Aether’s Blessing (Aether’s Revival Book 1)
Aether’s Blessing: Chapter 8

I can’t believe Gunnar and Amoria each gave me half their reward from the bane wolf, Gregory thought as he hung up his clothing so they could dry. Never thought I’d see a five-hundred vela coin in my life, but now I have two of them.

“Novice,” Bishop said, opening the door to the room, “it is almost time. Follow me.”

“Yes, Proctor,” Gregory said and finished hanging his clothing on the makeshift line.

Following Bishop out of the tavern and through the crowd to the small stage, Gregory realized how much bigger Linom was compared to Alturis. The square was packed with people, and the only reason they were able to move through it easily was because of everyone getting out of Bishop’s way.

Making it to the stage, Bishop motioned him up behind her. She looked out over the crowd and waited for the noise to die down. “Linom, I have come to administer the ritual of Aether. Have those who would become adults form a line.”

Five young adults stood off to the right side of the stage, waiting. The first in line was a waif of a girl who looked sickly. Bishop stared at her for a long moment before motioning her onto the stage. “Come, child. You will need to hold to your strength.”

The waif swallowed hard as she stepped onto the stage. Kneeling before Bishop, the sickly girl bowed her head.

“Child, you come before me on the verge of adulthood,” Bishop said. “Today is your age day, and you should rejoice. Today also marks the chance for you to join the ranks of the magi. Let us see if you have the spark of Aether inside of you.”

Trembling as Bishop touched her head, the waif’s voice broke as she spoke, “I’m ready to become an adult, Proctor.”

“Aether, have you blessed this child with your grace?” Bishop asked the sky before a blue flame covered her hand, which looked to be gently cupping the waif’s skull.

The frail girl bucked and screamed, her whole body bending in the grip of the proctor, who watched with no outward emotion. The scream cut off and the girl went limp in her hand. The flame vanished a moment later, and Bishop gently lowered the girl to the stage, her face solemn.

“Aether did not bless her. Mortum has welcomed her into his eternal embrace instead,” Bishop said softly. “Frankan, come forward,” she commanded, her voice firm.

A couple stepped out of the crowd, crying as they walked forward. Both the mother and father looked ill, as well. “Proctor,” the father said, his voice breaking.

“My condolences. Your child has passed on before you. Remember her with love. She will be waiting for you.” Extracting a coin from her pouch, she handed it to the mother. “For your loss.”

Sobbing harder, the mother took the coin. Her hand clenched it tightly as she leaned against her husband.

“Elder Olitum, have someone help them with their child.”

“Yes, Proctor,” an elderly woman said, motioning to one of the burlier men to help.

When the body was removed, Bishop looked at the crowd again. “Tragedy of this kind happens infrequently, but it is still a danger during the ritual. Keep this in mind over the coming years. Let us continue.”

The rest of the children came forward one by one, none of them becoming magi, but with no more deaths, either. When the last adult was helped down from the stage, Bishop spoke to the village again.

“No magi, but four new adults. Welcome them as citizens of the empire. Mourn the loss of today, and celebrate the passage of your children.”

Stepping off the stage, Bishop motioned Gregory to follow her. A number of eyes in the crowd stared at him as he followed her. They went into the tavern before it began to fill, where she turned to him, “Rest, relax, and shop if you wish, but we leave at sunrise again. I will have dinner sent to your room.”

“Yes, Proctor,” Gregory said, bowing his head.

“Proctor, may I speak with you in private?” the mother of the dead girl asked. She had followed them, tears still falling from her eyes.

Bishop’s gaze softened and she nodded, “Of course.” She led the mourning woman up the stairs, speaking softly to her.

The door opened behind Gregory and admitted the villagers into the tavern. “Magi, will you share a drink with us?” a voice called out to him.

Remembering what Bishop had said earlier about representing the empire, Gregory smiled and said, “Of course.”

“A round of ale,” the speaker told the tavern owner.

Gregory managed to not wince as he moved over to the bar with the villagers. The hard stare from one of the new adults made the hairs on Gregory’s neck stand up.

“You’re from Alturis?” the young man asked bluntly.

“Yes.”

“How many undertook the ritual?” one of the other men asked as he picked up a mug.

“About double those here.”

“And you were blessed?” an older woman asked with surprise.

“Twenty years since we last had a magi from the village,” Gregory said, not liking where the questions were going.

The villagers nodded, and the original speaker chuckled, “We produce one every five years, give or take.”

“Probably be next year,” another chimed in.

“Should have been this year,” the young man said bitterly. “There’s no saying who Aether will bless, but this twig was blessed, while a strong man like myself was not.”

The other people at the bar looked a bit uncomfortable, but none of them rebuked him. Gregory had just taken the last mug, but held it.

“Otus, I don’t want trouble,” the tavern owner told the young man.

“My grandmother would not take kindly to you telling me what to do, and you know it,” Otus fired back. “I’m having a discussion with the magi.”

“Doesn’t feel like a discussion,” Gregory said, setting the mug back on the bar. “Sounds like bitter grapes.”

“Feel special with your spark of aether?” Otus snarled. “Without it, I could break you, and you know it.”

Gregory’s jaw set, but instead of lashing out, he unlaced his sleeve and rolled it up his arm. “A bane wolf already tried breaking me, less than an hour past my blessing.” The vivid scars stood out like beacons.

“He didn’t mean—” the first speaker tried to calm them, but Otus was not having any of it.

“Ha, a bane wolf? You would never survive one,” Otus jeered.

Gregory was torn; he wanted to shut Otus up, but he was not sure how that would look to Bishop or the villagers. It seemed the magi were usually feared and listened to, but the young man did not care.

“Believe what you wish,” Gregory said, turning away and pulling his sleeve down. “I don’t have time to deal with idiots.”

A sharp intake of breath behind him was the only warning Gregory got before Otus hit him in the back of the head with his mug. Ale went flying as the two men went to the floor.

“What in the empire’s name is going on!?” Bishop’s voice cut over the sudden yelling from the spectators.

Otus did not hear it, raising his mug to bring it down on Gregory’s skull. “Your aether is supposed to be mine! Give it back!”

The mug was almost to its target when it went flying away, deflected by a blue flame sword. Coming back to his senses and looking up from atop Gregory, Otus stared at Bishop. Freezing in place, he stammered, trying to form a sentence.

“I… no… Proctor… he…!”

“Attacking a magi, even a novice, is a crime,” Bishop said flatly. “Get up, or be sentenced summarily.”

Otus scrambled to his feet and began backing toward the door. “Proctor, I was defending myself! He—”

“Silence. Stop moving,” Bishop commanded coldly.

Otus shuddered, spun, and fled. Before he could reach the door, Bishop was in front of it, looking like she had teleported across the room. Her empty hand caught Otus by the tunic, lifting him from the floor as if he was a small child.

“I told you to stop moving,” Bishop whispered with malice. “Failure to listen to a proctor on age day is a serious crime.”

“No, no! Stop it! My grandmother is the elder of this village,” Otus cried as he physically tried to pry her hand off his tunic.

“Not after today,” Bishop replied. “Can anyone here attest to what happened to the novice?”

“Otus picked a fight, upset that he wasn’t blessed. When the novice tried to leave, Otus attacked him,” the tavern owner said as the others all looked down.

“Lies!” Otus snarled. “Wilson is lying! You can’t trust their family! You know that, Proctor… You’ve dealt with his family before.”

“The Wilson family has learned their lesson,” Bishop said calmly. “I ask again: will anyone here speak about what happened?”

One by one, the others gave the same story. Otus tried to disavow each in turn, trying harder to pry at Bishop’s hand on his tunic. Gregory sat up, his head swimming.

“I shall bring this complaint to Elder Olitum. Stop trying to resist or it will be worse for you… child.”

Otus gnashed his teeth and kicked at Bishop, “I’m an adult! I passed the ritual.”

Bishop shook her head, ignoring the young man as he kicked and flailed at her. “A chance given and rejected? Pity. Today shall see two deaths, after all.” She hauled Otus out the door, ignoring his struggles and protests.

Those left inside the tavern looked ill at ease and quickly left. Wilson frowned, but did not ask for payment for the ale. He knew he would have enough trouble shortly when Elder Olitum came to speak with him.

“Can I get some hot water and a clean cloth?” Gregory asked, using a table to steady himself as he got back onto his feet.

“Of course,” Wilson said, fleeing into the kitchen.

“Guess I need to be more aware,” Gregory muttered as his vision swam again.

“Here is the water and cloth,” Wilson said, coming around the bar.

“Can you help me with the stairs?” Gregory asked slowly, his words slurring.

Wilson set the kettle and cloth on a table. “Of course.”

Greg wobbled as he took a step toward Wilson. “Guess I shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Not from behind, at least,” Wilson added as he gave the young man his shoulder.

Gregory started to reply, but instead, his eyes rolled up and he passed out. Wilson caught him and carried him up the stairs. “Daughter, I need a hand,” he yelled downstairs.

~*~*~

“How is he?” Bishop asked.

“Asleep,” the young woman, Victoria, replied softly. “He passed out when Dad tried to help him upstairs. Some of his aether was helping with the wound, I think. Blue fire would spark from the cut on the back of his head.” Her voice was half amazed and half fearful.

“Unaided?” Bishop asked, moving over to the bed. Checking the wound, she grunted, “So it seems. Interesting.”

“Proctor, what happened with Otus?” Victoria asked.

“He was executed for attacking me while I was looking into the attack against this magi. His grandmother joined him, and I had to appoint a new elder. Such a waste,” Bishop sighed. “Those who don’t respect the magi and the empire must be removed for the good of the whole. Not that a single non-magi is a threat to even a trained novice, but unchecked, it can cause unrest.”

“Thank you for sparing my grandfather, Proctor. You were merciful ten years ago.”

“I did what had to be done. No more and no less,” Bishop told her. “Do you remember it well?”

“I do, Proctor.”

“Will you stay and watch him for me?”

“If that is what you require.”

“If he grows unwell, come for me, even if I sleep.”

“As you command, Proctor.”

“Tell your father that no reprisals will come to him for him telling the truth today. The new elder has already been told.”

“Yes, Proctor.”

Bishop left the innkeeper’s daughter with Gregory. The girl, a year from the age day ritual herself, sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked the hair of the sleeping boy, smiling softly at him. A tiny spark of blue tickled her hand and made her smile more.

“Maybe next year…”