Book 8: Chapter 21: Celestial light
Many months and a considerable number of goats later, Martel observed as the year reached solstice again, this time in winter. The hours of light became shorter and shorter until he finally realised that the sun no longer rose. Day had become night. He had lived on the peak from midnight sun to midday darkness. Still, he meditated and felt the magic change, ever so slightly, following its own pattern according to the revolutions of the sun.
In addition, he looked up to see a night sky filled with stars – when the weather allowed it. Often, snow came with such ferocity that he retreated to the cave, bowing to the forces of nature. But during hours without precipitation, he returned to the peak, no matter how bitterly the wind howled to freeze him. As using any magic would interrupt his meditation, he suffered the cold, trying not to let it distract him.
He spent time on his back, gazing up at the stars, wondering if this was part of the requirement. All scholars agreed that they influenced magic and strengthened it, though any knowledge on exactly how seemed lost, if it had ever existed.
During such a moment of stargazing, it happened. Suddenly, the whole night sky became illuminated with flowing sails of light to fill the horizon. Awestruck, Martel forgot about the cold and his physical misery, lying on the rocky ground. He could only stare at this splendour of light that unfolded before him.
He recalled hearing Rolf speak of the lantern of the gods, which at the time, he had dismissed as Tyrian superstition or tall tales. It had never occurred to Martel that it might be something like this.
Belatedly, Martel remembered why he was in this place. He released a pulse of magic to feel his surroundings, and the sensation overwhelmed him. The area seemed bathed in magic, yet at the same time, it felt strange; more than that, it felt like many things at once. Warm like sunlight, cold like death. Power at his fingertips, yet intangible and beyond his grasp.
His breathing slow, Martel sorted through the impressions and slowly wove them together to understand. He felt it at all at once because it was all at once. The moon and the stars in the sky, contributing their light unhindered by the sun. Yet the gods’ lantern in the sky was also light, sent by that same absent sun, which hid beyond the horizon. It was night during day, it was sunlight without sun, joined together with moon and stars. The sensation of magic and the revelation of this truth overwhelmed his body and his mind, but Martel finally knew. Why he had been sent here, and what he was meant to learn.
It was all magic. Day, night, sun, stars, moon, light, darkness, everything was magic. Some was beyond his grasp – as of yet, at least. But the only limitation seemed to be himself and his understanding. He had learned magic as a physical force, shaping elements he could see and feel. Humans were more. They had a mind and a soul beyond physical touch. But magic infused everything, and in turn could effuse from everything. Easy to say, easy to explain, easy to understand – but until this moment, impossible to feel and thereby impossible to truly believe. No more. Martel was entirely alone, but he knew magic would never be the same for him. He could feel the potential within himself, the power ready to be used, on a much higher level than before.
He reached out a hand and let a flame become ignited to hover over his palm. Sun, moon, stars – all was light, all was fire. From a pocket, he took out a gold coin. The metal felt cold, more than was natural, but it no longer felt like death itself, neither to Martel’s physical touch nor magical sense.
Gold was not the antithesis of magic. It was simply its own kind, born of sunlight, unwilling to bend to Martel’s powers – but not necessarily an antagonist either. His flame still hovering in the air, Martel moved the gold coin through the fire. Before, it would have dispelled his simple effect, reacting negatively to the presence of his power. Now, it had no effect. Martel still could not entangle his magic with gold, but nor would the metal anymore hinder his. Two kinds of magic, co-existing, neither troubling the other. With a smile, Martel put the coin away. He had accomplished what he came for. He had fulfilled his task.
Martel rested a little while on the peak as the magnificent display on the night sky disappeared, considering his revelations. He wondered if all Archean mages had thus been able to disregard the presence of gold. Atreus had said nothing to indicate this, but the wily spellbreaker kept more secrets than the Sisters of the Sun.
Regardless, Martel was done. With relief, he began his descent, glad to bid the peak farewell. He would not miss that barren rock, though he could not think ill of it either. The half a year spent living on the mountain had taught him truths about magic that he would never have discovered otherwise. Still, he could not wait to eat something, anything other than goat. Along that vein, getting something else to drink besides meltwater would be wonderful too. Ale, mead, wine, the juice of any fruit, it did not matter. A pity he was so far from civilised lands; it would take him days to reach any kind of village or settlement that might meet his needs. There was the local family living down the mountain, but Martel doubted they had food to spare this deep in winter. The local terrain did not exactly support orchards or grapevines either, leaving it doubtful that they had much variety in terms of beverages. They probably lived off meltwater as well, all year round.
As Martel reached the foot of the mountain, he heard a wolf howl in the distance.