52 Project #7: Lord of the Kethrie (Patreon)

Moriy was on her way home by the cornfield path, when a voice hailed her. "Mage-ap! Mage-ap Moriy!"

She turned, and saw a man from the village running toward her. "Ranni! What's happened?"

He reached her, slightly out of breath. "We've been having a problem with Kethrie raids. They've stolen the crops from Wana's field and from Jumin's before we could harvest them, and they've been wrecking other people's. Could you and the Mage do something about it?"

Moriy was almost reluctant to say yes. She'd then be committed to telling Mage Willa, and Willa was not rational where the Kethrie were concerned. But duty was duty. "I don't see why not," she said, finally. "I'll tell the Mage."

Willa was in the garden, planting, when Moriy came in. "The villagers say they've got a problem with Kethrie raids."

Willa stiffened slightly, leaning back on her heels. "Faelha again." She got to her feet. "It's more than time somebody dealt with the Kethrie once and for all," she said. "And I finally have the power to do it. It's taken me a long, long time, Moriy, but I finally have the power."

***

As they prepared for the summoning rite, Moriy was plagued with misgivings. A hundred times, Willa had told her of her grudge against the Kethrie. One hundred years ago, before Willa was a mage, the Kethrie had carried off her only daughter Xathë. It was well known that most or perhaps all of the Kethrie were former humans, changed by Kethrie magic into their own long-lived kind. Xathë had been lost to the Kethrie Lord Faelha, transformed into a Kethrie, over a hundred years ago. But for Willa, it might as well have been yesterday. Her obsession with avenging her lost child had driven her to become a mage in the first place, and had never left her. Moriy was sure that wasn't healthy, but what could she do? She was only an apprentice-- it wasn't for her to judge whether her master was mentally well or not, and she knew of no other mages who could judge Willa.

Now Willa intended to use the power she'd accumulated to hurt the Kethrie, possibly to destroy Faelha. Moriy wasn't sure they deserved that. The Kethrie were nuisances, but necessary ones. Who would take the unwanted children, the bastards, the deformed, the extra mouths that the poor could not feed, if the Kethrie weren't there? There was only Willa's word for it that they took wanted children as well-- it had not happened again since Xathë was taken, more than four times Moriy's lifetime ago.

"What exactly are we going to do?" she asked at last. It was near sunset, and they were on a hill outside the village, in a clearing near the top. Willa was using dried rice to draw a pattern, a wide circle in the grass.

"We're going to summon Faelha and punish him."

"I know that, Mage-lady. You said it already. How are we going to punish him, though?"

"We're going to lay a geas on him. I haven't decided what yet, though."

"Doesn't the Kethrie Lord have magic of his own, though?"

"Of course. Help me with this sigil, Moriy, there's a dear. Just make a circular outline with the rice. I'll draw the patterns."

"If he's got magic of his own, how can you be so sure you'll defeat him?"

"What do you think I studied a hundred years for? Child, do go faster-- we have to be ready by sunset."

By the time sunset came, the sigil in rice was drawn, and Willa and Moriy had taken their places. Moriy could feel the magical force of the summoning rite, a crackle in the air like lightning, building up as Willa chanted the words of the summoning. Moriy herself stayed in place, frozen, holding the implements-- a rock, a vial of water-- that represented the Kethrie. The charge in the air intensified, and the boundaries between here and there blurred in the center of the circle.

Until, finally, Faelha arrived.

Impossibly, inhumanly, weirdly beautiful, Faelha's face was of no determinate sex, with a soft and childlike beauty made sharp by wild white hair piled high on Faelha's head, falling straight and long beneath the pile, and purple eyes like chips of amethyst. A slender, androgynous body, achingly beautiful. Faelha, lord of the Kethrie-- whose soft, beautifully inhuman face bore a startling resemblance to a human mage-lady's.

"Xathë..." Willa whispered.

"You called, I've come, mage-lady. Faelha of the Kethrie is bound to your service, at least so long as it amuses me to be." Knifelike smile. "So what shall it be, Mage Willa? A question answered? A task performed? Or do you wish merely to feast your eyes on my beauty?"

Moriy half-sighed. Never mind that Faelha looked, if anything, more woman than man; she wouldn't mind spending the night feasting her eyes on Faelha's beauty. But Willa's voice broke the spell. "You are not Faelha. I remember. Faelha had wide shoulders and wide hips, thick legs, red hair--"

"I remember something like that, a long time ago." Faelha made a dismissive motion. "That was the other Faelha. The one before me. I'm Faelha now."

"When? When did you become..."

"When?" Faelha laughed, like breaking glass. "You people are so preoccupied with time! How should I know `when'? There's no `when' in Underhill. All there ever is, is `now'."

"You're a woman."

"Is that a question? I feel no real need to respond to such stupidity if it wasn't a question."

"A question," Willa replied.

Faelha spun around. "Man and woman, old and young. I am the all-powerful powerless Lord of the Kethrie, child of all dualities, bright denizen of the dark, black denizen of the day."

"But you were born a woman, weren't you?"

"Don't bother me with stupid questions. I was never truly born at all until I was born into the Kethrie."

"You were Xathë. My daughter." Willa reached out her hand. "Xathë!"

"I am no one's daughter and no one's son."

"You're Xathë! I know it! Xathë--" Willa's voice was growing in strength and conviction. "Xathë, my baby, taken from me a hundred years ago--"

"I am Faelha and none other."

"You're Xathë!" She stepped out of the circle, ran toward Faelha-- and Faelha vanished.

"Into Underhill," Willa snarled. "No, by the gods! I won't lose her again! Moriy!"

"I'm here.

"We're going to Underhill." She kicked apart the circle of rice. 

"How can you be sure it's Xathë? The Kethrie are tricksters-- maybe Faelha just looked that way--"

"No. It wasn't an illusion. I was looking for that-- I'd have Sensed it. It was Xathë." Willa started off down the hill. "By the time the sun rises tomorrow, I will have Xathë back."

***

Underhill was under every hill at once. This hill would do as well as any other, Willa said. So in twilight they descended to the bottom, and Willa spoke the words of a rite to open gates as they stood in front of a rockface. The rock slid aside, showing them a tunnel.

"This is only the entrance to Underhill. After this, there are three magical gates in Underhill proper," Willa warned Moriy. "Do you have your knife?"

"Yes, Mage-lady," Moriy mumbled, unhappily. She was tired, and she didn't want to spend the night roaming Underhill. More than that, though, she feared Willa's obsession. Faelha had feared it too, she thought. It was difficult to tell emotion on a Kethrie face‑‑ they were mobile like the faces of the mad, or a running brook, with their mobility more unreadable than blankness; but Moriy had been studying magic for five years now, and she was advanced enough to have some of the gift of Sensing. She had Sensed Faelha's fear. Fear made people-- and undoubtedly Kethrie, who were not that different from people-- desperate, irrational, dangerous. And Faelha was dangerous enough without fear reckoned in. Was Willa's obsession pushing both of them in over their heads?

"Mage-lady, are you sure this is a good idea? Have you been this way before?"

"Once," Willa said. "I came this way once before, without magic. But I haven't forgotten."

Willa started to walk forward into the darkness, and was brought up short by a Kethrie looking like a small deformed man, who seemed to materialize out of the shadows directly in front of her. He raised a spear to her face. Instinctively Moriy's hand went to her knife, and she moved forward to protect the mage. 

"Halt! Who goes there!"

"I am Mage-lady Willa of Ada Village, and this is my apprentice Moriy. Let me pass."

"No mage nor mortal shall pass this way without a token," the Kethrie intoned. "Do you have a token?"

"Yes," Willa said, and removed from her pocket a small object. She spoke a Word, tossing the object at the Kethrie. Moriy went beet-red. The object was a curse-charm, to cause impotence in men. The Kethrie's spear wilted, and Willa lunged forward, grabbing the startled dwarf by the ear.

"Ow!" He struggled and kicked. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"No, by the Holy Names, until you swear a geas. I charge you to answer three questions, speaking only truth and all the truth, without misdirection or falsehood, else that curse be on you and your spear all your life. Do you swear?" She tugged on his ear.

"Ow! Ow! Yes, I swear, I swear!"

"Good." Willa released him.

"Can you make him do that?" Moriy asked. "I thought you couldn't make a Kethrie swear to tell the truth. Because they have unreliable natures. Don't they?"

"Oh, this one will tell the truth, if he ever wants to enjoy loving attentions again. I didn't mean only the spear in his hand when I cursed him." Willa smiled at Moriy. "It's only an herb-witch charm, maybe not true magus art, but I find simple herb-witch charms to be the most effective in dealing with these creatures."

"Are you going to ask your questions, or aren't you?" the Kethrie demanded.

"Yes. The first is, what is the query of the Third Gate?"

He smiled. "The ritual of the Daily Wheel," he said smugly.

"Good," Willa said. "I thought so." The Kethrie lost the smug expression and stared at her pop-eyed. "The second is complex. After one passes the third gate, do any more gates stand between one and Faelha's palace?"

"Don't ask that, mage-lady," the creature whined. "Please don't."

"I ask, and you are charged to answer. Tell me true."

"Please--"

"Would you like to take that limp thing back to your love-friend?"

He winced. "No. No gates after the third."

"Good. Come on, Moriy." Willa gestured for her to follow into the tunnel.

"Ask my third!" the creature wailed. 

"I lied. I haven't got a third. Moriy, are you coming or not?"

"Mage Willa--" Moriy knew perfectly well that if the hapless Kethrie never answered a third question, Willa's geas would remain on him. "You can't leave him like this!"

"Can't I? His kind stole Xathë and made her one of their own. I can't forgive that. And they live a long time-- this one himself may have been on that journey."

"Have pity!" the Kethrie wailed.

"Mage Willa, this one hasn't done you any harm. Besides, if you recover Xathë, you won't have a grudge against the Kethrie, will you?"

"I shall always. They took my baby. But very well, if it's that important to you--" She turned to the Kethrie. "What becomes of your kind if Faelha is Unnamed?"

Unnamed! A swift thrill of horror went up Moriy's spine. Willa meant to Unname Faelha? The Kethrie screamed. "No, no, no! Don't ask that, don't ask!"

"You would all cease to be," Willa said softly, maliciously. "The magic that creates you, that keeps you alive, is bound in Faelha. And since you did not answer-- I did-- my geas still holds. Come, Moriy."

The creature was on his knees, moaning. Cease to be? "Go on, Mage-lady, I'll catch up. I want to ask a question of my own."

"To free him of the geas?" Willa sounded slightly contemptuous. "You have a soft heart, Moriy. Perhaps too soft. Do as you like." She turned and walked into the darkness.

"You'll ask me another question? You'll free me of her curse?" the Kethrie pleaded, piteously.

"Yes. My question's really simple, but you have to answer completely and totally truthfully, or Faelha might be Unnamed."

The creature went white. "You would curse us so?"

"Not a curse, a prediction. And not if you answer truthfully." I hope, Moriy thought. "The question is, Do the Kethrie ever take wanted children?"

"No."

"That sounds like a pretty glib answer. Are you sure--"

"It's in our deepest places, in the magic that makes us what we are. There must be Unwant or a child can never be ours. No Human wanted by Humans can become true Kethrie." His spear straightened as the geas lifted.

"And is Faelha true Kethrie?"

"That's two questions. I'm under no geas."

"I know, but it's really important."

"Faelha is Kethrie. Everything we are is bound into the power of the Faelha. Is your real question `Was Faelha a child of Unwant?'"

"Yes. I guess you could say it is."

"Then I answer you true. The Faelha's heir, the child who will be Faelha, must be a physically perfect Human-- but there must be Unwant or we cannot take that one, either. No child can be taken by the Kethrie without Unwant in the hearts of all its kin."

"Thank you." Moriy went past him into the dark tunnel, chanted a spell for sight in darkness, and ran to catch up with Willa, troubled. The Kethrie spoke truth-- for all its conniving, it knew better than to lie with such stakes at risk. And that meant that Willa had not wanted Xathë, then.

***

Willa was standing by a gate, which was guarded by two gargoyle-like Kethrie. "There you are, Moriy. I've been waiting."

"Sorry," Moriy said meekly. "You could have gone on without me."

"No, I need you for the second gate. And I might need you after, in dealing with Faelha." She turned from Moriy before Moriy could ask how exactly she did plan to deal with Faelha, and approached the door. "I seek entry!"

"All who enter must answer the door's riddle, or die," one of the gargoyles said sternly.

"This is Moriy, my apprentice. As is my fate, so is hers."

"Mage Willa!" Moriy was shocked. If Willa died now, Moriy's life was forfeit as well.

"So you don't have to answer a riddle, too," Willa said. "They'd change it on you. You're safer this way."

The door sprouted a face, a dull-looking wooden thing that spoke in a deep slow voice. "Riddle me this," the door groaned. "What goes through the door without pinching itself? What sits on the stove without burning itself? What sits on the table and is not ashamed?"

"They've changed the passriddle," Willa told Moriy. 

"Well, do you know this one?" Moriy asked nervously.

"Answer my riddle," the door said.

"Of course I know it." Willa turned to the door. "The sun, is the answer."

"Correct." The door didn't look happy about it. It swung open, slowly and with what Moriy sensed was bad grace.

"There's three gates we have to get through?" Moriy asked as they stepped through.

"Right. Two now."

"And then what?"

"Then I find Xathë and take her home."

"But-- if she really is Faelha--"

"Don't worry about it. I've got it all worked out." They stepped out into what looked like a pebble path through a gloomy forest. "Just follow me, Moriy, no matter what you see. Nothing can hurt you if you stay on the path."

"You're not going to Unname Faelha, are you?"

"Moriy!" Willa turned, her voice snappish. "Will you pay attention? I've told you, don't worry about it!" She spun back and marched down the path, her voice still sharp. "Now come!"

Moriy walked resolutely, as creatures both grotesque and sublime called to her, trying to entice or scare her off the path. Five years as Willa's apprentice had taught her that she could trust the mage with her life-- and yet--

What were they doing in this maze? Why were they on a quest to find Xathë? If Xathë was Faelha, wasn't she, or he, or whatever, happy enough already?

"The next task will be yours, Moriy," Willa said. "I got as far as the second gate, but there was a trial by combat."

"Ah." Moriy nodded. This was something she understood. She was a big girl and muscular, and long before Willa had taken her as apprentice she had been a champion wrestler among the children. Though a mage-ap's training was demanding, Willa had encouraged her to keep up with her physical skills as well. Too many mages, Willa among them, were helpless in a physical fight. Moriy touched the knife at her side, lightly. If it came to a fight, she was prepared.

They came within sight of the second gate, and Moriy revised her opinion of her own preparation. Two Kethrie guards were standing watch, and there was a huge, shambling hulk of a Kethrie in front of the door. Moriy swallowed. "Is that--"

"They had an ordinary Kethrie, last time," Willa whispered. "Blast and wither. I shouldn't have mentioned it." She shook her head. "Xathë, why are you fighting me? It's Mother, dearest. I've come to take you home."

"She can't hear you."

"Oh yes she can. If Xathë is Faelha, she knows everything that goes on in this domain." Willa sagged and sat down on a rock, hard. "And she's set a task too hard for you‑‑"

Moriy sized up the big Kethrie. She was unsure of their goal-- but she didn't want to disappoint the wizard, and she had to believe Willa's intentions were honorable, in the end. Willa was a good woman. She wouldn't do something as destructive as Unnaming someone‑‑ that must have been an idle threat. "He looks beatable," she finally said, Sensing out her enemy's limits. "Big, but slow. And stupid as a brick."

"You think so?"

An image of Faelha flowed to life in front of them, a ghostly illusion. "Why don't you both go home?" Faelha asked. "Underhill is no place for your kind."

"Xathë!" Willa reached for the image.

"Xathë me no Xathës, I am no child of yours. Now go away!"

"If we can pass the gates, you cannot deny us passage," Willa said.

"You endanger us, mage Willa. You threaten and confuse. You shall not pass through the gates."

"If we can defeat the tests of the gates, you cannot stop us."

"I warn you once, mage. Get out. Go home. While you have legs to carry you and eyes to see your path."

"We shall not. Xathë, I will free you."

"I need no freeing! I am no Xathë! I am Faelha, Lord of the Kethrie, and if you do not leave my realm I'll kill you!" The image sparked with fury.

"You cannot kill us until we've passed the three gates," Willa said. The image winked out. "Come, Moriy."

The guards challenged them. "Who would pass must win trial by combat!"

"I'm the Mage-lady's champion," Moriy said, stepping forward and trying not to be too frightened. She was 20 years of age. Five years ago, before she entered Willa's service, she had been living on the streets of the city, far away from here. She had been big for a young girl, but there were many bigger, and so she'd had to learn how to defeat those bigger than she was. "What's the combat?"

"Two falls out of three, against the Yorthal, champion of the Kethrie!"

Two falls out of three. Right. As the creature shambled forward, she calculated where she needed to apply leverage. Its hands reached out for her, but she darted under them and threw all her force at one of its legs, pushing it off-balance. Once she had it precariously balanced, all it took was a good shove and it fell over.

It got up, with a menacing expression on its face. Moriy stood outside its easy reach. This time, it protected its leg, so Moriy played a dodging game, trying to work her way under its defenses. It twisted about repeatedly, grabbing for her. Once she was careless, and it hit her-- a glancing blow, as its leverage was terrible, but strong enough that it sent her flying. Moriy staggered back and fell on her backside.

"Moriy!" Willa shouted. "You can't lose now!"

Moriy got up as the Yorthal lumbered at her again, and dodged out of its way. It swung for her, but she leapt back, weaving and bending. Her heart pounded-- if the Yorthal hit her again, it'd be over. So she was careful, but not overcautious-- she needed to take risks to win. She lured it and tangled it, making it overbalance itself in the course of trying to reach her, with its legs twisted and its arms out and waving. Then she grabbed one of the arms and pulled, as hard as she could. The Yorthal, off-balanced anyway, toppled forward. Moriy dodged out of the way as it crashed into the mud and splattered her.

"My champion wins. Open the gates!" Willa ordered.

There was a storm brewing on the other side. Moriy could feel the charge building up in the air. "The next step will be the easiest," Willa said, as they stepped into the wind. "Though they think it'll be impossible."

"The ritual of the Daily Wheel?"

Wind built and whipped at their hair, trying to steal Willa's words away. "Yes. They don't expect me to know what ritual they mean."

"But-- even I know the Daily Wheel!" The Daily Wheel was a rite spoken at births and deaths, invoking the cycle of nature. It had only the magical potency that birth and death rites gained through constant usage-- it was a rite, not a spell.

Willa shook her head. "So do they. But none of you know it all." She began to run. Moriy followed suit, as the wind built to an even higher pitch, and the rain began to fall lightly. 

"Why are we running?" 

"Because we're close!"

The storm broke. The heavens-- or rather, the roof of Underhill, the skin of the Earth-- opened, and drenched them. Wind whipped rain into their faces. The last gate had no guards, but no handles either-- it could only be opened by magic. "Moriy! Draw a protective circle and don't leave it, whatever you do!"

As Moriy obeyed, Willa stood in front of the gate, and began to pace a circle, quartered by a cross. She chanted. The words were the Daily Wheel, and Moriy frowned. What had she meant, none of them knew it all? The words she spoke were none but the ones Moriy knew.

"Night become day. 

Day become night.

Girl become woman.

Dark become light.

Boy become man.

Woman become crone.

Man become dust

And leave her alone. 

Let the Circle turn."

She walked the circle around and around, until the borders and inside quarterlines of it seemed to glow, seemed to spin. Then she stopped in the center of the circle, at the place where the crossed lines met, as the circle spun clockwise around her. Willa threw her hands up to the sky, and shouted a second verse-- one Moriy did not know.

"Woman to girl!

Man become boy!

Sun return east!

Backwards we twirl

As shadows turn solid

And dust becomes man

Let the Circle turn backward!"

There was a sound like lightning, cracking the air, and the wheel Willa stood inside stopped and reversed direction.

Time in Underhill was weak enough to be wrenched backward, but the strain was tremendous. The plants outside Willa's and Moriy's protective circles grew tiny and disappeared into the ground as the gates crumbled to dust.

"Spin forward!" Willa shouted, and the circle she had made stopped, and faded. She stepped out of it. "It's safe, Moriy. Come on!"

Moriy stared disbelievingly at Willa as she left the circle. "You-- turned time backwards. That can't be how you're supposed to do it..."

"It's not. The gate recognizes Kethrie who speak the Wheel, and lets them through, but it wouldn’t open for us, Daily Wheel or no, because we’re not Kethrie. I had to get creative for us." She shrugged. "Reversing the Wheel wouldn't work outside Underhill-- time's too strong outside. As it is, there'll be earthquakes out in our world‑‑ but if I get to Xathë, it'll be worth it."

"Earthquakes? We're supposed to protect the village, not give it earthquakes!"

"I don't think anyone'll be killed. Moriy-- this is why I became a mage. The only reason. I wanted revenge on the Kethrie-- I never dreamed I could recover Xathë. But that's all I ever wanted, all I ever dreamed. I'll have my daughter, whatever the cost!"

They stood on a hill, overlooking a vast city. On another hill, far beyond the city, there was a palace. An army of Kethrie were surging up the hill toward them, armored and equipped with magical weapons. None of the weapons were of iron, but stone and leather and magical blades would kill them just as dead as steel weapons would.

"How are we going to get through that?" Moriy demanded. She was badly shaken. Didn't Willa care at all for the village she'd protected the past twenty years? Moriy cared, and she'd only lived there five. 

Willa laughed. "Faelha!" she called. "I know the laws of your domain! I have passed through the gates, so I may go where I wish!" She turned to Moriy. "Take my hand!"

Moriy reached to her mistress. As their hands touched, it was as if an electric current went through her--

--and they were elsewhere. Inside a vast hall, as impossibly beautiful as its sole occupant.

Faelha stood before them, as androgynous as before, despite Moriy's knowledge of Faelha's original sex. All the Kethrie were changed from human norms. Most became grotesque gargoyles. Faelha had apparently been beautified by the change, but given more than one sex. The features, neither precisely male nor female, and yet not neutered either, were now twisted in a mocking smile. "You have come a long way to see me, Mage Willa," Faelha said softly. "You have damaged my world and your own."

"Xathë." Willa reached out. "Xathë. My daughter--"

"You abandoned your daughter to the Kethrie. Did you not? Born out of wedlock, the child would shame you. You begged the Kethrie to come--"

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" Willa screamed. "How do you know? You were a baby! You can't remember what I said, what I did--"

"I am Faelha. I am the Kethrie. All that my predecessor did, all that all my ancestors did, I know. I don't remember you myself-- but I do know that the human mother of this Faelha gave her child away. The fact that she later sought to take the child back is irrelevant. Once a parent gives a child to us, that child is Kethrie for all eternity."

"No!" Willa's face was dark with fury. "I won't lose you again! Xathë--"

"I am no Xathë of yours! I am Faelha, Lord of the Kethrie! I have indulged you thus far-- my debt to you, for giving Xathë to the Kethrie and to her new life, my true life. I could have destroyed you at any time. But I showed forbearance. That is about to end."

Faelha was lying, Moriy realized suddenly. Passion gave power to magic, and Willa's passion was a mad obsession. Faelha could not stand against her approach, even with all the resources of Underhill.

"Go away. Now! Before it's too late!"

Willa pressed her palms together and began chanting. "Rannian, Kilian, Dagarris, Konj, Rachelis, Kandra, Lohara, Kyri, Aquiel, Sariel, Jabaran, Lacan..." The names were of powerful beings-- called demons in some places, and saints, angels, or even gods in others. Calling on the names gave Willa power, which began to build around her. Hastily, Moriy drew a protective circle around herself. If there was going to be magical combat between Faelha and Willa, no protection she could give herself would really be enough‑‑ but she had to do something.

Faelha hurled magical energies at them, trying to disrupt Willa's chant. "Madwoman," Faelha hissed. "Go home! You risk your life and your apprentice's! Leave me be! Go home!"

Nothing stopped Willa's chant. Not Faelha's transformations into serpents and wyrms and firedogs; not the cracking of the floor underneath her, for her own protection was a shield of energy, and did not need the pattern of a sigil. But Moriy did, and when the floor shattered, her protection was destroyed. She went flying, thrown by an energy backlash into a marble column.

"I'll kill your apprentice!" Faelha screamed.

Willa continued the chant.

In that moment, sick and dizzy from the blow to her head, Moriy saw her own death; concentrated energies at Faelha's fingertips, and Willa chanting on, oblivious. Or ignoring her. Willa would sacrifice anyone to recover Xathë‑‑ even the village she had worked to protect so long; even her own apprentice. 

Faelha hurled the gathered levinbolt at Willa, who simply absorbed it into her growing power. "Should I kill the 'prentice because the master is a fool?" Faelha raged, and Moriy realized, shocked, that the Kethrie Lord did not want to kill her. "Get out, mage, or I'll kill you!"

The power Willa had gathered turned the air white around her. "I Unname thee," she said, and the power had a focus. The words echoed, reverberated, cutting out the underpinnings of reality.

Faelha screamed. With the power Willa had built up, simply speaking the words had cut Faelha off from the powers of the Kethrie Lord. Moriy tried to get to her feet, but the world was spinning, and she fell back. Mage Willa, no! she wanted to scream, though her voice would not obey her.

"Faelha, Lord of the Kethrie, I Unname thee. By the names of St. Arion and St. Amadeus, I Unname thee. None bear the name Faelha. None bear the title Lord of the Kethrie."

"Oh no no no," Faelha wailed, and seemed to crumple inward. "Have mercy, mage-lady! Mercy! Don't take my name!"

Only by Unnaming Faelha could the Kethrie Lord be Named Xathë again. Moriy knew now what Willa intended: to make Faelha a nameless cipher, and then reshape what was left into Xathë, lost in infancy a hundred years ago. And she didn't care who she killed to do it-- a village, her own apprentice, or even an entire race. If Faelha only died, a new one could be appointed. They were not immortal, after all, merely long-lived. But if Faelha was Unnamed, none could ever bear that name again. And Faelha was the Kethrie, the linchpin of the magic that preserved them. If there were no more Faelha, there would be no more Kethrie.

"By the names of St. Belial and St. Barradis, I Unname thee. None bear the name Faelha. By the names of St. Charles and St. Corrie, I Unname thee. None bear the name Faelha. By the names of St. Dariel and St. Doraine..."

"No," Faelha begged, falling prostrate at Willa's feet. "I beg of you, no! Please! My people-- my people--"

As Willa continued to chant the names of saints, beings of power, Faelha screamed. The beautiful features had dulled, and the luminescent purple eyes had turned glazed and grey. Willa continued, relentlessly. Her magical shield was gone, all her power focused into ripping a Name out of the cosmos, but Faelha no longer had the power to fight her. From the place where she'd been thrown, Moriy could see Faelha writhing in anguish as the name was stripped away.

Where are the Kethrie? Why aren't they stopping this? Moriy thought wildly. Someone could stop Willa physically now-- her shield was gone, and she wasn't paying attention. Surely, the Unnaming of Faelha was the worst thing that could possibly happen to them, and surely they could stop it if they were here-- so why didn't they come? Or could they? Were they bound somehow? Had they fallen into some helpless stasis when the rite began?

Faelha had spared Moriy's life.

She had to stop this.

Moriy staggered to her feet. The world spun wildly, and she had to lean on the wall. Willa chanted on, and Faelha sobbed, crumpled on the floor. Willa had gotten to saints' names that started with S. When she reached Z, it would be ended, and Faelha would be no more, Unnamed forever.

How could Moriy stop the rite? In her condition, how could she disable Willa? Willa was no fighter, but Moriy couldn't see straight-- and Willa was insane. She would strike Moriy down if Moriy tried to interfere.

Unless Moriy struck her down first. If she went in with her knife and struck while Willa's attention was elsewhere...

No! There must be another way! she thought, begging, praying to all the gods to give her another solution. There was none. Willa was on W. If Moriy didn't act now, a whole race would be wiped out.

She staggered forward, as Willa pronounced the name of St. Yuaris, and plunged her knife into Willa's back.

The energy Willa had built within herself backlashed through Moriy, grounding itself. For a moment, she was transfixed, magical energy sleeting through her body and paralyzing her. Then the energy was gone, and she and Willa collapsed.

***

A soft moaning woke her. Moriy struggled to sit up. Her head felt somewhat better, and she could see properly. Willa lay on the floor in a heap, blood oozing out around the knife. Moriy ripped off part of Willa's cloak, pulled out the knife, and bound the wound. 

"Oh, Mage-lady, Mage-lady," she whispered, agonized. Willa was an old woman. Magic had kept her middle-aged and fit, but Moriy's blow had cost her too much vitality-- she seemed to have shrunken into a wizened crone, one who could not survive a knife in the back. Though Moriy had been careful to strike no vital organs, the blow itself was deadly. 

She looked up. Could Faelha--? But Faelha was sitting in a fetal ball, rocking back and forth, moaning. The beauty was gone, leaving Faelha gray and somehow strangely unformed.

"Who am I?" the mostly-unmade creature asked. "Who am I, who am I, who am I?"

"Faelha," Moriy said. "You are Faelha, Lord of the Kethrie. That's your Name."

With that, the magical energy Willa had lost to the ground seemed to rush out of the walls, the floor, the aether itself, and fall into Faelha. The features changed without truly altering, becoming those hard and beautiful lineaments of the Kethrie Lord. The eyes lost their glaze and shone forth like violet gems. Slowly Faelha straightened and stood.

"Mage-ap Moriy of Ada Village." Faelha's voice was uncharacteristically soft and gentle. "You struck down your own master to save me, didn't you? To save all the Kethrie. And you gave me back my name."

"I couldn't let her kill all the Kethrie," Moriy said, feeling tongue-tied. "Anyway, you didn't kill me when you could have."

"I did not do enough for you to warrant this." Faelha's head shook in negation, or perhaps amazement. "Ask of me three boons. Anything in my power to give is yours."

"I want you to save Mage Willa's life," Moriy said.

Faelha looked disturbed. "So she can attack me again?"

"Please."

"I have sworn you boons." Faelha waved, and Willa filled out, her features returning to those of a middle-aged woman and the wound under the bandages closing. "It is done. Next?"

"Heal her mind, if you can. Make her forget there ever was a Xathë."

Faelha smiled, slowly. "Wise. Yes, wise." Faelha knelt and touched Willa's forehead. "Dear mother, I am dead. I died abirthing," Faelha whispered in a childlike voice. "Seek me no more, for I am gone."

"Will that-- what did you do?"

"Her daughter Xathë was stillborn. To heal the children of other women, Willa became a mage. No Kethrie stole her child. This is what she remembers."

"You can do that?"

"Not of my own will, no. Normally I only have such power over Kethrie. I must be given it over humans by a human's request. And your last?"

"Leave Ada Village alone. Don't take our crops, don't play tricks on us, just leave us."

"Fair." Faelha nodded. "Ada Village will be off-limits for your lifespan, Mage-ap Moriy." A frown darkened the beautiful features. "But don't you want anything for yourself? I could grant you wealth, fortune in love, a beautiful countenance, fame--"

"I've asked three boons already. That's all you offered."

"Oh, Moriy." Faelha smiled, almost tenderly. "Such a noble child. You will credit yourself as a mage. Here." Out of the aether, Faelha conjured a small flute on a string. "You did not ask, so I shall give. The debt I owe you is worth more than three boons paid to other people. If ever you or one you have willingly given the flute to, without trickery or force, are in grave need, play on this and I will come. But the need must be grave, or I will be angry."

"I-- I can't accept such a gift from you--"

"You must. I will bear no debts. I owe you my Name and my people's existence, Moriy; I must repay."

Faelha was right; the Kethrie could play tricks, but if they owed a debt, they were bound to repay it. "All right. I-- thank you." Moriy took the flute.

"It is owed you, nothing more." Faelha stepped back. "I will send you both home, then."

And in a moment, they were lying outside the protective wards of Willa's cottage.

Willa lay on the grass, sleeping peacefully, injuries to body and mind healed without scar. Moriy was less fortunate. The memory of Willa abandoning her to Faelha's whim would not leave. But now that Willa was free of her obsession, perhaps Moriy could forgive her for leaving her to die.

And maybe someday Moriy could forgive herself for striking her down.

She bent down and lifted the mage, carrying her inside.