Excerpt from Magic and Goldfire - Chapter 2, The Emissary

Vesunna stood before the statue of Mora, lost in thought. This statue differed from the one above the temple door, depicting her as a guardian and warrior. Carved from obsidian, this statue’s face was hidden, with long robes enveloping her. Nine braids emerged from the hood of the cloak to spill over her chest and taper at her waist, which was tied with a coiled belt.

Silver hesitated, unsure whether she should greet the knight or quietly leave. She was preparing to turn away when the young woman spoke, her resonant voice filling the temple.

“Your gods are much different than those in the south,” she said, without looking at Silver. Her words were heavily accented—she was speaking an old form of Hagolan rarely used in casual conversation.

“O-oh?”

“In the south they’re gaudy, decorative things. Huge marble figures decked in…what is the word…garlands? and set with expensive jewels—the more valuable the better.”

Silver tried to imagine Cailloch carved true to her monstrous size, but it was difficult to fathom. An immense statue was one thing, but how big must the temple be to accommodate it? She had heard tales of the great palaces and temples in the royal city of Theros, but always sort of thought they were an exaggeration.

“I would like to see them. The gods of the south. Their statues, I mean.” She fumbled her words as she attempted to remember her Gallaecian, the common language spoken by most people south of the Ausra Mountains. Gareth taught her a good deal of what he remembered from his early childhood in Vamorta, and the rest she taught herself from books. But she had never conversed with someone who grew up with it as their native language.

Vesunna turned to look at her properly, one brow raised in curiosity and mild surprise.

“You’re the girl from the feast,” she observed, switching from the clumsy Hagolan dialect to her mother tongue. “The pale one with white hair.”

Her pronunciation differed from Gareth’s. Silver felt a rush of worry her words might sound foolish and rudimentary, but reminded herself that Vesunna was brave enough to attempt Hagolan.

“Is that an ordinary thing here?” Vesunna listed her head, watching with such intensity that Silver wanted to slip behind a pillar and hide in the shadows. She fought the instinct. There was no disgust or fear in the knight’s eyes, but rather genuine curiosity.

“Not really.” Silver withered under the knight’s scrutiny and broke eye contact to brush a hand over the base of Cailloch’s statue, the mountain-gray stone reflecting the low light. She knew it was rude, but it was easier to speak without looking at the girl. “The first people to come to this land were said to be made from ice and snow instead of flesh. They were built for surviving the cold and dark of winter, but then…” she hesitated, and forced herself to meet Vesunna’s gaze again. Her irises were a warm amber brown, almost gold, like maple leaves in late summer.

“Then?” Vesunna prompted.

Silver sucked in a slow breath and considered her words carefully. It was impossible to explain Hagol’s history without including the old war. But those days were long past—surely Vesunna wouldn’t be offended by events that happened before she was born.

“Raiders from the south stole our lands,” she began. “They came through the mountains and even followed the coast to attack our fishing villages in the north. They burnt villages, destroyed temples, killed many of our warriors and enslaved others. Some integrated willingly, marrying and living alongside the people who conquered them. Others escaped to the mountains or forests and were never heard from again.

“After a few generations, they say children began to look more and more like the southerners—brown hair instead of white, olive skin, darker eyes. Every now and then someone will be born with a streak of white hair or gray eyes, but not often. I guess they present more dominant in me because of my ancestry.”

She trailed off into awkward silence. Beside her, the incense flared as the tip of the cone broke, a few sparks fluttering in the dark.

Vesunna narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly.

“I’m guessing those raids correspond with the civil war that split Middenvale. Vamorta lost nearly all of their resources in the separation. A lot of people turned to thievery and raiding…it makes sense they would have better luck crossing the mountains into a kingdom unprepared for a fight.”

Silver expected disbelief or defense—anything but the heartfelt sorrow in Vesunna’s words. It was the opposite of what she had been taught her entire life: that southerners were haughty and proud and eager to fight anyone who crossed them. Perhaps Sul Galen really was different.

“I’m sorry your people were targeted in that way. It isn’t right. Desperation is, unfortunately, the motivation for many wars.”

A chill wind moaned beyond the frosty glass windows outside. Vesunna shivered, folding her arms over her chest and rocking back on her heels.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Were your ancestors made from ice?”

Silver pulled her fur lined cloak around her body, more to protect herself from the questions than to ward off the cold. Her own clothing was far more suited for Hagol’s climate than the riding clothes Vesunna wore. She was thankful the knight didn’t take offense to her story about the invaders, but she was also growing weary and wishing for the comfort of her bed. She had not intended to stay long in the temple, and certainly hadn’t expected the stress of speaking with someone she’d never met before, let alone a foreign ambassador.

Vesunna’s lack of judgment or cruel words was disorienting. She was accustomed to stares and silence, not an invitation to talk about herself and the history of her kingdom.

“It’s a legend, Lady Vesunna.”

“Call me Sunny. I hate the name Vesunna.” The young woman pressed a hand to her middle and bowed slightly, mischief brightening her freckled face. “I have some standing as a member of the king’s guard, but I’m hardly nobility. I was born in a village on the border of Pevansie and Sul Galen.” She straightened once more and adjusted her tunic. Silver realized she still wore the leather belt for her scabbard and sword. The golden hilt flashed faintly. It was intricately wrought, more complex than the sturdy iron weapons made by the blacksmiths in Hagol.

“Most legends have some truth to them, you know.” Vesunna—Sunny continued. “Maybe your ancestors were just pale and hearty against the cold, and the southerners believed them to be made from snow because they’d never seen people who looked…well, like you.” She raised a hand to Silver’s shoulder and smiled kindly.

Silver blinked and instinctively flinched at the brief touch. Sunny looked at her with that same curious, unswerving gaze.

“Maybe,” Silver agreed, unsure what else she could say.

“But…” the knight paused, as if wondering whether her thoughts were appropriate to share, or better kept to herself. “I suspect there’s more to you than random chance and unique ancestry.” She dropped her hand to her side and Silver released a shaky breath.

“What do you mean?”

“You have some sort of magic in you, I think. And a lot of it.”

“I’m a healer,” Silver explained. “I study herbalism and history. Religious rituals.”

Sunny's laugh reverberated off the stone walls.

“Anyone can study herbs and books if they want to. You have something else. I’ve felt it everywhere the moment I crossed the border into Hagol, but with you it’s even stronger. Energy, magic, call it what you will, but you’ve got it.”

Forgetting her embarrassment, Silver realized the glinting gold around Sunny’s sword wasn’t merely the reflection of the metal. She watched the glow travel over the knight’s hand, up and over her shoulders, until a faint golden light blurred the edges of her and shone through her eyes. But as soon as it came it was extinguished, like a candle snuffed out by a breeze. Silver shook her head against the sudden ache piercing behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Silver pressed fingertips to her temples. The cool touch helped to soothe the pain.

“It’s not you my La—Sunny,” she managed to force out. “It’s been a long day.”

Sunny opened her mouth, closed it, licked her wind-chapped lips, and nodded. “You should get some rest, then. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Head throbbing, Silver offered a half-winded apology and turned back toward the entrance to the temple, leaving the knight to her own thoughts.