The Gavel against the tide

Chapter Three: Logic Before Magic.

Frey watched the people closing their stalls as he walked home with his dust-painted shoes. Dogs found shade under green trees, the puddles he saw in the morning seemed to have dried up. And Frey's breath grew heavy, beads of sweat rolled down his brow. He strayed slowly towards a tree by the road where kids lay for shade. One of them was breathing heavily from his mouth. Frey looked up and then smiled at them, whispering almost so softly he couldn't hear it, "Talimag."

A kid turned sharply at him as clouds now filled the skies, the trees began to dance. The sun was still not hidden but his shoes' soles no longer burnt. "Did you do that sir?" he pulled on Frey's robe. Frey smiled and tucked his hands behind him as he walked away.

At his doorstep, laying in between the flowers his mother had planted was a letter. It was slightly covered with leaves that fell from the oak that hovered closely below the roof. Frey leaned to pick it up, and he fanned it clean as the door slowly creaked open. He took off his shoes, the door shut slowly. Then laid the letter lightly on the table in the centre of his white-painted quietum.

He opened the window and birds came flying to its frame, the wind whistled in, the letter danced on it and pressed on Frey's face. He smiled—'is it really that important?' He thought as he looked at the pile of letters at the bottom of his shelf across the room.

He peeled open the envelope and the letter flew out. Frey squinted his eyes and hid them behind his hands. The light caused marble floors to sparkle and the birds flew away. Leaves were blown in from the window, the paintings on the wall nearly touched ground. Then light began to dim out, the leaves settled on the floor. Frey opened his eyes and looked around.

So much drama, he thought, and the letter began to speak, its voice was familiar and dark, "From the Emperor of Cezari through the Royal mystic to Innocent faction—" it was little wonder the voice sounded familiar; the royal mystic.

Frey for a second remembered how they once turned Merlin's dog into a chicken and chased it around Larkiwood—back when magic was their stick to throw around, and life had reasons to smile.

The voice called him back to reality, "The four ilks' activities are hereby restricted and must follow the guidelines as laid down by the Oericles." The next line stated the reason for the restriction and as the letter got to the end and laid itself on the table once more.

Frey was quiet, standing motionless for a while; reminded of the war that claimed his father and hundreds of mystic lives. He slowly walked towards the staircase and it creaked heavily as he made it up to his room. He opened the door and sat on the bed. Beside him lay a golden-framed portrait of his parents. He picked it up and rubbed on it, a teardrop threatened. And then he wiped it, "it is time the Ethicals pay."

He looked at the crown that laid on his bed, tapped his feet thrice and said, his voice calm, but strong—"Tarig."

His eyes turned white, the room emptied out and was swallowed by darkness. His body lost weight and then bluish light cut through the darkness and the colours of the room started rolling out. The floor was marble but wasn't his. The fragrance of bright lilies filled the air. The walls were painted white, the chairs golden. A stunning throne stood at the end of the room and on it a bearded man. Frey's aim was true, his spirit was at the right place. The throne room of Lord of Cezari—Joro the pure.

Joro sat right in front of Frey. His eyes were fixed where Frey stood but Joro couldn't see him. Frey moved towards him, every step carried a thought—a reason backing his goal.

As he grew closer he spoke the words, "Leporica capriji heptosini ca—" he felt someone touch him on his shoulder. But that was impossible, he was but spirit. Frey tried to turn back but his will was his no more. He was thrown to the floor, there was no one there. "Tarig… Trexi Vey," Frey tried to save himself, but his spells didn't work. His spirit was pulled away from Joro, wall after wall until it was led into darkness. A figure sat there, silent, watching.

Frey pushed himself off the ground. He knew the threat was big. He stood and buried his head, each one of his feet distant from the other. His eyes darkened, blue light sparked from his chest and glowed. Then from the darkness a voice came, "interesting Frey. I haven't seen you use this much power since the war."

Frey lifted up his head, his voice deep and strong, "who are you?" Frey was scared, the blue light wavering said it, but he tried to hide it. He had never heard of a man who could pull a spirit with magic. The figure rose from the chair, it snapped its fingers and the sound echoed in the room. From it, a blinding light was born. Frey didn't move, the blue glow grew brighter, his eyes began to sparkle blue. Wind rushed into the room, the torches were lit. The light dimmed out and before him stood a familiar face.

"Kirl?" Frey let go his stance and the wind ceased. Kirl's boots thundered in the room as he walked towards Frey. Kirl touched his shoulder, the feeling warmed him. He wondered how he could feel the touch. "What are you doing here, Frey?" Frey couldn't say a word, his face refused to tell a tale either. The last time they met, Kirl told him, "some day I'll leave and it might hurt… but it'll be for you. Cause when we meet again you'd be the man you always wanted to be." Frey thought to himself, I don't think I am that man yet.

Frey shook his head and stepped back, "I got your letter," he walked and stood by the window across the room, trying to avoid looking at Kirl, "so I came to solve the problem."

Kirl turned around and looked at him, "with that spell?" His voice touching the roof. He took a breath, opened the door to make sure no one heard him and continued softly, "you would have killed the man." The torches flickered as the wind filtered into the room. "If you feel you'd have done a better job," Frey turned around, his fist clenched, his voice gained volume that only Kirl could hear, "then maybe you shouldn't have passed the crown to your younger brother when Father died."

Kirl went silent for a while, he could feel the pain in Frey's voice. He stepped towards Frey, "there was a reason for—" Frey took a step back and turned around again, "of course there was a reason. You were scared. Unable to go against the ethicals—so you joined them." Kirl's mouth hung open. He had much to say but couldn't, "If that's what you feel then let it be." He said and stepped closer to Frey, "but you will not harm Joro."

Frey smiled. "And who's going to stop me?" He started to glow once more, his eyes sparkled blue. The wind rushed heavily into the room, "You?"

Kirl looked at him and smiled then nodded gently, "I am sorry brother. But you must lose your weak teeth to gain strong ones." He stretched his hand towards Frey, "you are punished by the law."