I swallow and nod.
“The Dryad Fae had been killed off long ago, but Dryad blood lived on in the Mage line, giving the Mages their characteristic black hair, and shimmering skin. And branch magic lived on as well, although at a very weak level—only intricately laminated wooden wands could bring forth a fraction of the same magic Dryads could access through simple branches.
“Styvius Gardner was a different sort of Mage, however. His magic wasn’t weak. From early on, it was apparent that the magic in his veins was much stronger than any Mage who had ever been born. He could summon fire with a ferocity never before seen and create tornadoes out of small breezes.”
I settle back in my chair. This is not new to me. This I’ve heard.
“When Styvius was only eight years old,” Professor Kristian goes on, “he came upon a Kelt overseer viciously beating his Mage mother.”
“I know,” I tell him flatly.
Professor Kristian nods. “Horrified at the sight of his bloodied mother, Styvius killed the overseer, setting him ablaze with wand magic. The Kelts responded by sending out soldiers to kill young Styvius. They murdered his beloved mother as she needlessly tried to shield the boy. The Kelts planned on killing every Mage in the village to teach them a lesson in obedience.
“But Styvius stopped them. Driven mad by the death of his mother, he killed every soldier in sight.”
This I also know. The priests speak of it in church. I know the story of how Styvius took his vengeance on the Evil Kelts, slaying his mother’s cruel tormentors.
“Then he set out and killed every Kelt in his village and all the surrounding villages,” Professor Kristian continues.
This part catches me off guard. “Wait. What?”
Professor Kristian nods gravely. “Everyone. Men. Women. Children. And then he slaughtered everyone in the village next to that one. And the next. And the next.” Professor Kristian pauses, his expression darkening. “He quickly developed a predilection for torture.”
I tense my face at him in disbelief. “What? No. That can’t be right...” My voice trails off as I try to make sense of what he’s saying.
“The Kelts repeatedly tried to kill Styvius,” Professor Kristian goes on, “but he was invincible, able to summon shields to protect himself and throw huge balls of fire. Eventually, the Kelts fled from northern Keltania, sending the beleaguered Mages to settle there in an effort to placate the child. The Mages, of course, loved Styvius. He liberated them, gave them a homeland and exacted vengeance on their Keltic tormentors. That was the beginning of Gardneria.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. It’s bizarre to hear this familiar story told so starkly, stripped of its religious underpinnings. And in my people’s story, they were pure-blooded Mages created by the Ancient One from the seeds of the sacred Ironflowers and gathered up as His First Children.
“When he reached adulthood,” Professor Kristian continues, “Styvius became a religious zealot. He took the Kelts’ Book of the Ancients and decided that the Mages weren’t Kelt-Dryad half-breeds after all, but the First Children talked about in The Book, the rightful owners of Erthia. The Mages, beaten down and abused for generations, were eager to hear this new take on the old religion. Styvius began to claim that he was the Ancient One’s prophet, and that the Ancient One was speaking directly to him. He wrote a new last chapter to The Book and called it ‘The Blessed Mages.’ Then he renamed his people ‘Gardnerian Mages,’ declared northern Keltania to be ‘The Republic of Gardneria’ and installed himself as High Mage.”
I’m inwardly drawing away from him, my people’s cherished history being roughly stabbed at and picked apart by his words.
“So, you don’t believe Styvius was actually a prophet?” I inquire, acutely aware of how blasphemous the question is.
Professor Kristian doesn’t blink. “I think he was a madman.”
I sit there, struggling to make sense of it all.
“Styvius set out to populate the entirety of Erthia with nothing but Mages,” Professor Kristian continues. “He set down in ‘The Blessed Mages’ the commandment that Gardnerian Mage women are to wandfast to Gardnerian men at an early age to keep their magic affinity lines pure and their Mage blood untainted. Styvius himself created the highly protected spells that are still used for the Gardnerian sacrament of wandfasting. Women who broke their wandfasting commitment with non-Gardnerians were to be struck down as brutally as possible, along with their non-Gardnerian lovers. The men’s families were also killed, as a lesson to all. A Banishment ceremony was required to exorcise the Evil of the woman from her family.”
“My neighbor, Sage Gaffney, was Banished,” I tell him, inwardly cringing at the thought.
“And how did you feel about that?” he asks.
I remember Sage’s bloodied hands, her terrified appearance and Shane’s stories of how her fastmate had beaten her.
“I’m very troubled by it,” I reply.
“Shall I continue?” he asks gently, perhaps noticing my discomfort.
I nod in assent.
“For a number of years, the Gardnerians kept to themselves, quietly increasing their numbers—”
“And then the Keltic War came.”
A shadow falls over his expression. “Yes. Styvius’s power had grown. And magic was becoming stronger in a number of your men, more prevalent with each passing generation. Styvius led his Mages to invade Keltania, taking over half of the Keltish lands and ruthlessly annihilating the population of those lands. Styvius planned to continue his conquest until the entire Western Realm was claimed for the Mages.”
“But then Styvius was killed.”
“By a Vu Trin sorceress.”
“And the war ended.”
“After a drawn-out battle.” Professor Kristian pauses to pour himself some tea, asking with a hand gesture if I want some, as well. I nod, and he pours me a cup. I sit back and sip at the bitter tea. “The Gardnerians had to cede some of the land they had annexed,” he tells me, “and my people reclaimed about half of what had been taken from them.”
His people, I note smugly. This has to be a biased account.
“What happened next?” I ask, wanting to catch him in a blatant half-truth.
He sips at his tea. “Many years of peace ensued. It was a time of growth for the Guilds, for trade. Verpacia once again became a major trade crossroads. The University was formally established. And Keltic society became more open to the point where even Icarals were tolerated.”
I stop him here. “Where did the Icarals come from?”
He tilts his head, considering. “No one knows for sure. They’ve popped up in virtually every race as far back as can be remembered, and are hated by almost everyone in the Western Realm.”
It’s true. It seems that practically everyone’s religious traditions cast the Icarals as demonic beings.
“Why are they hated so?” I wonder.
He shrugs. “Like the Fae, they can be full of unpredictable power. They’re often dangerous as children. It’s probably because they have wyvern blood.”
“Wyvern? You mean dragon-shifters?” I try to wrap my head around this. Are Ariel and Wynter part...dragon?
“Well, they do share the western wyverns’ feathered, black wings,” he says, his mouth tilting up. “And their fire power and fire magic.”
Wyverns. Not demons at all. It makes sense. “So...the Icarals are hated because of their wyvern blood?”
Professor Kristian spits out a disdainful breath. “I would postulate that they’re hated because you can’t hide wings.”
I scrunch my face up in confusion.