I think I can believe the lad is indeed a journeyman Gearman. Sub-Consul and all that. Wait . . . Gearman. He shot the youth a quick look, thinking quickly. Squeezing Rexei’s shoulders, Alonnen lifted his chin at the faces on his mirror. “As Longshanks so rightfully points out, let’s get back on track, shall we? Now, the prophecies Guardian Saleria shared with us before the Convocation have a few things to say about this point in time, and they’re quite clear.”
“Clear perhaps to you,” the brown-faced Tuassan stated, “but we’re not Mekhanans. The boy talks about guilds, so that strongly suggests the last line of the third verse. What more can you tell us about any relevancies?”
“Yes,” the sandy-haired woman a few frames over agreed. “And the fighting of the demons, that much is clear, based on the suggestion of this outkingdom mage and his bartering with the Mekhanan priests. But of the fighting of one’s doubts, maybe the doubts refer to the current instabilities? Maybe you’ll have to wrest some sort of new kingdom organization out of the chaos?”
“They could try, but if these priests are so used to the power of their previous God backing them, they’re going to want to maintain control any way they can,” Guardian Ilaiea stated. She frowned, tugging on her long, pale cream braid. Alonnen had last seen her daughter, Guardian Serina pulling that same trick when she was worried. The mother firmed her look. “Your best bet is to establish a new God or Goddess, a Patron Deity to seize control away from the priesthood.”
“Finally you say something reasonable and calm,” the black-haired man with the blue viewing lenses muttered, the one named Koro. The others started to argue, and he quickly held up a hand. “Sorry! Sorry . . . it’s just her better-than-us attitude gets on my nerves. She’s right, though. Guardian Alonnen, you need to select a deity and get everyone to worship whatever that is.”
“Guildra.”
Alonnen turned his head quickly, staring at the young man on his side of the mirror conference. “Beg pardon?”
“Guildra,” Rexei asserted, turning to look at Alonnen. “That’s who I’ve been thinking we should’ve had for a Patron Deity. A Goddess, kind and gentle, wise and skilled. She’d be the Patron of the Guilds . . . because it’s the guilds that have consistently given a damn about Mekhanans all this while, when our own so-called Patron and His priesthood clearly have not—and I’ll be damned if I’ll have another bastard male God in charge of this land. Women are the equal of men, and to the Netherhells with the priesthood if they think they can keep us . . . if they can keep us pushing women down any longer.
“No more. By the pricking of my thumb, no more,” Longshanks added firmly, invoking the oath virtually every guild member across the land had given when signing their name in their own blood in the books reserved for presentation at the next—now the current—Convocation of the Gods. Which Rexei Longshanks had undoubtedly given multiple times, given how many guilds the youth had clearly joined, based on the sheer number of medallions alone. “There’s even a symbol out there that’s Hers.”
“Well, that’s the first I’ve heard of this. What symbol?” Alonnen asked. Before the youth could answer, a bell chimed from inside the talker-box mounted on the wall next to the right-hand mirror. Sighing roughly, he shook his head. “Never mind that. It’s something Longshanks and I can discuss off-scrying. The rest of you can chat amongst yourselves about what we now know. I know it’s not much, but at this point, all we can do here in Mekhana is try to spy carefully, and try to impose some sort of order locally . . . and we’ll try to come up with a good Patron Deity as fast as we can. No promises other than that we’ll try.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s suppertime here. I’ll leave the dissection of what this means in relations to the prophecies to the lot of you, and I’ll review the Tower’s recording after we’ve eaten and I’ve had a chance to chat in more depth with Longshanks, here. I had to share what little we know right now with the rest of you, because the lad did pinpoint where it’ll most likely start, but without a God or Goddess, don’t expect any miracles from us just yet. I’ll chat with you all later, so have a good night. Or day, or whatever time it is where you are.”
Tapping the frame of the mirror, he cancelled the connection spell. In an instant, the image flicked away, leaving him with a reflection of his long-nosed self and the pale-chinned young man at his side.
Rexei cleared his throat. “I’m not sure they like me.”
The youth said it with a touch of what sounded like self-deprecating humor. Alonnen patted Rexei on the back. “Bunch of self-important twiddlers half the time, if you ask me. But they’re good sorts, even if that pale-haired woman is an uppity twit at times, and the darker-haired elderly one is a grouch, and . . . well, they all have their plusses and minuses. But they’ll back you if they believe in you, and they’re quite literally the most powerful mages in the whole world.
“Anyway, that bell was for announcing supper,” he told Rexei, dismissing the subject of the Guardians. “Don’t worry about finding enough to fill your appetite. There’s always plenty. Mind you, we get any leftovers for luncheon on the morrow, but it’s a very rare day when our chef makes something that’s no good reheated.”
He helped Rexei put the caps and scarves back on the pegs, reclaimed his spectacles, and watched the youth blink and stare several times, trying to refocus. Alonnen grinned. “You look like I felt, first time the Optics Guild gave me a pair for reading. How’s your vision, lad?”
“Uh . . . just fine, thank you,” Longshanks replied politely.
Alonnen clapped Rexei on the back and nudged the youth toward the stairs. “Come on, five floors down. My quarters and personal workrooms are on the fourth floor, other bedrooms and the laundry are on the third, and the second floor is workrooms for the others. The first floor is kitchen, dining, meeting, and storage rooms.”
Rexei glanced back at him as they descended the steps. “I’m surprised you let just anybody up here, if the Vortex is such a huge power source.”
Shutting the door firmly behind him, Alonnen shook his head. “It’s not the risk you’re thinking. Anyone else opens that door, they won’t even see the balcony, never mind the Vortex. It’ll just be a blank wall covered in maps of Mekhana.”
“Wait—you told that boy to take my things somewhere. Third floor. But you said I’d be staying with you?” Rexei asked.
“I told you, it’s standard for anyone coming to live in the Vortex. This is all an enclosed environment, so we need to make sure there aren’t any spying talismans or rank odors. Or, for that matter, fleas and other things. It was a bit before my time, but the Vortex chronicles mentioned a great plague of fleas one summer. We try to ensure they get killed off quickly with soap and hot water. Don’t worry; nobody will shrink your woolens while they’re being washed,” he added in reassurance. The youth didn’t look reassured.
“But . . . my things. I have private things in my bag,” Rexei protested. “Things I don’t want anyone touching or handling. I know it’s a bit too late, but . . .”
Alonnen patted the youth on the shoulder. “Relax, lad; they’ll treat your things as carefully and circumspectly as they treat mine. And it’s to your advantage to have your gear checked over. We might be deficient in many areas of magical knowledge, but the one thing we do know how to do is find and disable priestly tracking spells. Anyway, I still have a few more questions. Like, how old are you?”