The Nexus of Nowhere

Ardle Henbrook tugged the sleeves of his faded blue ceremonial robe, hoping to entice the aged fabric to cover his wrists. Decades had passed since he last donned the damned thing and too many pies, ale, and ale pies were making it impossible to tie. Grunting, he slumped into the jostling carriage's padded seats and wrapped his arms about himself. Little good it did against the chill, but if there was one thing Ardle hated more than carriage rides to Nowhere, it was the cold. 

“You ok sir? You haven't sat still since we left Somewhere, anything I can do? A cleansing tonic perhaps? I just picked up some fresh sheepwort an…” Ardle was really starting to despise the chipper tone of his latest assistant, Jestinia. Too helpful by half and pretty too. Prettiness was always a trait he deemed suspicious in a Mage, even a mere apprentice. Especially when he couldn't tell if she was truly beautiful or just enchanted that way. Embarrassment tightened his throat, there had been a time when he could have spotted an enchantment like that from fifty paces. 

“No,” he snapped.

“Perhaps another ballad?" Jestinia’s hand moved to the lute sat next to her.

“One note girl and I'll cast that thing into the Never Realm, and you’ll be walking home to boot. Just sit in bloody silence will you. You think I haven't gotten enough on my plate.”

“Nervous sir?”

“Excuse me, but am I suddenly speaking in the tongue of the Elsewherians? Because I really can't understand how the word silence could be misconstrued when your blasted ears are but three feet away!”

“Ah, so you are.”

Ardle’s jaw ached as he fingered the dull runic gemstone hanging about his neck, as he did habitually when worried. But he wasn't about to admit that to this whelp. Not so subtly ignoring her too big, too bright, pleading green eyes he withdrew the summons from his inner pocket once more. Already tatty from unscrolling and rewrapping, few could have guessed a raven had only delivered it the previous day.

Dear Magus Henbrook, Ninth of Nine,

A time of great sadness and opportunity is upon us. Magus Maximus, First of All, is finally succumbing to time’s wicked game. We fear he will leave this plane without revealing the secrets of the Order to his anointed successor. We must all gather at once. Please make haste to Castle Nexus. 

Yours Wizardly,

Magus Arkas, Second of Nine.

“More like Magus Arse-Kiss!” Ardle growled and stuffed the missive away.

“What was that sir? Has the letter changed on the eighty seventh read sir?”

“Changed? Tell me truly, are you a simpleton?”

“I was second least simpleton-iest in the academy sir, but even at—”

“Oh shut up and play your bloody lute then!”

**** 

The thing Ardle hated most about Nowhere was its lack of anything that could be described as something. One solitary mountain in a vast desert, as if the creator was trying out crease free countryside. Atop the rough slopes, hewn by magic and the sweat of others, and immeasurable piles of gold, stood the magnificent Castle Nexus. 

Fourteen arduous verses of ‘The Wolf and the Raven’ later and the carriage juddered to a stop. Ardle gazed up at the huge doors, smirking as Jestinia whistled in wonderment.

“Is that a battle between the Gods carved into–”

“You don't recognise the depictions?” Ardle tutted, “We don't have time for your dilly-dallying down memory lane girl, now move it.”

With a flick of his wrist the gem about his neck tingled, glowed, then vibrated, and the doors swung open, crashing against the inner walls with an ungodly rumble.

Ardle despaired in recognition of the figures within.

“What are you playing at Henbrook?”

“Of course it's you Disast-Ardle!”

“Trying to bring down the mountain are you?”

Seven familiar faces surrounded him, once brothers and sisters, friends even. So long had passed he didn't know what they were anymore.

“I…Ah, sorry about that.” He offered, lacing his fingers contritely.

Arkas stepped forward, black beard, black hair, blacker eyes. “Good to see some things never change. Did you simply forget why it's called Castle Nexus, hmmmm?” Ardle stared at his feet as Arkas draped an arm around his shoulders to muffled giggles. “Ok, Ok, let's move along. Everyone is here now, time to get to it.”

“So how are we doing this?” Ardle asked, looking up through his bushy brows like he was a shy teenager all over again.

“Well a good huddle around the death bed should do it.”

***

Jestinia knew things. Seven years at the academy, yet she was careful not to garner notice for aptitude or merit. Those kinds of attributes only drew attention, or worse: responsibility. Feigned ignorance bestowed her the freedom to fade into the background, metaphorically of course. 

So when ushered into a large nine sided wooden paneled room by the castle's butler, and she found herself offering the apprentices goblets of wine from a tray, she simply let them assume whom and what she was.

"More wine?" She asked Faustus leaning back in an oversized leather chair. By way of answer, his goblet shot outwards and he continued rambling.

"...it is true. Arkas defeated the six headed beast of Caltarra, but he didn't use the Traxis spell, Felicity." He smirked, drank, wiped his mouth then looked at Jestinia, one eyebrow raised.

"More wine, sir?"

"Wait, are you the serving girl or the entertainment, I could've sworn you had a lute."

"Yes, indeed. A bard I am. But also a deliverer of fermented grape juices when required. And I'll tell you this, it was actually Fuego strengthened by Traxis."

Jestinia knew that to be balderdash, but apprentices couldn’t resist correcting each other. The secretive nature of older Mages was wrought only by years spent reviling sentences starting with “Actually…”. Apprentices however, braggarts the bunch of them.

"Phah, Fuego strengthened by… Are you stupid?"

Jestinia had been called worse. "Right you are good sir, how did it go … Second raised his fist and swore, to the stars that all shall see, in fire and ice he cast, a blast so large, the beast breathed its last…."

"Fire and ice?" balked Faustus.

"That's what the bard who witnessed it sang."

"There was no bard!"

"You were there sir?"

"Of course."

"And yet you don't know, do you sir?"

"It was Villisus enhanced by Doro," he spat, brow furrowed, blanching as the words passed his lips.

Jestinia bowed, hiding her smirk, "Very well sir." Turning heel, she strode to a tall blonde woman propped against a crackling fireplace.

"Evening milady, wine?"

She leaned close, daintily lifted a brass goblet by the stem and whispered in an almost seductive tone, "What has Faustus so worked up?"

"I don't really understand it, milady, something about Traxis and Doro being used against the beast of Caltarra. Means little to me."

Returning to her solitary posing, the woman's eyes creased locking that nugget of lies away for later use.

Jestinia moved onwards, her step light with giddiness, this was going to be easier and more fun than she had thought.

***

In a grand mahogany bed lay the stick-like man that had been Ardle’s master and aloof father-figure for decades. Lost in an ocean of blankets, more beard than body, more eyebrows than face, his voice little more than a whisper.

"My Order of Nine, it’s great to see you together again," a wracking cough bent him double and Arkas leapt to catch the phlegmy discharge as though it were gold spewing from the mountain itself.

The First sunk slowly back into the mattress, "I sense I have very little time remaining. One of you shall take my place, but first…"

Everyone leaned in a little closer.

"... a test."

Ardle’s eyes rolled so hard he almost lost his balance. A test meant only one thing, Arkas would win, as he always did. Enchanting, Conjuring, Healing, Divination, that arrogant twit excelled at every discipline. Scanning the candlelit chamber it seemed the thought resonated with everyone, even Arkas grinned victorious.

"But first," Magus Maximus continued, " your amulets." Waving his trembling skeletal hand, nine arcanic lights flickered into existence around the room's edge, above nine stone busts, highlighting the nine gathered quizzical faces.

"A test without amulets? But–" Arkas didn't get to finish.

"I already know your magical strength, Second. The role of First requires more than power, someone who will be the Emperor's advisor, head of the academy, and more. Today I test your character, your mind, not your brawn."

A wave of raised eyebrows washed over all.

"How master?"

"Through those who know your flaws better than anyone….your apprentices."

***

"You're sure?"

"Well that one over there," Jestinia nodded towards three apprentices squeezed around a circular table. "Valeras is it? She said Thistle flower is best for eradicating crotch itch." 

"Did she say anything else?"

Jestinia opened her mouth to deliver more misinformation when the doors opened blowing in an urgent gust of silence.

A funeral procession of dejected Mages ambled forward, Jestinia squinted, something seemed different about them. Then she realised.

"Sir," she whispered as Ardle drew close, "where is your amulet?"

Fingers twitching, he searched his chest for the phantom jewelry. "The First has taken them back. There is going to be a reshuffle."

"A reshuffle?"

"Yes, whoever becomes First will reassign positions, you know what that means don't you girl?"

"A possible promotion, sir?"

"Demotion more like. Two of these younglings will be elevated to fill the gaps."

"Never sir, why would they get rid of you?"

"The better question is, why keep me?"

A bell rang. Everyone turned to the butler looming in the doorway. "Magus Maximus shall see each apprentice in his chamber, beginning with you Faustus."

Jestinia's smile widened, "He wants to speak with me?"

Ardle nodded, face a pale shade of sad-berry.

***

Slowly the chamber emptied until only Ardle and Jestinia remained. He paced the tile floor whilst she rocked on her heels, arms behind her back, admiring the leering faces of lost mages cast in canvas and oil.

"Jestinia," Ardle began softer than she had ever heard him speak. "You know I'd never actually cast your lute, or anything for that matter, into the Never Realm."

"I know, sir. No need to worry."

"But, I just–"

"No need to worry, sir. Best we just wait in silence."

Fifteen minutes later, the doors squeaked open and the lanky butler beckoned them to follow. Up the spiral stairs, past countless rooms filled with books and sheet covered furniture until the Magus Maximus' chamber loomed before them.

The butler waved Ardle to a seat and Jestinia entered as though it was any normal day or task.

"Hello First, do I bow?"

"If you'd like."

"I don't."

The wizened face almost cracked a smile under all that facial hair.

"What can I do for you, your wizardiness?"

"Ardle, it’s been decades since I spent time with him, I wish to know what you make of him?"

"A grump sir, with a temper, but he never acts on it. He has restraint."

"Hmmm, and as a teacher?"

"Oh he's quite good sir, knows very well what he doesn't know."

"Ha, he always did. But he tries?"

"Very muchly sir, he’s always sending me to the archives or the king's library with some knowledge seeking task." She pointed to the gems on their pedestals, "May I sir."

"As you wish."

Leaning over each, she hummed and hawed, like a gentleman hunting down the perfect gift for a scorned lover. 

"You ever imagine yourself wearing one Jestinia?"

"Don't like jewelry sir, my neck's too narrow, I'd look like a giraffe pulling a plough."

"But what of the responsibilities, the power?"

"Don't make my toes curl. Power's too easily lost to be worthwhile running after."

"Haha, the first real wisdom I've heard all evening. You know what, I like the cut of your jib, Jestinia."

"Strangely sir, so do I."

***

"They've been hours, something must be wrong, can't you go see?" Ardle asked the stoney-faced butler, partly to check if he had ossified completely.

"Master is not to be disturbed."

Ardle huffed, balled his fist and continued to wear a track in the floral rugs.

Moments later, laughter stopped him in his path. Turning, brows racing towards his decreasing hairline he gasped as Jestinia came forth helping the First on wobbling legs.

“Master, you should not be out of bed you’ll be–”

“Dead soon, ha. That is the point of all this is it not?” Maximus leaned into Jestinia, whispered, nodded and she hastened down the stairs.

“Everything ok sir?” Ardle asked, moving to support the arm Jestinia had vacated.

“Just splendid, the girl is away to tell them the news.”

“You've made a decision sir? May I ask who?”

“Isn't it obvious?” He shrugged off Ardle’s support and dug trembling fingers beneath his night shirt. “Here, this is yours now.”

Ardle gawked at the fist sized iridescent gem dominating the old mages hand.

“Mine, but why?”

“Well hurry up and take it, bloody heavy, can't you see I'm old and dying.”

Tentatively, Ardle took the gem and draped it about his neck. The surge of power made him giddy, as well as wanting to pee. The latter he couldn't explain.

“Sir, what about Arkas?”

“A strong second should you wish it. But there is something you need to decide first, this position's burden.”

“Sir, I don't deserve this.”

“Do you not? Every apprentice I spoke with blew smoke about how great their master was, spouted nonsense about knowing secrets of other disciplines, all damnable lies. So eager to please and elevate themselves they all but lost their senses. 

“But Jestinia, she says you're a bad tempered grump. You’ll need that when dealing with the Emperor, trust me he needs to be roared at every once in a while. But you have restraint, so you will control yourself. I can't give power to someone who will just go off on a whim. 

“And when faced with something you don't know, you research. You don't force a square peg into a dodecahedron-shaped hole. The others think themselves well-versed in everything. Most of all, though, Jestinia. Not the brightest, nor powerful, but you gave her a chance. You’re a good man Ardle and you don't want power. Those that don't want it, usually do the most with it. ”

The old mage turned and shuffled back into his room, “Come Ardle, we have little time to reveal our secrets or the creator will never get this published on time.”

Standing before the nine plinths Ardle disbelievingly caressed the hefty gem about his neck.

“Do I decide who gets what position now?”

“Not right now, but yes. That is, if you wish to give any at all.”

Ardles raised an inquisitive brow.

“Ever wondered why the land around here is unnaturally smooth?”

Ardle shrugged, knowing he would only add stupidity to an otherwise climatic moment.

“This mountain is no mountain. Castle Nexus, where all energy flows to, but also flows out of. Its ebb and flow is like a carpenter planing wood, our magic is gradually wearing away at the world around us. Killing it. The vast plains of Nowhere are spreading, consuming nature so we can do unnatural acts. In time, everywhere will be Nowhere.”

Ardle gulped.

“Exactly boy, sorry First, ha.”

“If it's not a mountain then what is it?”

“I'm not really sure, truth be told. It's a game of whispers, each First tells the next, all we know for sure is it crashed from the heavens and when the first men found it they waged war over it. Some called them star-travelers, others gods, some even said they were from Stoke-on-trent.

"But what really mattered lay in its core, a gem shattered into nine pieces that could enhance magical abilities. And so the Nine were born."

"They are receivers of some kind?" Ardle asked.

"Indeed. The decision is yours now, continue as we have.. slowly destroying the world, or…" Maximus shrugged.

"I don't, I don't know…" Ardle pinched the bridge of his nose squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again he was alone, Maximus’ robes lay in a pile next him as if he had just vanished.

"So old and full of magic he has returned to the Aether." Ardle looked skyward, words mournful.

"No, I'm over here, ha." Ardle spun to the naked prune-like figure giggling in the corner. "Couldn't help myself hehe. But I am off now." He began phasing out of existence, his voice growing distant. "Don't forget to feed Daryl."

"Who the heck is Daryl?"

"The dragon that lives inside the mountain of course. He prefers custard creams but gets an extra-crispy peasant every second Tuesday as a little treat."

Ardle stared into the rafters, beyond baffled. Was he really the new First?

***

Ardle Henbrook, First of the Magus folded the sleeves of his gleaming blue ceremonial robe with gold and silver embroidery and smiled. Jestinia gently brushed the shoulders of lint and unseeable hairs.

"It's a good fit sir."

He turned, posing in the full length mirror, "It really is."

"Yes sir, are you nervous for today?"

"Terribly, if the Emperor is as all say I'll need all my wits."

"I have some sheepwort tonic if you wish."

"That would be great." Swallowing the tonic he winced at the bitterness. "You sure you won't consider being Ninth?"

"Definitely not sir, content and of more use here"

"Perhaps, someday you will tell me what exactly you and Maximus spoke of."

"Probably not sir..."

Ardle laughed, far too helpful by half and pretty to boot. But damn he trusted no one more.

"Shall we sir," she held open the door to the Emperors court and a fanfare of music erupted. She swung the lute from her back, "May I sir?"

"Nothing would make me happier dear."