The Fey Conquest, # 5— "The Scribe and the Ponderous Mustering.

[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]

Maka had received the harrowing revelation by Venerable Naori, the priestess of the Esper of Vision, that not only the Fey Realm would fall, but she would be tasked with winning the heart of Swain the conqueror. It had been a month before Sovereign Valley knew the invaders had first arrived, and now a month had passed before she and her fellowship at Looking Glass Monastery could garner themselves to take action. A zealot for the sovereignty of the Fey Realm named Fenix was loudly calling for both the Fey Folk and the Espers to muster against the invaders, which as of now had the appearance of a good idea. In fact, even though Maka was the first to hear from Naori, she more than sympathized with Fenix, and she already considered him brave; certainly brave enough to take initiative. Moreover, the various priesthoods, elders, and chieftains both east and west of Iceglass Fountain were not martial leaders in any way, and were looking to the Espers to galvanize their defense. Fenix distinguished himself by moving his legs.

The mustering of the Fey armies was slow, and though the Espers were usually stronger than humans, they were not necessarily proficient in martial activity.

Maka was a scribe. She had told her fellowship at the Monastery, discreetly, that the Esper of Vision had prophesied she would save the Fey Realm. However, she did not tell them about the glaring doom that Naori had related about what would happen before their Fate was salvaged. Energized with hope, their clergy and elders busily organized a fellowship which was formed to act in a joint effort with Fenix for Maka, their chosen, to oversee the defense of the Fey Realm. In that time, Maka had believed she could do it, as she believed as much as Fenix that their land should be preserved, just as it was. “The township of the Espers of the Icy Wind sent sixty-three militia, and five espers. Fifteen from the village of the Hearth Esper, and two of their espers. Sixteen espers of the nearby forests, twenty militia from the Village of the Whitecall Espers, and another six espers from Whitecall,” said Fenix, swelling with zeal and pride. He appeared satisfied with this recent accomplishment.

Doctor Skerrit was present, along with an Ekkil, the Esper of Nearsight, who could see things happening in the near future. Japheth, a pact-mage of a Salve Esper, and Warren, a student of a lesser Mage Esper, were also present. Japheth and Warren were always accompanied by their espers, Keelin and Inos (respectively), whereas most Espers west of Iceglass Fountain were more like sages and governors, who did not follow humans around. Skerrit said, “That’s only the villages nearby. The Land of Iceglass (the Fey Realm) is far more expansive than Ivalice. The invaders, though uncounted, are outnumbered at least ten to one.” “Brilliant!” said Fenix, “All we need to do is awaken their fighting spirits.” The others spoke more words of encouragement. Maka, a Scribe and a student of History, and also a student of common sense, said, “What are they armed with?” There was silence, which Fenix broke more quickly than others would, “We have the power of the espers.” “You’ve heard of what they do,” said Maka, “They steal the espers’ power. That’s basically the same as having them on your side.” At this, the silence was more complete. “Ah yes,” said Doctor Skerrit, “they have some kind of military training.” Maka scoffed, “They’re armed to the teeth, and they cut through the Esper of the Gale like cheesecloth.” Fenix was undeterred. “So we’ll train our people and awaken the strength of the espers.” “And weapons? Armor?” “We need not mine for iron,” said Warren, “We have all the steel we need. We’ll beat our tools into weapons.”

Japeth said, “Half of the militia that arrived expected us to provide weapons. The rest brought clubs, sickles, and pitch forks. One boy had a shovel.” Fenix’s mind buzzed with the future glory of their victory. Militarizing the Fey Folk was just one part that would make it glorious.

“We need heavier organization,” said Maka, “Fenix can’t rally everyone and oversee—” she was unused to these words, “the entire marshaling of the People of Iceglass. We need delegates.”

The spokespeople and the other elders, priests, village chiefs, and espers traded words, but they had the deportation of a people who assumed someone else was protecting them, when in fact the whole Land of Iceglass (“The Fey Realm”) was depending on their leadership. For centuries, these were the only form of governance in Iceglass, and it was usually both an assumed and informal power that they wielded. At the same time, they usually imagined someone else with more eminence than themselves was looking after them.

In some ways, Maka was one of them, and in some ways she was like Fenix. But Doctor Skerrit had planted the seeds of wisdom in Maka, and as for himself, he had grown in complacency, having a circuit of lessons, tasks, duties, readings, and administrations that had become a ritual, his mind not fully invested in his teachings. Though Maka did not yet presume such things, she had almost fully outgrown Doctor Skerrit.

Yet it appeared Maka would not be facing Swain or his ugly friends from Ivalice alone, but with The Sleeping Giant that was the Fey People. After all, they outnumbered the brigands at least ten to one. With the Wisdom of the Ancient Espers, the homeland advantage, and the awakened hearts of their many people, Naori’s oracle would surely fall flat.

What was it Naori said? Too many children surrendered to Dark Espers?

That did not condemn all of Iceglass. In her own visions, she saw that maybe two handfuls of the invaders knew how to read. She was a Scribe, and a surpassingly gifted one. Doctor Skerrit had taught her that Knowledge was power, and the invaders were revealed to have little. As a prolific scholar and with such formidable advantages, she would stop the invaders.

But Naori had been a close friend and mentor. She loved her more than Fenix, the rest of her entourage, and even Doctor Skerrit. Try as she might, she wavered left and right between resenting her and fearing her prophecy.

*-------------------------------------------*

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