Fernan V: The Novice

“Fernan, would you be so kind as to fetch me some opium wine from the cellar?” Adrian Couteau, the older sage to whom Fernan had been assigned, had a powerful warmth to him, radiating out from his thick body in a way even most of the other sun sages didn’t seem to. “I want to make sure we have enough for tonight’s sacrifices.”

“There’s going to be more?” Fernan blinked. “There’s already been twenty just since I started. Does Guerron even have that many criminals?”

Adrian nodded. “A lot more people live here than your little village, and with the Festival of the Sun, even more have come up and down the Gold Coast to crowd out our inns and make trouble. Not most of them, of course, but the larger the number, the more you’ll have stirring things up at the margins.”

“Still…” Back in Villechart, Jerome had never even needed to do it at all. There had been an incident with one of the older boys stealing one of Enquin’s goats, but he had simply been disciplined for it, and done a day’s mining for the other village. Nothing on a level that would merit execution.

“We are moving through faster than usual, I grant you.” He scratched at his chin, where the trailing warmth from his face implied a bushy beard. “You can blame Leclaire for that one. Once she started stealing Guerrons away to drown and the Duke let her get away with it, beating her to the rest became imperative.”

“Can you really steal a person, though?”

Adrian’s glow grew a shade darker. “Fernan, these are vile people. Nearly all of them are murderers, if not worse. Granting power to Soleil is the most good they could possibly do with their miserable lives. And when that power is taken by another spirit to whom it doesn’t belong, yes, that’s a theft. Though nothing less than I would expect of Leclaire.”

“Um…”

He sighed. “I’d be happy to talk more about this as we work, but first I need that opium wine.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Fernan ducked his head as he turned to find the cellars.

Moving about in the Temple of the Sun was far easier than the outside, with everything bathed in a warm glow. Aside from the color, it was almost like having his eyes back. Although it did make for an unpleasant contrast during the occasional errands he was sent out into the city to run.

Apparently Gézarde’s lair had a similar effect, with the younger geckos experiencing the same struggle when they ventured outside for the first time. But the cooler areas were already becoming easier to decipher, and that would only continue with practice.

The cellars were almost the opposite, though, the heat leached out of them through some magical working of a long-dead sage to keep the bottles sufficiently cool, not unlike the way villagers would store meat in the ice during the winter to keep it fresh.

Fernan had only been here a week, and that had already been enough to see everything ramp up in intensity, the older sages in almost a frenzy to prepare for the festival. Many of them were to compete in the mêlée tournament, representing their patron spirit in the hopes of inspiring further offerings, and half of the rest were dealing with the influx that it would cause. Fernan barely saw any of the more senior sages, with most of them splitting their time between overseeing the satellite temples in the more populated parts of the city and conferring with Lord Lumière.

And then there was that duel. The Sun Temple was unanimous in its emphasis of the need for victory, to win back the favor with their patron and recover from the loss of face that Lady Leclaire’s treachery had dealt them. Lord Lumière was overseeing most of the sacrifices personally, calling upon Soleil to bear witness to his fidelity and grant him the power to claim victory in his name.

And somehow I ended up stuck in the middle of all of it.

“You should be happy,” Florette had told him, one of the few times that they had managed to meet up since they had been called into Vetain tower. “If the aqua-bitch wins, she gives you what you need, with six thousand florins thrown in. If it’s Lord Asshole instead, you still get what’s most important. Not as quickly, probably, but you’re covered either way.”

“I still wish you hadn’t insisted on those florins,” he’d said back. “It only served to antagonize her.”

“It was regrettable,” she had admitted. “If I’d known she’d agree so quickly, I could have asked for far more. As it is, I think it was a trivial sum for her. That or she wanted your help that badly, but either way we had a better bargaining position than I accounted for.”

“We?”

With a roll of her eyes, she’d shrugged. “You, then, if you prefer. I’d think you’d be grateful that I secured extra money for you. Moving an entire village won’t be easy, or inexpensive. You can put it all towards that.”

“I guess so. I’m not sure it was worth it.”

That had turned into another argument about lying and ingratitude, where Florette had tried to make thievery and deception seem noble and Fernan had tried to stop himself from throttling her.

She had apologized for the initial deception, at least, and promised never to involve him a lie again. That was something, even if she’d said it in an exasperated tone and stormed off to find her pirate friends moments later.

And, as callous as it might be to even think about things this way, he’d already gotten the introduction he’d needed from Magnifico to get into the Sun Temple. If they stole from him now, it would only hurt their consciences and the man himself, not Villechart.

Suppressing his revulsion at the moral position he’d been forced into, Fernan stepped deeper into the cellars, gripping the handrail tightly as he slowly, one foot at a time, walked into the chilled depths. Once he reached the bottom floor, he made his way to the back corner where his memory told him the opium wine was kept.

An import from Plagette, it helped to ease the pain of those sacrificed to Soleil, to numb their burden as the flames consumed them. More humane than the alternative, Fernan had to admit, but there was something disturbing about the glassy, vacant eyes of the people tied to the pyres of sacrifice, staring mutely as if accepting their fate.

It was still almost enough to make him regret ever trying to get the sundial this way. Sickening — there was no other word for it, treating people like commodities to be exchanged for spiritual power. He knew better than to be too open about that here, though.

As it was, he was penned in from both sides. Lord Lumière demanded his help in this crucial moment, and Lady Leclaire required him to win his confidences, to keep her abreast of what was happening, and to advocate for peace in the aftermath of the duel.

The last was what he was least hesitant to do, but it seemed almost impossible.

Florette had told him innumerable tales of the Foxtrap: the heroic last stand of Rosette Debray and her Guerron armies to hold the north wall as the Prince escaped; the sage of Levian devastating the entire Avalon fleet, sacrificing her life for the power to do it; and, most often, Robin Verrou turning his coat and plundering Lyrion while Avalon was still reeling from the death of its King.

The way the stories went, it seemed as if the Empire were coordinated and unified, standing strong against the foreign invaders.

But the Sun Temple seemed to hate the Malins even more than Avalon. Every day there was another quip about fox cubs not knowing their place, or the barbarity of Levian’s drownings. They were intruders, thieves, murderers, and worst of all, usurpers. Even Adrian, who had been largely genial and helpful, had not a kind word to say about them.

Most of the bile was directed at Lady Leclaire personally, though. It was she who had stolen the harbor robber for Levian, she who manipulated the King and Duke alike, as puppets dancing to her strings. “Once Lord Lumière prevails,” Adrian had said, “that will chasten them enough to back down. It’s the best way forward.”

Fernan was trapped from every angle, struggling for air underneath the weight of Leclaire and Lumière, essentially alone. His companions wanted to help, but Florette seemed determined to make things worse by stirring up trouble, and Mara had little understanding of human society, and couldn’t be told too much about the plan besides. As far as she was concerned, they ought to just burn it all down and take what they needed. All he could do was keep following the path and hope it would see him through to the other side with his village intact.

Without any way to read the labels, Fernan had to run his hands across the bottle until he found the long-necked shape of the opium wine, with its bulbous base. As his fingers closed around it, he saw a four-foot pillar of glowing flame behind the rack, smaller both in stature and warmth than any of the sun sages.

“Aubaine?” he called out, suspecting he knew who it was. As he made his way around the shelf, the glow stopped moving. “I know you’re there.”

The child slumped his shoulders. “You can’t tell Father.”

Fernan sighed. “What are you even doing down here? All of these drinks are for adults.”

“I’m going on a vision quest!” Aubaine thrust the bottle in his hands into the air, the warmth from his hands slowly creeping around the edges of it.

“Is that marigold wine?” Sages would take it for visions on occasion, glimpsing truths past and present, in maddeningly vague and useless metaphorical forms, according to Adrian. He and Mara seemed to independently agree that one was better off not bothering to delve into them, but some of the other Sun sages swore by it, Lord Lumière included. “It’s not for children.”

“Nuh-uh! Father said that I’d become a sage just like him! That means I get to do it too.” The boy clutched it tightly to his chest. “Only… I can’t open it. Help?”

Fernan snorted, setting his opium wine down beside him. “Sure, just hand it to me.” The moment he passed it over, Fernan reached for an empty spot on a top shelf with one hand, his other placing the bottle there it up once he did.

“You’re mean!” Aubaine jumped up to try to grab it again, to no avail.

“Just come with me, and I’ll show you something special later.”

The child bit his lip. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Fernan grabbed his hand, the opium wine still grasped in his other. “But first we have to go back upstairs.”

Finding his way back up was actually easier with Aubaine, the boy tugging forward and showing him the path without the need to focus to find the walls in the cold cellar. He did bump into one of the shelves, but they were sturdy enough that it wasn’t much of an issue, and that sort of thing tended to happen often enough normally.

Lord Lumière was glowing even brighter with concern once they exited the cellar. “Aubaine!”

“Right here, my lord.” Fernan waved the boy towards his father.

The Sun sage’s warmth settled slightly at the sight of his son running towards him. In a smooth motion, he scooped him up into his arms. “Where were you?”

“He was in the cellars, just trying to get out of the heat for a moment.” Fernan winked at Aubaine. “I was there myself; it was nothing untoward.”

Lumière exhaled sharply. “He was meant to be in lessons right now. Protected by his personal guard, no less. How did you find him, Fernan?”

“Simply coincidence, my lord. Adrian wanted me to grab opium wine for the sacrifices tonight.”

“Is that how you got those glowy eyes?” Aubaine reached his hands out towards Fernan. “Father, I want glowing eyes too. Why didn’t Soleil give them to you? Can he give them to me? Ooh, and––”

“Don’t run off again,” Lumière interrupted. “Things are very precarious right now. It’s vital that you stay safe. Do you understand?”

Aubaine nodded glumly.

“Trust me, they’re not worth it,” Fernan added.

“Your tutor is waiting.” Lord Lumière set the child back down. “Can I trust you to go back to him, or do I need to send someone to make sure you get there?”

“I’ll go.” Aubaine sighed. “But Fernan said he was going to show me something amazing. Can’t I see that first?”

“After your lessons.” Fernan smiled. “Trust me, it’s not going anywhere.”

“Ok.” He still sounded disappointed, but he took off in the direction of his chambers, where his tutor was no doubt waiting.

“Thank you,” said Lumière. “Now of all times, it’s vital that he stays within the safety of the Temple. He is more important than anything.”

“Even Soleil?” It slipped out before Fernan had a chance to realize what an inappropriate question it was.

Lumière sighed. “That’s a complicated question, Fernan. I have a duty to my acolytes, the sages underneath me, and to the people of Guerron. Soleil is the means by which I fulfil it, and there is no changing that. But he is not an end in and of itself. I’ve seen too many sages forget that, reaching for spiritual power above all else. But there are other things of value in life. Family, in my estimation, will always be first among them.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you would. You’ve suffered more under your spirit patron than any acolyte I’ve ever trained.”

“I–”

“I’m not stupid, Fernan. I’ve seen the way you blunder about, the way that certain expressions completely pass you by. I don’t know what, exactly, but your flame spirit has taken something from you. Something precious, in exchange for his patronage.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t profess to know much of your provincial life, but I can understand that much. Thank you for finding my son. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Magnifico.”

“Of course.” Fernan nodded. “Please give him my best.”

Lumière nodded as he walked off towards the back door of the Sun Temple, the one that led out to the steep mountainside behind it.

“Did you go all the way to Plagette for that?” Adrian asked as Fernan returned. “Pick the poppies yourself?”

“Sorry.” Fernan handed him the bottle. “It’s hard to find my way around, down there.”

“Oh fuck.” Adrian put his hand over his face. “Soleil’s grace, I forgot about that. You have my apologies.”

“It’s fine.” He was more than used to it by this point, at any rate. “I probably would have been late anyway. Had to stop to talk with Lord Lumière.”

“Is that so?” Adrian stroked his chin. “I’m surprised he found the time. Don’t take it too seriously if he was terse. This is a very stressful time for him, with Camille Leclaire out to ruin us.”

“He was quite polite, actually. Almost nothing like the first time I met him.”

“That’s Aurelian.” The older sage chuckled. “You’re on his team or you aren’t. I’m not surprised he took more kindly to you once you started helping out here. It’s good, means you’re working your way up.” He glowed brighter, the outline of his face stretching into what Fernan had come to realize was a smile. “Plus, I might have mentioned what a hard worker you are.”

“Thank you.” That made a certain amount of sense, but it still didn’t present a particularly warm picture of the High Priest. It didn’t take much effort to be kind to people already under your thumb. “Is there anything else you need today, or should I just come back tomorrow?”

“We got a rube wandering in who didn’t know about the satellite temples. Just get his offering taken care of, and you can head home.”

Fernan nodded, silently thanking Soleil that he wouldn’t be needed for the executions themselves. Adrian seemed to have caught on to his reluctance there, but some nights they had simply needed the extra hands regardless.

Mara fell into step at his side as he returned to the entrance, apparently having finished hunting for the day.

“Khali’s curse!” The glowing figure at the door was enormous, tall and thick, and bright with fear. “Kill it!”

“She’s my familiar,” Fernan reassured the man. “Perfectly harmless, as long as you leave her alone. Now if you’ll follow me, I can send your offering to Soleil.”

The large man stared mutely for a moment, flicking his head back and forth between him and Mara. “You’re that Villechart boy, aren’t you? Florette’s friend.”

Fernan blinked. “Gaspard?” One of the last people he’d ever properly seen, annoyingly enough. This was the boy who had been sparring with Florette in front of The First Post, what already felt like a lifetime ago.

Gaspard thumped his fist against his chest. “You got that right. What’s wrong with your face?”

“I love answering that question, especially since I get it so rarely.” Narrowing his eyes, Fernan started leading the way to the altar. “It’s a complicated story. Suffice it to say that I’m basically alright, now. And my name is Fernan.”

“Sure.” Gaspard pulled out a bouquet of incense and placed it at the foot of the Soleil statue Fernan had chosen, in the stone basin carved out to fit the offerings. This statue was the one where the spirit cradled an infant in his arms, which had seemed appropriate, given the day’s events. “Is Florette alright? We know she went up with you, but then she didn’t come back. Thought she might have stayed back in Enquin, but it didn’t seem much like her.”

“She’s fine. Better than I am––none of this.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “She’s here too.”

“Knew it. She wouldn’t shut up about that tournament for weeks before we even left.” He looked down at the altar. “So how does this work? Do you say some magic words or something? Do you have to get one of the sages?”

“No.” Fernan shook his head, pointing a finger down at the incense. Drawing on the stores of Gézard’s energy he felt inside him, he pushed out the warmth from his chest through into his arm, then out into the air. As he did, a jet of green flame spat out of his finger, covering the incense. “Great Spirit Soleil, Lord of the Sun, Father of the Moon, patron of my patron, I present you this offering. May you receive it well in your skyward abode, and may you recognize Gézarde, whose sage presents it to you.”

Every word had to be just perfect, or the spirit could anger. Fernan had adapted them from what some of the other lesser flame sages used, substituting Gézarde for Flammare or Phoenicia or whomever was their patron. In a few hours, the power would trickle down through Gézarde and into Fernan’s reserves, filling him with more flame to dispense as he desired.

Gaspard tilted his head back as the remnants of the incense disappeared into the air, not a trace of it left in the offering basin save the faintest of scorch marks. “Wow.”

“Mind telling me where you and the other Enquin people are staying? Florette might want to meet up with you, or something.”

“Nah, she won’t.” Gaspard snorted. “Second the tournament’s over, she’ll be on a ship somewhere, if she isn’t already. Nothing’s as important to her as that.”

“Just in case?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We’re at an inn on the southwest end of town, against the western wall. It’s called Inn Good Company.”

“Thanks.” Fernan began walking back to the entrance, Gaspard following behind him.

As they reached it, a deafening crack split the air, ringing through the temple.

Gaspard jumped. “What was that?”

“Spiritual magic,” Fernan responded. “You hear it a few times a day here, with all the preparations for the tournament. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh.” He folded his arms.

“It’s easy to get used to it.” Fernan shrugged. “And just so you know, there’s a smaller temple near your inn, for the future. This one isn’t really meant to be open to the public right now.”

“Hmm.” He looked up at the glass roof. “Shame. It’s a cool spot.” He shrugged. “Anyway, see you around, Fernan. Tell Florette I’m ready to kick her ass again, if you see her.”

Fernan rolled his eyes as he ushered the boy out.

What a strange reminder that was. He’d completely forgotten that the other Enquin villagers were even coming here, after everything that had happened.

But now he was done with his duties to the Sun Temple for today.

Another crack rang out as he stepped out into the sunlight of the Spirit Quartier and began walking back. It was time to give his report to Camille.