93. Naturalist III (Patreon)

Even in the sunbathed garden, I could feel the coldness of the men’s gazes. Au’ter’s showed indifference, whilst Fynn’s was filled with commitment.

“You are right,” Au’ter admitted, “I am aware of a way to restitute the High Arcanist of his position. It’s an ancient tradition, established by the first ellari, some tell it was made by Ferilyn herself, but alas, it has fallen from people’s minds and most records.”

Ferilyn herself? The expression weirded me out. This was the first time I had heard someone refer to the city as a person, let alone a she. Was I missing something? Ferilyn was an ancient word and it meant city. That’s why the country was named like that. It’s also a peculiar word because of its length. No ellari word possesses more than two syllables, they are expanded with the use of suffixes and prefixes with apostrophes. The only words that have more than three syllables are... names.

I didn’t know if I was right, but this revelation was worthwhile pondering. Though now wasn’t the right time to do so.

“Are you going to enlighten us with your wisdom then, Naturalist Au’ter?” Fynn respectfully asked.

“Hold your casts, youngling.” The ex-High Arcanist responded.

It didn’t surprise at all that he considered the hundred-something-year-old soldier to be young. There was around three times as much difference between him and Fynn than between me and Fynn.

“I do not seem to understand,” the Command Sergeant Major replied with an uncertainty unbefitting of his status. “You made yourself clear before that you would provide us with answers.”

“And I will.” Au’ter nodded. “But first I need you to appease this old mind. Tell me, soldier, after the High Arcanist falls, and only if he does, you will occupy the freed position. Won’t you?”

“I will,” Fynn stated veraciously.

“But what guarantees that you won’t be like En’yen?”

“With due respect, Naturalist Au’ter, my only intention as the Command Sergeant Major of the military of Ferilyn is to protect our country. I have no wishes of conquest and expansion, even less to see our people hurt.”

“Everyone says that.” The old ellari sighed. His sigh didn’t exhale any soul as mine did.

“Excuse me?” For the time, I saw Fynn’s visage ridden with confusion.

It was a topic worthy of study how Au’ter could easily destabilize a man as composed as Fynn. He was a high-ranking soldier and a disciplined eleven-star mage. Far from your average civilian.

“Do you think that En’yen had always been a power-hungry warmonger?” He knows. “Power changes people. It certainly did with the young scholar, and even myself. I wasn’t immune to the temptations. This country will always suffer the curse of the High Arcanists. There will always be a person in a higher standing, and that person will always end up being corrupted. The best thing we can do about it is remove them from their throne before it’s too late.”

Fynn and I looked at Au’ter, whose expression and voice were laden with sorrow. I didn’t hear anything bad about the previous High Arcanist, but the old man felt ashamed of his past.

“High Arcanists will end up doing things. It’s a position of limitless power with barely anyone being able to overrule you. Even the many ministers don’t have enough influence together to stop a single person.”

Since the very beginning, I knew that the Ferilyn Meritocracy and its government were flawed, but I didn’t think it was this bad. This sounded more like an absolute government or a military junta than the meritocratic exaltation of magic that it was supposed to be.

“So, tell me.” The naturalist looked at the electromancer. “En’yen was a scholar but became a warlord. You are already beginning as a soldier and your ascension will be marked with blood. Will you be even worse? Will you be the one who finally unleashes a true war upon this world? Can you promise you won’t become corrupted like En’yen?”

The soldier in black uniform closed his eyes and pondered the many questions with resolute thought. His answer was simple but striking.

“No.” A stark negation.

“I see.” Au’ter gazed down with a shadowy look. Then snickered. “Ha, ha.” His laughter was ridden with more coughs than chuckles. “I appreciate the honesty, that’s most that you can expect from others.”

The naturalist took a sip from his cup. That reminded me that we all had our own before us. Neither Fynn nor I had drunk from them. The cup was filled with yellowy-blue liquid that had stopped steaming a while ago.

I couldn’t resist temptation and tried the beverage, even if the tense situation screamed otherwise.

It was... disappointing.

Maybe it was because of Alatea’s miraculous infusions, but I couldn't appreciate this tea at all. After spending this much time with my mentor, I knew I could make something better than this.

“It isn’t of your liking?” Au’ter asked with the tone a grandfather would use with their grandson.

“Let’s say I had better,” I replied leaving the cup back on its plate.

The old ellari limited to smile at me, the gesture only accentuated his creased visage. He took one more sip and left the cup to rest.

“Fynn Albeyr,” the naturalist started, “whilst your words lack confidence, I can see your determination. I do not know how you plan to usurp the High Arcanist’s position, but I have an alternative far better than whatever you have come up with.”

The sincerity from Au’ter’s expression vanished. Unconsciously, I straightened my back. Fynn waited patiently for the elder’s response.

“As I’ve said before, there’s an ancient tradition, a rite more than anything.” Wisdom poured out of the naturalist’s maroon eyes. “Ish’mat’era is called. It allows a minister and a head of a Noble House to demand a High Arcanist a duel to overthrow them if they are unsatisfied with their rule. The selected champion must be the pretender, but that’s where the rules end. You only need a minister and a head of house to select you and you’ll be able to end En’yen’s rule. No revolution needed. No blood spilled.”

“Just that?” The words escaped my mouth, gaining me a dirty look from Fynn.

“Just that,” Au’ter confirmed.

“It’s... it feels too easy,” I added.

“Well, it may seem for you.” He explained. “But this rule was made at the founding of Ferilyn, where all ministers were either non-nobles or members of opposing houses. It’s a requirement so hard to meet that the ish’mat’era has only been invoked once in all of history. With the current political state, where Noble Houses have lost their power and most ministers are unaffiliated mages, it’s a far easier task than millennia ago.”

Millennia.

I let the words linger in my mind.

“Is the High Arcanist forced to accept this duel?” Unlike my clouded thoughts, Fynn was ever-so-pragmatic.

“He is.” Au’ter nodded. “Every minister must know of the rule, but if they haven’t invoked it, it’s because En’yen must have bought them. Or worse.” He insinuated with fatigue. “It’s more realistic that he has bought the heads of the Noble Houses, as he had done so already when he founded the military. You probably won’t find difficulties finding a minister that wants to cooperate with you. I personally recommend the Ministers of Education or Agriculture. But the problem will still be the Noble Houses.”

“I see.” The soldier closed his eyes as he scratched his ears deep in thought. “We appreciate your contribution, Au’ter. If what you said is true, we may be able to restitute the status quo without shedding any blood.” Fynn stood from his chair, the tea still untouched. “Private, we march.”

I obeyed Fynn and stood up as well. At the end of the day, I still was a member of his order, whether I wanted or not.

“Wait.” The naturalist told once Fynn had taken the first step away from the table. “Have you ever wondered about the perfect nature of our calendar?”

For a moment, Fynn thought about what to say, not understanding Au’ter’s intentions, but he simply said, “No.”

“Let me tell you a story then. A long time ago, there was a mage,” Au’ter narrated, “she was powerful and respected by everyone. She loved the stars and the cosmos, but she hated how imperfect the calendar was. Three-hundred and ninety-seven days a year. Twenty-one hours a day. Those arbitrary numbers irked her to no limit. The cosmos should be perfect, or so she thought. So, one day, using her position and her power as a twelve-star mage, she spellcasted her magic. A spell that would make the calendar perfect.”

Au’ter stopped talking for an instant, the air entered his mouth loudly. As if he had been drowning.

“So, she did. She made the calendar perfect.” The previous High Arcanist explained. “With her Force magic, she changed the cosmos, altering the planet and its natural satellite, sling-shooting them across space into a perfected and calculated position. Four-hundred days a year. Twenty hours a day. That’s how Elisandre Stargazer rewrote the world. That’s the power and madness of a High Arcanist.”

“T-that’s moronic!” I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Are you telling me she just threatened the stability of the entire world because she didn’t like an uneven calendar?”

Au’ter didn’t respond to me, he just laughed. A dry chuckle, more riddled with coughs than amusement. Fynn, at my side, didn’t show any emotion. I couldn’t know if it was because of the surprise or if he already knew.

“How did I not hear about this?”

“It has been four-hundred years since then,” Au’ter added. “Elisandre still had a long reign before her, and her magic was so perfect that only astronomers may have noticed the change. I don’t remember the day she spellcasted the spell. Her control was so good that people hadn’t even realized the world changed. At some point, we started teaching children that years lasted four-hundred days and not three-hundred and ninety-seven. Part of me thinks that she chose four hundred as the new calendar because of ellari pride because technically three-hundred and ninety-six days would be equally as right for the four seasons and far simpler, but alas, we may never know.” He chuckled once more. “That’s the might of a High Arcanist, one of the twelfth star. This is what you want to challenge.”

“Let’s go, Private.” This time, Fynn talked with hatred.

“One second, Ceaseless Storm.” He stood up. “Yes, I know what the people call you. I want a moment with your Private. If you allow me, of course.”

Fynn looked at the previous High Arcanist with an indecipherable gaze. Au’ter’s standing shape appeared frail, but as Fynn himself had said before, I saw a powerful ellari before me.

“Do as you please.” And he went inside the house.

The naturalist looked at me with his maroon eyes, a soul packed with age, and spoke to me.

I didn’t like what he told me.