The White Law
"A codex made of the purest, whitest of leather, written with ebon letters of the tiniest, neatest handwriting you ever saw! Almost every page has some words written in the brightest, purest, bloodiest red ink you can imagine! Like a fresh cut!"
The priest gesticulated with excitement, the long, silver-embroidered open sleeves of his robe a flurry of movement, almost dizzying to watch in the autumn sunlight. The young neophytes caught in conversation with him stared at the spectacle, almost entranced, when laughter broke the spell.
"And I'm sure its teachings are of higher quality than the description of Farnold," Imoën Latife smirked. High Priest Farnold spun around, ready to launch a devastating barrage at the Archmage of the Flame, but an imposing figure behind him was faster.
"Imoën Latife, acidic as always. Are you trying to add heresy to your toolbelt now?" Arsethos' voice was a low growl, and despite being an archmage he made it a point to keep a soldier's physique. Imoën's eyes seemed to sparkle with joy.
"Arsethos, I know you're one of the icicles" - she struggled to keep her composure when she saw the anger flicker over his face at the not quite friendly banter, "but really, there's no need to keep your attitude that frosty. We all know who you are!" Arsethos took a deep breath, and she quickly continued: "Besides, you can't deny that the White Law is of much higher literary quality than Farnolds attempts to describe it! it is wonderfully eloquent!" She gave him her warmest, brightest smile - she wasn't lying, the book was actually well written.
"Well, I never...!" Farnold struggled for words, not very charismatic without the help of his magic. Arsethos took a deep breath and stared her down. "Well, what do you expect from a holy book?" He knew Imoën had read the book, and they both knew all too well that the codex said nothing about the Orderly Faith or its representants. It didn't even chastise disrespecting the White Lady - instead it was very clear that the only thing that was important was following her tenets of order and justice. And you could say about Imoën Latife what you wanted, but she always kept the order. No one wanted a repetition of the Mage Wars, not even the capricious Archmage of the Flame.
"Precisely!" she beamed at him, then she turned to the Neophytes who struggled to keep a straight face. They had been waiting for her, and the High Priest had tried to win them over for the church. Arsethos sighed inwardly. When would Farnold learn not to get into her business? He was a decent preacher and showman when he could rely on his magic, but he was no match for the quick-witted fire mage, and she always found a way to embarass him that they couldn't hold against her. If she wasn't so damn obnoxious about it, Arsethos would have respected that without issue, but it was her smugness that got him riled up every time.
The White Law is a codex of exceptional craftsmanship. It is assumed that its cover is made from calf's leather, since it's the only leather that people can think of that can get as soft as the codex feels. Yet, no one has managed to recreate calf leather of the same quality, and the same goes for the parchment and the ink. The red ink is, without exaggeration, almost translucent and as bright red a fresh blood, even though many with a delicate spirit find the comparison quite macabre. The chalk white parchment has no ink splotches or scratched off letters, unlike most codices. The handwriting is small, meticulous and uniform, and the ink shows no signs of bleaching out or being thinned, as it sometimes happens to save ink. The langauge is archaic, but still very comprehensible to even the common people, allowing for citing the book no matter what company you are in. In fact, many common folk have either asked the priests to teach them parts of the book relevant to their trade, or they have learned pieces of scripture that are considered special by heart as a token of devotion to their goddess. Often this is all they can offer, especially in a bad year, but even those small offerings are welcomed with gratitude by their deity - or so their priests say. Since the White Lady is not a goddess of miracles, it is almost impossible to fathom what her will and intentions are. Yet this doesn't stop her church from claiming they know, and often they use this to further their political and worldly ambitions. As the Council is still quite a young state and especially fragile outside of the big city, there's still a lot of tension around, especially since the peasants had suffered the brunt of the damage of the Mage Wars. The White Clergy certainly does not mind painting the mages as godless heretics, and having a large followership able to cite their holy book has allowed them to wield considerable influence - especially since they get to pick which parts of the book their followers learn. Many mages, therefore, have read and learned the White Law by heart themselves, in order to defend themselves against accusations. Still, even if you know the context of a quote is much different than a cherry-picked line suggests, how do you explain that to a hostile, illiterate mob?
The autumn night chill was creeping into the room, and despite the servants best efforts to keep the windows airtight and the fire stoked, it was a loosing battle. Most people had left the vast reading room by now and retreated to one of the smaller, cozier rooms. Imoën didn't care much; she had enough heat to go without clothes even in winter. It was only modesty and politeness that kept her dressed. Sometimes it made her chuckle to imagine people's face should she drop that politeness and just be herself. Farnold would probably completely loose it. She liked to think of him as a clumsy idiot behind the illusions he always threw up to make people look up to him. Trying to adjust his glasses with trembling fingers, accidentally gripping before the glass, dropping it... The temperature in the room dropped noticeable, and she snapped back to reality. She had purposely gone to a quiet room because this year she had a mentee who was just so dreadfully boring. His research interest was as well, making it hard for her to scrounge together enough focus to actually get through the slog. As soon as anything of interest came along, her mind pounced on the opportunity, and tonight it seemed even her own thoughts were enough of a distraction. She sighed and rolled up the parchment. The footsteps were not Nepheles, so it had to be Arsethos. She wondered why he sought her out. He was probably still mad after their altercation earlier? She steeled herself for another round, when he finally emerged in the moonlight coming in through the window. "Imoën." He nodded at her, then turned to the window. She raised her eyebrow. It was rare for him to forget his anger so easily, and even rarer for him to approach her using only her first name. She got up and joined him next to the window. "What brings you here, Arsethos?" The Archmage of Ice relaxed. Imoën was always surprisingly attuned to the people around her. He should have known that she was not one to hold grudges - unlike himself, he had to admit. It was moments like this that reminded him that despite her provocative demeanor and how she liked to call him Icicle, she still respected him a great deal - she just hated to show it. "Do you have to wind up Farnold like this all the time?" - "Yes." The answer came without hesitation or thinking about it, and he couldn't help it - he burst into laughter. "Fair enough. But why?" Imoën made a helplessly flustered noise. "Why? How can you ask that? I mean, have you LOOKED at him?!" His follow-up question caught her off-guard, and for a second the playful little girl in her broke through. She took a deep breath, almost embarassed. "Seriously though. I don't like him. He gets his face into every conversation, whether he has a part in it or not. Especially when he has not." Arsethos made a face and nodded; he couldn't deny that. "I don't mean to insult your faith, Arsethos, but he shoves it into everyone's face. It's just obnoxious and rude. And if you ask me, he made up half of it." He frowned and turned to look at her, but before he could speak, she held up her hand. "Bear with me on this one, Arsethos." He raised his eyebrow expectantly. "I have read the codex back to back. I may not know it by heart, but trust me that I have read and understood it." He nodded. "It is very well-written - and the rules make a lot of sense. I don't know what I would add or take away should I have to write my own law - and that's exactly the thing. I am not a follower of the White Lady, and I would not take anything away. That tells you about how much actual religious teaching is in the book. Nowhere does it speak about heresy, or detail what the faith should look like." He sighed and nodded again. She was right; there was no denying that. And she continued: "I believe there is even a part stating that explicitly: you do not need to follow the White Lady herself, adhering to these laws - which in my opinion means simply being a decent human being - is enough to win her favor." She looked at him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, it's been a while." Arsethos shook his head. "You're right. I apologize for the heresy comment." Imoën smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," she simply said, then chuckled. "It's funny, sometimes your temper flares like a fire, yet you are an Ice Mage. Makes me wonder if you simply took the wrong turn back in the day." Arsethos couldn't help but laugh. "Well, at least for you there's no doubting you're in the right spot!" Imoën laughed too, but quickly turned serious again and looked him straight in the eyes. "Arsethos, I think it's an open secret that large parts of The Orderly Faith are.. not very friendly towards the Council. The Mage Wars have been hard on the people, and they understandably distrust us. And that's the biggest issue I have with Farnold. He abuses his position to make up for his insecurity and make himself important, but the means he uses for that are deplorable. He actively works to destabilize the system, and I don't have to tell you what that would mean for the people." Arsethos' face hardened, and he turned his face away again. The moon cast a silvery light on everything, almost making the barren trees glitter. He didn't like what he heard, but he had seen the reports, too. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, exhaustion in his voice. Imoën sighed. "You can probably do the least of us," she admitted. "Right now Farnold is more than happy to use you as his figurehead - 'Look, the White Lady can turn even the heathens to the truth!'" Her satirical imitation of Farnold was too good, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Should you speak up, though, he will quickly distrust you." She sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Arsethos. You are not stupid, and a good man. Honestly, you're more deserving of Farnolds position than he ever was or will be - at least you wouldn't take what you can from your followers to vainly decorate yourself or the churches. You wouldn't go around agressively trying to bedazzle people in hopes they join your ranks and weaken your perceived enemy. Because we both know the Council is not the enemy of the Orderly Faith." She turned around and went back to the armchair she had been sitting before "If it wasn't for Farnolds stupid power plays, I'd be the first proponent to adopt the White Law as the official laws of the Council. But he would spin this into how the church had won, and there's still too much resentment against the Mages, despite all our efforts to work for the people and rebuild the lands." Arsethos found an armchair for himself, sat down and rubbed his temples. "I know..." Imoën thought for a moment, then got up and quickly wove a spell. A little fire fairy appeared, flitting through the room and checking all corners. Worldlessly, he joined her and wove his own spell. The fire went out, and the temperatur dropped to the point they could see their own breath. The windows grew ice flowers, protecting them from curious eyes. Imoën smiled. "That spell right there is the one thing I really envy you Icicles for," she laughed. "It's so pretty!" Arsethos grunted. "You and your mood swings, woman," he said gruffly. Imoën pulled herself together. "Sorry." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I have hints that there is another group in the shadows working against the Council. Nothing real, though - a lot of hunches, vague associations - and somehow, the name Amaranthen keeps popping up in the weirdest places. Even in connection with the church." - "The church?" Arsethos struggled to keep his voice low. "If anyone was in blatant disregard of the White Law, it was Alden!" Imoën nodded. "You know that, and I know that. But how many others do? How many others have access to the remaining archives?" When Arsethos didn't answer, she continued: "And who do you think I would expect to be more than willing to abuse this situation for his own gains?" Arsethos returned to his armchair, staring at the ceiling. After a while, Imoën followed his example. She was worried if she had gone too far, pushed his good will and understanding of her distrust in Farnold beyond the breaking point. To calm her nerves, she fidgeted, playing with small flames on her fingertips while shooting nervous glances at Arsethos. Finally he broke the silence. "What evidence do you have?" she shook his head. "None, as I said. I've been trying to find something - anything! on this other group for over a year. They are good - and I suspect they have Mages on their side." She said. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. It's been worrying me for a while, and I don't know who I can trust on this one." She felt relieved to share this burden, even though she was worried it might have been a mistake. Arsethos got up. "It is not safe to discuss this here. We will need to find a way to do this another time." He sighed. "Don't worry, Imoën. I don't like this one bit, but if there's any truth to your hunches, we need to address this. Maybe you are blinded by your dislike of Farnold, but I've known you for long enough to at least take it seriously. Ideally we will find this was a misunderstanding." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "You're right, it is late. Even the fire has gone out already," she said, lighting a fire flower on the fire wood. Arsethos smiled. "As much as I hate to admit it, that spell is also quite pretty."
The White Law is a codex of exceptional craftsmanship. It is assumed that its cover is made from calf's leather, since it's the only leather that people can think of that can get as soft as the codex feels. Yet, no one has managed to recreate calf leather of the same quality, and the same goes for the parchment and the ink. The red ink is, without exaggeration, almost translucent and as bright red a fresh blood, even though many with a delicate spirit find the comparison quite macabre. The chalk white parchment has no ink splotches or scratched off letters, unlike most codices. The handwriting is small, meticulous and uniform, and the ink shows no signs of bleaching out or being thinned, as it sometimes happens to save ink. The langauge is archaic, but still very comprehensible to even the common people, allowing for citing the book no matter what company you are in. In fact, many common folk have either asked the priests to teach them parts of the book relevant to their trade, or they have learned pieces of scripture that are considered special by heart as a token of devotion to their goddess. Often this is all they can offer, especially in a bad year, but even those small offerings are welcomed with gratitude by their deity - or so their priests say. Since the White Lady is not a goddess of miracles, it is almost impossible to fathom what her will and intentions are. Yet this doesn't stop her church from claiming they know, and often they use this to further their political and worldly ambitions. As the Council is still quite a young state and especially fragile outside of the big city, there's still a lot of tension around, especially since the peasants had suffered the brunt of the damage of the Mage Wars. The White Clergy certainly does not mind painting the mages as godless heretics, and having a large followership able to cite their holy book has allowed them to wield considerable influence - especially since they get to pick which parts of the book their followers learn. Many mages, therefore, have read and learned the White Law by heart themselves, in order to defend themselves against accusations. Still, even if you know the context of a quote is much different than a cherry-picked line suggests, how do you explain that to a hostile, illiterate mob?
The autumn night chill was creeping into the room, and despite the servants best efforts to keep the windows airtight and the fire stoked, it was a loosing battle. Most people had left the vast reading room by now and retreated to one of the smaller, cozier rooms. Imoën didn't care much; she had enough heat to go without clothes even in winter. It was only modesty and politeness that kept her dressed. Sometimes it made her chuckle to imagine people's face should she drop that politeness and just be herself. Farnold would probably completely loose it. She liked to think of him as a clumsy idiot behind the illusions he always threw up to make people look up to him. Trying to adjust his glasses with trembling fingers, accidentally gripping before the glass, dropping it... The temperature in the room dropped noticeable, and she snapped back to reality. She had purposely gone to a quiet room because this year she had a mentee who was just so dreadfully boring. His research interest was as well, making it hard for her to scrounge together enough focus to actually get through the slog. As soon as anything of interest came along, her mind pounced on the opportunity, and tonight it seemed even her own thoughts were enough of a distraction. She sighed and rolled up the parchment. The footsteps were not Nepheles, so it had to be Arsethos. She wondered why he sought her out. He was probably still mad after their altercation earlier? She steeled herself for another round, when he finally emerged in the moonlight coming in through the window. "Imoën." He nodded at her, then turned to the window. She raised her eyebrow. It was rare for him to forget his anger so easily, and even rarer for him to approach her using only her first name. She got up and joined him next to the window. "What brings you here, Arsethos?" The Archmage of Ice relaxed. Imoën was always surprisingly attuned to the people around her. He should have known that she was not one to hold grudges - unlike himself, he had to admit. It was moments like this that reminded him that despite her provocative demeanor and how she liked to call him Icicle, she still respected him a great deal - she just hated to show it. "Do you have to wind up Farnold like this all the time?" - "Yes." The answer came without hesitation or thinking about it, and he couldn't help it - he burst into laughter. "Fair enough. But why?" Imoën made a helplessly flustered noise. "Why? How can you ask that? I mean, have you LOOKED at him?!" His follow-up question caught her off-guard, and for a second the playful little girl in her broke through. She took a deep breath, almost embarassed. "Seriously though. I don't like him. He gets his face into every conversation, whether he has a part in it or not. Especially when he has not." Arsethos made a face and nodded; he couldn't deny that. "I don't mean to insult your faith, Arsethos, but he shoves it into everyone's face. It's just obnoxious and rude. And if you ask me, he made up half of it." He frowned and turned to look at her, but before he could speak, she held up her hand. "Bear with me on this one, Arsethos." He raised his eyebrow expectantly. "I have read the codex back to back. I may not know it by heart, but trust me that I have read and understood it." He nodded. "It is very well-written - and the rules make a lot of sense. I don't know what I would add or take away should I have to write my own law - and that's exactly the thing. I am not a follower of the White Lady, and I would not take anything away. That tells you about how much actual religious teaching is in the book. Nowhere does it speak about heresy, or detail what the faith should look like." He sighed and nodded again. She was right; there was no denying that. And she continued: "I believe there is even a part stating that explicitly: you do not need to follow the White Lady herself, adhering to these laws - which in my opinion means simply being a decent human being - is enough to win her favor." She looked at him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, it's been a while." Arsethos shook his head. "You're right. I apologize for the heresy comment." Imoën smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," she simply said, then chuckled. "It's funny, sometimes your temper flares like a fire, yet you are an Ice Mage. Makes me wonder if you simply took the wrong turn back in the day." Arsethos couldn't help but laugh. "Well, at least for you there's no doubting you're in the right spot!" Imoën laughed too, but quickly turned serious again and looked him straight in the eyes. "Arsethos, I think it's an open secret that large parts of The Orderly Faith are.. not very friendly towards the Council. The Mage Wars have been hard on the people, and they understandably distrust us. And that's the biggest issue I have with Farnold. He abuses his position to make up for his insecurity and make himself important, but the means he uses for that are deplorable. He actively works to destabilize the system, and I don't have to tell you what that would mean for the people." Arsethos' face hardened, and he turned his face away again. The moon cast a silvery light on everything, almost making the barren trees glitter. He didn't like what he heard, but he had seen the reports, too. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, exhaustion in his voice. Imoën sighed. "You can probably do the least of us," she admitted. "Right now Farnold is more than happy to use you as his figurehead - 'Look, the White Lady can turn even the heathens to the truth!'" Her satirical imitation of Farnold was too good, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Should you speak up, though, he will quickly distrust you." She sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Arsethos. You are not stupid, and a good man. Honestly, you're more deserving of Farnolds position than he ever was or will be - at least you wouldn't take what you can from your followers to vainly decorate yourself or the churches. You wouldn't go around agressively trying to bedazzle people in hopes they join your ranks and weaken your perceived enemy. Because we both know the Council is not the enemy of the Orderly Faith." She turned around and went back to the armchair she had been sitting before "If it wasn't for Farnolds stupid power plays, I'd be the first proponent to adopt the White Law as the official laws of the Council. But he would spin this into how the church had won, and there's still too much resentment against the Mages, despite all our efforts to work for the people and rebuild the lands." Arsethos found an armchair for himself, sat down and rubbed his temples. "I know..." Imoën thought for a moment, then got up and quickly wove a spell. A little fire fairy appeared, flitting through the room and checking all corners. Worldlessly, he joined her and wove his own spell. The fire went out, and the temperatur dropped to the point they could see their own breath. The windows grew ice flowers, protecting them from curious eyes. Imoën smiled. "That spell right there is the one thing I really envy you Icicles for," she laughed. "It's so pretty!" Arsethos grunted. "You and your mood swings, woman," he said gruffly. Imoën pulled herself together. "Sorry." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I have hints that there is another group in the shadows working against the Council. Nothing real, though - a lot of hunches, vague associations - and somehow, the name Amaranthen keeps popping up in the weirdest places. Even in connection with the church." - "The church?" Arsethos struggled to keep his voice low. "If anyone was in blatant disregard of the White Law, it was Alden!" Imoën nodded. "You know that, and I know that. But how many others do? How many others have access to the remaining archives?" When Arsethos didn't answer, she continued: "And who do you think I would expect to be more than willing to abuse this situation for his own gains?" Arsethos returned to his armchair, staring at the ceiling. After a while, Imoën followed his example. She was worried if she had gone too far, pushed his good will and understanding of her distrust in Farnold beyond the breaking point. To calm her nerves, she fidgeted, playing with small flames on her fingertips while shooting nervous glances at Arsethos. Finally he broke the silence. "What evidence do you have?" she shook his head. "None, as I said. I've been trying to find something - anything! on this other group for over a year. They are good - and I suspect they have Mages on their side." She said. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. It's been worrying me for a while, and I don't know who I can trust on this one." She felt relieved to share this burden, even though she was worried it might have been a mistake. Arsethos got up. "It is not safe to discuss this here. We will need to find a way to do this another time." He sighed. "Don't worry, Imoën. I don't like this one bit, but if there's any truth to your hunches, we need to address this. Maybe you are blinded by your dislike of Farnold, but I've known you for long enough to at least take it seriously. Ideally we will find this was a misunderstanding." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "You're right, it is late. Even the fire has gone out already," she said, lighting a fire flower on the fire wood. Arsethos smiled. "As much as I hate to admit it, that spell is also quite pretty."
Comments