosphere around the room shifted somewhat drastically. Domil shifted rigidly in his seat, his perpetual glowering seeming to intensify so much that even utterly devoid of Talent and magic the air around him seemed heavy with anger. L'Asandre remained distantly impassive, but the glint in his eyes sharpened as he listened to his fellow Talent's words. Probably seeing an opportunity to make better for himself somewhere in the scenario. Vitaeron, sitting a chair away from Sarasswena's right, looked up from an ancient, crumbly book that he was reading, while Metrael on his right seemed to rouse herself from a vacant-eyed trance. Even Sarasswena, although she didn't exactly abandon her relaxed posture, paid more attention to Iobecc from her seat. The sudden hush that fell upon the room was anxious and thick with expectations.

"Who wishes to open?" Iobecc looked around the table, as she did every time. Although she knew full well that no one aside from her could be bothered to formally open the discussion. "Very well, I shall state the reason why we are all here."

"Five days ago, there was an explosion of magical energy. It was massive." Massive was an understatement. Several dozen of the more attuned Favored from all the Seven Houses of Talent fainted from feeling the scope of the magical energy that was cast. Sarasswena herself staggered on her footing; her real body was walking the short trip from her bed to a table in her quarters when the earthquake-like spell activated. Although she can't be sure, she assumed that the multiple projections she kept everywhere flickered for several seconds due to her sheer surprise.

"The origin was here, somewhere in the White Palace." Iobecc continued. "A thorough investigation has been conducted by all the Houses, but until now nobody can tell exactly where. This day my House began the exploration of the Heart, and I assume everyone will follow shortly."

"Yes," L'Asandre agreed, "My team was right behind yours."

Iobecc nodded. "Not only that, but the nature and purpose of the spell is yet unknown, although it doesn't seem to signify an immediate attack. Nevertheless, I presume no one in this room will rest until they know everything there is to know about this phenomenon. As things stand, though, we are on the limits of what we can achieve at this point in time. I believe it is time to turn the table over to someone with more knowledge than I. Sarasswena?"

Sarasswena jerked her head in surprise. "Yes?"

Iobecc was watching her impassively. The woman swallowed, chiding herself for her unguarded surprise. "What is it, Iobecc?" She further asked, feigning innocence.

"It would do all of us well for you to stop with the pretense. Everyone here knows that you have the widest information network among all of us."

By the damned, the woman cursed, Does she have no subtlety! She stared at Iobecc for a few tense moments while the woman returned her stare with impassive, charcoal-black eyes. Her caution of the woman gave way to irritation. It was annoying to so casually reveal capabilities that she took pains to keep a secret. Granted, almost everyone probably suspected, but they weren't exactly sure -- and there was still a certain advantage in that. Moreover, this time, she wasn't just revealing that she did have a substantial information network; but even a part of the extent of it would surely be in some way uncovered. But so be it. Sarasswena would surely make something of this. She took a quick glance across the table, revealing surprised faces on everyone but L'Asandre, who merely looked approving. Well, that's out now.

"Well," She replied slowly, "What do you want to know?"

"Anything at all." Iobecc responded. Was it just her, or did the woman sound grateful?

Sarasswena thought for a few moments, arranging the information in her head. "It is common knowledge that the Seer has rather peculiar beliefs that he conveys to his House."

"The Calamity." Iobecc nodded. Sarasswena noted that Iobecc, along with everyone else, seemed to be paying a lot of attention to her words. As they should, she thought. They must be gauging how much I could possibly know about their own houses by my information on the Seer's House.

"Yes. A day before the Seer disappeared, he gave counsel to his Favored with regards to this event. I can even tell you exactly what he said. He told them that; 'It is near, we must begin the preparations.'"

"You have eyes and ears that deep within the House of Knowledge!?" L'Asandre couldn't help his surprise. To quote the Seer verbatim in his Favored's council, she must have contacts among the Seer's Favored! Is the security so lax? Are the old scholar's Favored so easily bought? Disturbing thoughts ran through L'Asandre's head as he considered the implications.

Sarasswena had the grace to look guilty. It couldn't be further from the truth. It had taken her months of preparation to infiltrate the House of Knowledge enough to gain significant information, only to know that Tar has known from the very beginning. It was only with his blessing, for reasons unknown, that she was privy to information relayed to his Favored -- although she has a sneaking suspicion that they were only feeding her what they wanted, and that the Seer has far more secretive plans at hand.

"Anyway," She quickly continued to dispel the disturbing silence that filled the room, "The House of Knowledge has made a lot of moves since then, although nothing worth noting except for their peculiarity."

"How do you mean?" Iobecc questioned, her monotone voice somehow sounding deeply interested.

"Well, his House has always been known for hoarding texts and tomes of knowledge, but right now they seem to be stocking up on basic texts; books of languages, arithmetic, and the like. They are buying up large amounts of seeds, timber, grain and precious metals in name, but do not appear to be hoarding them in their strongholds. In fact, they haven't touched them since they've bought them, for some reason. I could say other things, but I'm afraid that they are just as unexplainable, and I can offer no thoughts to shed light on the meaning of their actions."

"Do you not think that this is in connection with the preparation for the Calamity, as the Seer believes?" Iobecc noted, being uncommonly talkative.

Sarasswena shrugged. "It may be so, but that doesn't really answer anything, does it?"

A puzzled moment of silence descended upon the table. Sarasswena knew the feeling well. It would, of course, be easy to dismiss the actions of the Farseer as that of an eccentric old man, or perhaps even of senility. It isn't common, but powerful mages have succumbed to the wear of too many years lived. His whole House could just be abiding by his dying fever-wishes, unable to refuse due to their steadfast loyalty. But a nagging part of her brain said otherwise. Tar was a great Talent, with a love for knowledge and for life. He may not be the most powerful, richest, or most influential -- but he was wildly popular, and engendered a fierce devotion from his Favored and his whole House.

More than that, his particular Talent is one of the most notable even from the past generations of governing Talents; the ability to spread his awareness among the energy of the world, and thus witness events from afar, at will. The ability to glimpse into the past and -- although this was more conjecture than established fact -- the future. Which is where his belief of the Calamity came from. Yet, though it seems to be a significant event to warrant the attention of the world, the old man has been obstinately secretive about it, leading everyone to believe that he was either fabricating a story for popularity, or that the Calamity was somehow an embarrassing mistake that he couldn't take back.

But Sarasswena just could not bring herself to think of the old man like that.

And it wasn't just because she liked the guy, either. His puzzling, dreaming eccentricities, his singular drive for knowledge, and the way he treats everyone equally was actually something difficult to find within the Palace -- where you can swim in politics and everyone else would try to drown you with their egos. No, it was more because even while the old man was indeed strange, Sarasswena has never known him to be unreasonable, or stupid.

She thought for a bit, decided that she might as well tell them all that she knew, since it wouldn't change anything, really. "There is more," she announced. Predictably, everyone's anxious faces turned to her. Not a good sight to see when the only people in the room could decimate small countries by themselves.

"The Farseer was last physically seen entering the Heart, five days ago. He never came back out."

There was a collective intake of breath. "You could have saved us a lot of trouble with this information, Master of Illusions," Iobecc accused. Sarasswena wondered about how the woman managed to seem accusing despite not having any emotions on her pale, round face at all. Everyone seemed as discontented as Iobecc; L'Asandre most of all. He was openly frowning at her.

"I invested significant time and resources into this." He drawled.

It was towards Iobecc that she raised her brow when she answered the unspoken accusation. "And, pray tell, how exactly did I come to have such obligations?"

"Enough with your disrespect, whore!" Domil suddenly slammed his arm on the table, his solid magic-wrought highchair clattering behind him as he surged up on his feet. "You are among equals! You have an obligation to report on things that might affect the Seat of Power!"

"Blah blah blah!" Sarasswena actually laughed, her tinkling voice echoing into the otherwise empty chamber, cutting through the uneasy atmosphere of the room thick enough to swim in. "We're only ever equals when it's convenient for you, Domil! Otherwise, you treat my House like trash! Look at you now, oh noble High Rule of Mightarm, losing your composure because a girl you've so dismissed turned up knowing more than you do!"

Domil Mightarm growled dangerously, his back actually hunched in rage, his eyes holding a dangerous promise of revenge. Sarasswena met his maddened stare gleefully. She's always thought those frozen, deep blue eyes held some madness in them from the first time she saw them, all those years ago.

"Behave yourself, Domil." Came Iobecc's calm reprimand.

"Not until this bitch-"

"Cease." It was the first time Sarasswena heard the small, eerily calm woman let-slip some semblance of irritation, now directed at the tall form of Domil. The enraged Talent cut off his words, the action looking like it was actually physically painful, and glared pure hatred at Sarasswena's smug expression. Of course, the pale woman was probably the only person in the entire world who would dare talk to Domil like that -- Iobecc's House and lineage rests above even the Mightarm's line in terms of prestige, power and wealth.

"Now, can you please continue?" Iobecc nodded at Sarasswena after Domil aggressively regained his seat. Sarasswena wasn't the only one looking at Iobecc with new respect and a hint of fear in their eyes. Thinking quickly -- and very recklessly, Sarasswena replied.

"I won't say anything else until Domil apologizes to me. And shuts up for the rest of the meeting."

"Do not test my patience, girl." The small woman murmured, her low, impassive voice carrying with it a hidden menace.

Sarasswena's smile turned predatory. "In case you weren't listening, I was insulted multiple times by your dog over there. I may be among the lowest Houses in this room, but I have my pride as well, Iobecc. Now that I know you can lord it over that senile old man, I'll take my ego where I can get it. And, I promise that it will be worth your while."

Iobecc stared at her for what seemed to be an impossibly long time, twin orbs of ruthless black regarding her with an inscrutable gaze, short hair -- straight and immaculate as a razor's edge and black as night -- framing her face. Her pale skin was so smooth it looked almost like a doll's. Ageless. Inhuman. Like the essence behind those eyes still saw events from the very beginnings of the world. Iobecc of the First Family could be considering her words, or she could be plotting her murder, or the downfall of her entire House of Illusions. Sarasswena's House is ranked second-to-last, right above Tar's, in terms of assets, war potential, and influence -- so it would be fair to say that it would be a relatively easy task for her. Even Domil would be able to do it, if they didn't fear the world-altering consequences of such an action.

"This will have consequences." The small Talent warned.

"Fuck that." Sarasswena grinned.

"Domil. Apologize." Her voice was freezing; a force of nature -- a blizzard that leaves landscapes barren, glazed with a layer of crystal-ice.

Domil actually choked on his spittle, gagging on his pride. It was a while before he barely managed to utter; "I apologize."

"And shut up." Iobecc added.

Sarasswena beamed a wide, victorious grin.

"Well," She teased, "That wasn't so hard, was it? I'm all for equality, after all." Iobecc looked at her like she was a rock, Domil practically oozed anger and disgust at her like she was walking shit and an affront to everything good and holy, and the remaining faces looked at her like she was insane. L'Asandre was all those, but with a small hint of admiration.