Anno Domini 1194
In the year of our LORD 729, two comets appeared around the sun,
striking terror into all who saw them. One comet rose early and preceded the
sun, while the other followed the setting sun at evening, seeming to portend
awful calamity to the east and west alike. Or else, since one comet was the
precusor of day and the other of night, they indicated that mankind was menaced
by evils at both times. They appeared in the month of January, and remained
visible for about a fortnight, pointing their fiery torches northwards as
though to set the welkin aflame.
Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of English People
Cynewulf paused at his reading and made a note on the vellum before him, the nib of his goose-feather quill scratching against the rough parchment. Despite his passion for history, he could not concentrate on the task he'd set himself. True, none of Horsingas's other four magi were capable of doing the research that needed to be done. Hosvir the Bjornaer had no patience for books, neither did Rolf Kraven. Whitburh Frithowebba was quite new to the covenant, and had not yet been told of their task; besides, as a quaesitor she would doubtless have objections. And no-one had dared suggest that the mighty Ælfred of Thirlweall should do book-work. That just left him, Cynewulf Gryreleoth of House Jerbiton, necromancer and historian, to spend the cold months in early spring holed up in the library with spiders and memories for company.
A chill rippled up his spine, reminding him of the task at hand, and he continued his search through the histories of Bede for references to fiery stars in the heavens.
"A piece of the Sphere of Fire! Just think of it!"
"Kraven, you are raving! As Empedocles attests, if a mote from that sphere should fall, it would immediately rise back to its point of origin, for elemental fire is absolutely centrifugal."
"Fah! I have no use for Greek nonsense, Frithowebba. The whoreson Empedocles was stoned most of the time. Did he not throw himself into a volcano, saying it would give him immortality? He was the one who was raving!"
"Flambeau was a master of fire, yet he threw his life away in a doomed mission. At least Empedocles had a purpose to his death."
"Keep your filthy mouth from uttering our Founder's name, woman! He supported the Order, which is more than the Founder of your house did!"
"Still, Guernicus would have recognised a comet for what it truly is! A piece of rarified but terrestrial matter, flung into the Sphere of Fire by a volcano, and drawing elemental Fire from its rightful sphere as it returns to its own."
"Imbecile!..."
The rest of Rolf Kraven's rejoinder was cut off by a third voice. "Whitburh, Rolf - cease your arguing! I don't want a repeat of yesterday's debarcle!"
The two young magi glared at each other resentfully, but out of deference for their elder, did not continue their arguement. Ælfred turned back to his reverie, gazing out over the slate-grey sea from the side of the boat. They had tracked their quarry down at last, after travelling in circles for months. It was not on the Scottish mainland, nor was it on the Outer Hebrides. Skye was the only possible resting place of the star that he sought.
Ælfred of Thirlweall was a tall man of noble mein. A native of Northern England, happenstance had given him the dark hair and hooked nose of the Normans whom he so despised. He was by far the oldest magus of Horsingas, having been a magus for longer than the normal lifespan of a mundane; despite this his hair was yet untouched by grey and his body unbowed with age. A rich cloak of silver fox fur kept out the chill sea-wind.
His companions were much younger. Rolf Kraven was in his late thirties, and a Dane. He was truculent, moody and difficult to like, however, like many magi of House Flambeau he was good in battle. Despite not being physically powerful - he was tall and thin, with a weaselly face - he used his magic to give him strength and skill in fights, and was prone to wading into melee with a sword blazing with fire. Whitburh Frithowebba was the youngest of the three magi, and had been a member of Horsingas for less than a decade. She was of House Guernicus, and Ælfred had brought her along for her diplomatic skills, although all she seemed to have done so far was to argue with Kraven. She was a slim Saxon maid with flaxen hair; not beautiful, but far from plain. She was sternly disapproving of Kraven's flagrant lifestyle, and, Ælfred suspected, disapproving of himself as well, though she hid it well.
The ship bearing the three magi sailed on across the Minch to Skye by the light of the full moon.
Cynewulf added yet another open book to the pile in front of him with a thump, sighing in exasperation. He hadn't realised just how many comets had been seen in the heavens in the recorded history of Britain. How was he to distinguish which ones were the ones mentioned in the prophecy? He read the ancient verse once more, running a hand through his sandy hair in an unconscious gesture of exhaustion.
"Of the seven stars from the Sky,
The Seventh will Signify
The coming of the King.
Bright Lucifer will edify
The Truth behind the false lies,
The Truth you must Bring."
Cynewulf's master Eardberth had discovered the lines after many years of searching, and had managed to piece together much of the rest of the prophecy as well. Enough to realise just what it signified for Britain, and particularly for Horsingas. It clearly indicated that there must be seven comets before the prophecy will come to pass, and some will be true comets, some will be false ones. How Lucifer, Prince of Lies, was going to help them distinguish which are the true and which the false comets Cynewulf had no idea; but he certainly didn't like the sound of it. The Order of Hermes forbade what the verse seemed to be suggesting, but as fortune would have it, Cynewulf of all people was probably best placed to do what had to be done. A nigromantic summoning was, after all, little different from a necromantic one. The question was whether fulfilling the prophecy was worth the price of his soul?
The ship, small that it was, could not be beached, and so the magi, along with seven of their warriors, climbed into one of the long boats and rowed to shore across the night-dark waters of the bay. The magi stayed aboard while the soldiers heaved and pulled the boat someway off the beach, then helped Ælfred and Whitburh out. Rolf Kraven leapt athletically over the high side of the boat, landing in the sand with a heavy thump, a jingling sound indicating he had donned his chainmail shirt before leaving the ship that had brought them to Skye. After sending the grogs ahead to check it was safe, the magi left the beach with Ælfred in the lead, until they stood upon the desolate rock above the sea. Fortunately there was little wind to magnify the cold. Whitburh wrapped her fur lined cloak tighter about herself while Ælfred consulted his notebook and sighted the stars with the magical eyeglass he had constructed for that purpose. Kraven paid no attention to the mutterings of his superior, preferring instead to stand far too close to Caedwalla the sergeant-at-arms, amusing himself with the discomfort that the mundane was feeling. Caedwalla was a gruff scion of the old Saxon nobility, and was an excellent sergeant, commanding the men with a mixture of intimidation and example. He would not stand up to one of the magi, however, and all the time Kraven was staring him down, he was losing the respect of his men. Fortunately his dignity was spared by the completion of Ælfred's calculations.
"This way!" he commanded, indicating a direction just shy of north. Caedwalla, somewhat relieved by the interruption, ordered his men into position and they set off; the sergeant and two of his men just ahead of Ælfred, with the remaining four bringing up the rear. Whitburh, who had been paying attention to the details of the journey, was aware that they were on the north-east coast of the island of Skye, and that they could not travel far north before they reached the island's northern-most cape.
Dawn was soon breaking, and with the rising of the sun the men extinguished the torches they had been carrying. Kraven was the first to notice the figure standing on the beach-head before them, although as the sun capped the high peaks of inland Skye, the glinting of its light on polished metal made the figure hard to miss. Ælfred ordered the men to advance, but to be ready for anything. The figure resolved itself into a man, caprisoned for war but with weapon still sheathed. It was his shield that was catching the new-born sun's rays, polished as it was to mirror-brightness and bearing no device. The man was tall and burly, and by his olive complextion and oily black hair, was far from his home. He wore a mail shirt and carried a sword in a baldric. His surcoat was scarlet and his trews black, and he wore a thick woollen cloak of dark crimson, trimmed in sable. He seemed to be waiting patiently for the group of ten to come within hailing distance, apparently unfazed by their superior numbers. When they were close enough, Caedwalla hailed him in his limited Gaelic. The man replied in Latin.
"Salvete! Well met on this fine morning, eh? 'Tis beautiful to watch the sun arise, no?"
His Latin was clear and fluent, that of an educated man, and Ælfred had his suspicions where he had learnt it.
"You are a long way from the Tribunal of Rome, sodalis," he replied, also in Latin, "What brings you to Skye?"
"The same as you, learned magus, I'm sure. The star that fell from the sky."
Cynewulf started in his excitement, knocking over the ink-horn with his sudden movement. He'd been half-dozing, skimming over a recent purchace, a tractatus on portents from Robert of Oxford. This had to be it! He reached for the covenant's historium, but checked himself. Why not get the information from the source?
"May I speak with thee, pater?" he asked formally.
"What is it, Cynewulf? I am here, I was but resting."
"Master Eardberth, remember'st thou the Spring of the 10th year in the Reign of King William Rufus? 'Twas four-score and four years ago." The archaic language slipped easily from his tongue, after months of reading old texts.
"I remember clearly, as ever, apprentice. It was my finest year, Anno Domini 1108. What of it?"
"Was there not a fiery star in the night's sky? Tell me of it, if it pleases thee."
"My existence is to inform thee, Cynewulf, least you shame my line. The star ascended in the second decan of Taurus, and passed into Regnum, the Tenth House of the Heavens and the Constellation of Boötes. A strong portent of strength and peace. I later interpreted it to signify lasting peace with the Order of Odin, for that was the year that I forged peace with the heathens, and Thorarin Whitehand the rune-master entered into covenant with Horsingas. With hindsight, perhaps 'twas not such a beneficent omen. What of it, pupil of mine?"
"Master, could not an Ascendant in Taurus, particularly the second decan, also mean 'coming into fruition'? And is not Boötes the constellation of the Hidden King?"
"You are right on both counts. What are you..."
"Just one more question, illustrious magus, thee who wert ever the master of astrology. The planet of Love that dost appear in the morn and e'en time - was it also in the quadrant to which the comet travelled."
"One more, thy reasoning is sound. Venus was indeed in synurgy with the fiery star. What...oh, I see. Boy, you give honour to me and our line."
"My thanks master. I know now that comet to be one of the seven stars of the prophecy. Finally, thy life and thy death will be given meaning."
Cynewulf watched the ghost of his master carefully, but no emotion showed on its spectral face. Emotions are of the body, after all, and Eardberth's body had long since rotted to dust.
"But," mused the spirit, "will you live long enough for me see His coming? Cynewulf, I believe it is time you found an apprentice."
Rolf Kraven had his sword drawn and pointed at the stranger's chest before anyone else could stop him.
"Leave here, Italian, and I won't be forced to kill you!"
The armoured man seemed mildly amused rather than threatened by the Dane's actions.
"I am Siciliano, not Italian, my friend. Put up your weapon - I have no wish to embarrass you in front of your sodales."
He may of been genuinely trying to warn Kraven of the danger, or he may have crafted the barb to deliberately taunt the hot-headed Flambeau. Whichever the intention, it had the latter effect. Kraven's face flushed red and his body began to swell with muscles as he activated the ruby charm about his neck. As the magic-born muscles gave power to his wiry frame, he began to mutter the spell which would set his sword aflame.
"Please!" cried the Sicilian, "The Code prohibits..." That was as far as he got. With an incoherent howl, the fire-edged sword of the enraged Danish magus swung through the air towards the unprotected side of his reluctant opponent. With seemingly little effort, the Sicilian's mirror-bright shield moved lightning-fast into position, catching the blow. Its polished surface captured the light of the sword, reflecting it back into Kraven's eyes. This gave his opponent the chance to take a step back and draw his own weapon. The two circled each other now, Kraven blinking back the tears that streamed down his face, his vision returning to normal. Ælfred and Whitburh looked on in concern, but for different reasons. The young quaesitor was appalled that her companion would attack another magus with such little provocation, in flagrant breach of the Code of the Order of Hermes. Ælfred on the other hand was looking for an opportunity to provide sorcerous support, but he was seriously debating which of the combatants to help - the innocent stranger or his hot-headed colleague.
In the end, his intervention was not needed. The stranger, who had been defending himself but not pressing the advantage, struck suddenly like a snake at Kraven. The blow was with his mailed fist, not his sword, which was perhaps fortunate as it landed square on the magus's nose and knocked him flying backwards. Ælfred immediately moved to stop Kraven from regaining his feet, whilst Whitburh interposed herself between the two. In the stillness that followed, Kraven was the first to move, to regain his feet, but a well-placed boot from Ælfred kept him in his place. The Sicilian magus still had his sword drawn, now pointed at Whitburh, until he saw the sigil of House Guernicus on the brooch that fastened her cloak. Immediately his eyes widened, he sheathed his sword and bowed, all in one smooth motion.
"Forgive me, honoured quaesitor," he asked the younger maga reverentially, "I acted only in self-defence. Nor did I use magic against my opponent, though I was sore tempted."
"Be at ease, magus. The fault lies entirely with Rolf Kraven. I will support your case at Tribunal, should you wish to accuse him. Let us try once again to meet, this time with more civility. It is my duty to introduce you to Magus Ælfred of Thirlweall, filius Jaime of House Tytalus, and leader of the Council of the Covenant of Horsingas. I am Whitburh Frithowebba filia Severine of House Guernicus."
"It is my honour. I am Guiseppe del Mato of House Flambeau, late of Verdi Covenant in the Roman Tribunal. This is Mors Mordax." He gestured, and an immense black mastiff, hitherto unseen by the group, stepped forward to stand by his master. "I consulted an astrologer before embarking on my journey in search of a new covenant, and he foretold that I would find one if I travelled the path of a comet that passed over my birthplace in Sicily at the beginning of the last century. I wonder now, at the end of my journey, what lies on yon island." Guiseppe gestured out to sea, and now, in the strengthening morning light, the magi of Horsingas could see a small rocky island, perhaps half a mile offshore.
"What used to lie there, my friend" intervened the slick tones of Ælfred, "was the tower belonging to the Covenant of Turmaris. Its apparent absence is causing me no small concern."
The Council of Horsingas gathered in the Great Hall, warming themselves by the fire, which had been lit by servants some hours before. Hosvir Goatlegs of Bjornaer was last to arrive, and he was accompanied by his apprentice Ealwynn. She was but a year from taking her Apprenctice's Gauntlet, although her diminuitive size made her appear much younger. She was a beautiful young woman with chestnut-coloured hair, a stark contrast to her grizzled master. His hair and beard were both tightly curled and wiry, a mixture of black and white. He was the second-eldest magus of Horsingas, tall and compact, with a slight limp, and dressed in earthern browns and greens. He grunted a greeting to Ælfred, but did not spare even a glance for Whitburh, Kraven or Cynewulf, the three younger magi who were also present.
"Very well," started Ælfred, the leader of the Council, "I would like to ask Cynewulf why he has convened the Council of the Covenant of Horsingas."
"Thank you, Lord Ælfred. I apologise for the short notice of this meeting, but I really didn't think that this matter could wait until the scheduled meeting at the solstice. You see, I have devoted many seasons to the seventh verse of the Prophecy of Cailleach Diohrbhall, and I believe that I have solved it. To summarise, the verse refers to the falling of seven stars, the seventh of which would indicate that the prophecy was close to fulfillment. The verse also states that 'Bright Lucifer' will indicate which comets are part of this prophecy, and which ones are ordinary astrological events, for we will need to bring the stars to the Place of Majesty when the time is right. Up to now we have always concentrated on the 'Lucifer' part of the phrase, and, quite rightly, steered well clear." Cynewulf was looking at Whitburh pointedly during this last sentence.
"It was fortuitous that I happened to be reading Ptolomey's Tetrabiblios for further clues, for it helped me unravel the mystery. It is not 'Lucifer' who will show the true portents from the false, it is 'Bright Lucifer' - the old name for the Morning Star, or the planet Venus. I have checked with the sources, at least one comet in recent times was travelling directly towards Venus in the night sky as it flew over the Isle of the Mighty."
Some of Cynewulf's enthusiasm seemed to be rubbing off on the other magi, and both Hosvir and Whitburh had their sigils raised, asking permission to speak. Ælfred, however, asked his question first, as was his right.
"Which comet was that, Cynewulf?"
"It was in the year of our Lord 1108. My master Eardberth recorded its passing. It was first seen in Britain over Orford Ness in Anglia, and travelled over the Five Boroughs towards Galloway, where it was seen last. The Magi at Fire's Heart swear that it was low on the horizon, and my suspicion is that it came to rest somewhere in the Hebrides."
Hosvir had lowered his sigil, his question obviously being the same as Ælfred's. The leader of the Council indicated Whitburh to speak.
"Although I have not been made aware of all of the prophecy - nor its implications" she said, levelling an accusing gaze at Hosvir, who had voted against her and Kraven being told the secret that Horsingas guarded, "I have gathered that you are suggesting that we collect this fallen star. May I remind you that its fiery humours will have dispersed by now back into the upper air."
"Not if it is truly the star we seek" countered Cynewulf, "the elemental fire will have left behind some rarified matter, still extant upon this earth. Of course, we don't yet know which of the seven stars it is."
"Do we know exactly where it is?" asked Kraven, eagerly, "it must be worth hundreds of pawns of vis!"
"No vis that we can use, Kraven. If it is the star we seek, it will be from beyond the Lunar Sphere, sent by the Unmoved Mover to earth, thus not respondant to earthly magics. It will be a unique experience to study such a thing, if indeed we can. It is likely that our magics will fail entirely to penetrate its secrets. But to answer your question, I cannot tell where it would have landed, except in the most general terms. Likewise I cannot tell you which of the seven it is. I am a necromancer, not an astrologer. My master taught me some of the celestial arts, but I am fearfully slow in my calculations. Perhaps if you could bring me the bones of Abydaros the Stargazer himself, I may be able to work faster!"
"There is no time to waste" announced Ælfred, "already four score years and ten have past since the star fell to earth. Its memory may still be in the minds of old men, whose fathers may have seen it. We must travel to the Outer Isles and track it down. Whitburh and Kraven, you will accompany me. Hosvir, I leave you in charge of the Council until my return. Cynewulf, keep your head in those books. I want some answers by the time I return with the star. This meeting of the Council of the Covenant of Horsingas is adjourned."
They stood for a while in silence, while the sun rose high enough so as to not cast a shadow on the island that lay a few hundred paces off shore. There was no sign of any habitation on the island. Finally, Guiseppe broke the silence.
"I have a boat. It is not big, but it will take some of us out there."
"Very well," replied Ælfred, "Caedwalla, you and three men will accompany us. Kraven, you will remain here with the rest of the men, and await our return."
"But..."
"Do you question me, magus? Do you wish to challenge my leadership?"
The Dane cast his eyes downwards.
"No, Dominus."
"Then do as I say."
Within the hour, the three magi were being rowed across the narrow straits to the island. There was a rickety wooden jetty on the landward side, and for this they headed, and moored the boat. Once it was secure, they made their way up the beach and onto the path through the rocks to the other side of the small skerry. The land sloped downhill towards the sea for several hundred paces, but was featureless ground. There were no plants, not even the ubiquitous saltgrass which grew in profusion in this unforgiving clime.
The island was not deserted however. Standing on the far northern end of the island was a woman, facing the sea with her arms raised as the waves crashed around her. She was dressed in elaborate robes of blue and grey, embroidered with silver and studded with sapphires. She was chanting, her voice intially lost into the surf, but as the chant went on, her words became more apparent. It was a lay, the saga of the covenant of Turmaris. She had been reciting the lay for some time, for in her versed history of Turmaris she was currently recounting the height of the covenant's power, seventy years after its founding, when it was the home of some of the most famed alchemists and enchanters of the Order of Hermes. She listed them one by one, their lineages and their achievements, a litany of great names. Then, still reciting the history in her deep, resonant Latin, she turned, and in slow, measured, almost ritualistic movements, started walking in a circle that would describe a quarter of the shore. Though she looked directly at the three magi standing next to the rocks, she did not acknowledge their presence with gesture or expression. Instead, her song described them watching her, naming them as witnesses to the rebirth of Turmaris.
Upon seeing her age-lined face, Whitburh leant over to the other magi and whispered "It is Mariella Artifitrix of House Verditius." Ælfred nodded his agreement. Guiseppe pointed in amazement at the faint silvery trail left by the maga's footsteps, which began to glow more strongly as he began her second circuit of the circle. By her third circuit, the glowing trail had resolved into a double circle of white light, containing symbols and glyphs of a Hermetic spell within their borders, all drawn in the same silvery glow.
Mariella's litany was approaching recent history now. She sung about the last member of the covenant, an apprentice trapped initially with magi going slowly senile as Wizard's Twilight entrapped them in its glutinous paws. She sang of how the apprentice devoured the books left untouched for many years, how she had learnt the ancient secrets of the covenant, while one by one the magi disappeared. She sang of the many long decades that the sole surviving member of the covenant had remained in the tower by the sea, perfecting her art. And finally she sang of the devastation wrought upon the covenant by a dragon of golden hue, so huge that its wingtips touched both horizons. She described the conversation that the lone maga had had with the dragon, how she had nearly committed suicide at the command of the creature, how it described a compact unfulfilled and forgotten. Her song, the emotion clear in her voice, described the tower's destruction, how she had barely escaped with her life.
Mariella paused in her song. She was standing outside the circle, her hands describing the complex gestures of a powerful spell, somehow tied up with her song. Whitburh realised that the sun was reaching its zenith - they had been watching the ancient maga for nearly four hours, barely moving from where they first saw her.
With a triumphant paean that seemed to burst forth from the maga, an anthem that seemed to be more than the product of a single voice, containing rather the voices of all the magi she had mentioned in her saga, Mariella described the reborn covenant, a glistening spire of pure white thrusting into the sky, a testimony to all who had lived there in the past, and all who will live there in the future. With a rumbling groan, the rock split asunder, and twisting up from the very earth itself, like the shoot of a plant questing for the sun, the tower she had described came. It was one of the mightiest spells of the Order of Hermes, that which called a covenant from the very bowels of the earth, and Mariella had accomplished it alone. As the reverberating echo of the tower's arrival died away, Mariella slumped to her knees, exhausted by the effort of the magic. Guiseppe moved as if to rush down the beach to help her, but both Whitburh and Ælfred held him back.
"Do not take away her moment of triumph" said Whitburh.
"We are privileged to have witnessed what we did" added Ælfred, "but leave her to mourn her dead and to celebrate her victory alone."
Eventually, Mariella regained her feet and walked towards the gathered magi, her body tired but her face glowing with triumph. Ælfred bowed deeply, and introduced himself and his companions. He did not, however, bother with any further small-talk.
"Honoured sodalis, we have travelled many leagues in quest, and portents have brought us here. A star fell to earth not far from here - it would have been in the days of your apprenticeship."
"I remember it. A sphere of metal the size of an ox, and covered in soot, though when this was cleaned off it gleamed like a mirror, so much so that need dictated it must be kept in a room without light."
"Then our search is over! Please, good lady, give me honest news... does it still remain? Tell me please that the magi of Turmaris-that-was did not harvest it for vis!"
"They did no such thing! It resisted all attempts to delve into its occult properties. Not one of the finest minds in the Order - when it came to enchantments - could determine its use. It fair drove my master mad! Alas, I have it not, yet I know where it does lie."
"Then," said Ælfred of Tytalus, his eyes gleaming, "perhaps we should discuss the terms of a trade..."