Cycle of The Fish
Company of Wizards.
Company of Wizards.
Prologue
Waves crashed against the rocks, the strong pillars standing vigilant, shaped like giant men, destined to forever hold the city above them. They could see their bare, marble torsos, their handsome white muscles, their distraught faces. And yet, above them was a much more welcome view, something not so tragic, surely not as absurd. A colossal city towered above the sea. Thick, light blue walls brutally weighed down on the pillars, and fearsome faces jutted out of them. Gargoyles, chimeras, demons, and devils, they were. Malicious mouths, hideous eyes, and yet they seemed beautiful – the amount of detail and effort put into the sculptures was meticulous, remarkable. No one would be rapt to hear it was carved out by magic. The towers looked like marvellous turquoise knives and the windows seemed to look like strange, exotic runes. Monk Gillus was dumbstruck. 'Why is the portcullis way up at the walls?' Abbot Lycapiere smiled for a moment.
‘Levitating magic, child. My grandfather had casted the spell at the behest of the Prince, many years afore.’
Gillus didn’t know which Prince was that, but did realise of a sudden that this was an extremely strong fortress, not just a glorious home for the merchant princes. He took a look around. The mast creaked and the people around him stood silent, gazing at the heavenly beauty and intently listening at the soft sounds of the sea, at times speaking to each other, but nonetheless quiet. A few of his friends talked to some of the other Abbots hailing from different monasteries from different lands, some dressed plainly, in woolen white or gray robes, but other had worn fancy garments in screaming colors, peculiar jewelry and tattoos.
Several other ships trailed behind them, one with pretty pink sails, another with its’ sails colored an intimidating dark crimson. Finally, the caravels stopped. What happened after was a sight to behold. ‘Whale Harbor greets you’ the words echoed in a strong voice, too powerful to be human. Lycapiere shrewdly inspected Gillus for a moment, his hazel eyes smiling. ‘All an illusion, Gillus. The walls are, in fact, gray and boring, the wonders unreal. But the illusion is a masterpiece, and it was made by us, Gillus. By the mages.’ Gillus was thinking that as well, and the Abbot confirmed, it was an illusion, but it was truly a masterpiece. The portcullis glistened in the afternoon sun, encrusted with jewels and gems, rubies and emeralds. It slowly lowered and lowered and stopped, opening. Gillus thought it was whispering something, as if it was alive.
There were no docks outside the walls, he noticed. It was an extremely strange port. Then, suddenly there was a thud and the ship began to rise, in a very unnatural manner, at that. They found themselves towering above the sea, the gate analogous to an open mouth, and the ship parallel to a tasty treat. Looking overboard; he noticed a gargantuan stake rising from the sea, holding their ship as if on a palm of some mighty sea god. Lycapiere cocked his head, laughing as some of the younger students yelled from the revelation, as were the other Abbots. It wasn’t the end of shocking discoveries. In an instant, the support began to tilt forward, and Gillus stumbled, but was caught by Lycapiere. Their ship descended off the platform and its’ crew found themselves floating inside a tunnel. It turned insufferably dark. Gillus saw that they were looming closer to the end of the channel, and enjoyed the peace, the unruffled silence as they saw another gate open ahead. There was light yonder, and as they advanced, the sounds of the city grew louder. After a fortnight of sailing from their monastery, they arrived at Whale Harbor.
They glided alongside the stream, docking not far from a booming bazaar. Gillus set off with his meager belongings. Most were an novice’s manuscript, some candles, and a flask full of water. The rest he carried on his person: small leather sandals, gray woolen robes. Abbot Lycapiere was very glad to see the abstinence of material needs and worldly pleasures, and yet had given him a small pouch of thin golden coins; ‘Spend it with care.’
As soon as they were off, right into the busy street, they observed bizarre, colourful market stalls, odd men and women all speaking a language unknown to Gillus, and yet all that surrounded them felt fitting for such a peculiar port – and he, in his plain dress, seemed a stranger amongst them. Trying not to get lost from his group, they saw the other ships draw near. The youngster was slightly intrigued by those on the vessel with sails a murky hue of red. He was alarmed when he discovered they weren’t monks. A good number of them were older than him, bearing many a blemish, not on a holy healing mission, but with weapons of war. Spell swords and war mages. He felt negative, malevolent emotions exude from them, and came to think of them as incurable, bullish thugs. Their abbots were harsh men, and scolded them whenever they could.
‘I feel it too, Gillus, the quality of their essences. They’re using vicious magic weapons to hurt foes. They’re not wizards, they are fighters.’ The young monk averted his gaze to the last ship, with sails colored the softest tinge of pink. The ones inside emitted something strange, all of them straightforward, clever, and yet somehow. . . Gillus felt uncertain. ‘Who’s in the pink ship?’ Lycapiere chuckled, shaking his head. ‘They practice miscellaneous schools of magic, potion brewing, and enchantment. Say, they master knowledge by enchanting their brain, become strong through enchanting their muscles. It may seem petty,’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Look!’ one of the young monks exclaimed. Glancing to the right, Gillus gasped.
An immense stone man quietly, slowly treaded the street, grunting at the group of wizards. He carved an impressive figure, and Gillus couldn’t help but wonder if he was a younger relative of one of those he’d seen outside. And yet with his clumsy, slow movements, ragged breathing, it seemed that he was tired beyond time – alas, Gillus couldn’t read his emotions, for he was not fully sentient. It seemed a little strange, but he could swear he glimpsed a sulk on Abbot Lycapiere’s face. Is there reason to be upset? He thought. The Abbot had plenty of smile lines, and was always known to be jolly, and kind. And when Lycapiere did frown, something in Gillus would become upset too; The Abbot was a transmittable man, and his essence caught onto others, something he always noticed.
In next to no time, Lycapiere was chatting with the abbots from the other vessels, and soon he was walking in conjunction with those from the new ships. They strode through the wharf buildings, like an everlasting surge of miraculous life forms, acutely contrast to the emotions radiating from the city; mercantile thoughts of gain, a courtesan’s insincere love, a desire of gain. He had shielded himself against such, and found to understand what Lycapiere told about the ones from the pink ship. They do not live as mages, they only learn, and soon they become a thief, conjuring shadows and enchanting their fingers to dive into a pocket like a dolphin into the sea. They become merchants, orators, poets, bards, singers – All enchanting their tongues for the talk to flow like ale in a tavern. And sadly, at last, some may use all their powers, the revered knowledge of magic taught by Abbots, used to defend and protect, to become filthy harlots, charming and setting runes upon her, sending their clients into an otherworldly, pleasurable trance. He shuddered at the thought.
Lycapiere shook his head. ‘Things happen, but it may not be necessarily a thief or a harlot. They can become singers, sculptors, painters, even builders. Whale Harbor’s walls were built by many of them, the runes on tools and weapons, armor and shields, all conjured by them. They are the best, and they are the worst. They do not keep to a path of magic like us, or a path of sword like the war mages. They always do something else, in the middle.’ The Abbot looked at him, awaiting his response, narrowing his eyes, reading his atmosphere. ‘But it’s in the books. The middle is a treacherous trek up a dicey peak. Sooner or later, you fall.’ He spoke. The Abbot smiled, his aura unreadable for Gillus.
That was the first chapter of my fantasy story. Give me feedback, please. And there is more to come.