Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(31)

Dion couldn’t help but wonder how often the magi chose gold for a peasant boy, whose parents would never be able to afford his necklace, let alone his round medallion.

‘Silver is the materia of the winds of fortune and the tides of commerce.’ The magus gazed at the nugget of silver.

‘Copper stands for music and beauty, craftsmanship, and the arts of healing.’ Dion could see why the copper and iron were closest to the magus and the boy beside him, for they were by far the most common metals chosen.

‘Finally’—the magus turned again—‘iron leads to the path of the warrior and the farmer, the mason, the smith, and the miner.’

Luni looked fearfully at his mother and then turned again to stare with confusion at his father. Nikolas struggled to keep his face impassive.

‘The gods have made their choice,’ the magus intoned.

He left the boy standing in the middle of the diamond and then stepped outside the lines of white chalk.

Walking with his slow shuffling steps, the magus now circled the diamond three times. The seven-year-old child now watched the magus; everyone else in the room was utterly still.

The magus stopped. He was standing outside the lump of iron.

‘The gods have chosen iron,’ the magus said, his thin lips creasing in a smile.

Nikolas was unable to hide a sigh of relief. Glancing across the room, Dion saw that the king was now standing, fists clenched at his sides, but he was beaming.

Yet the ceremony wasn’t over. There was one final part for the child to play.

‘I name you Lukas,’ the magus said. His parents would have supplied the name, but it was the first time anyone else in the room had heard it.

‘Lukas,’ Dion mouthed. His nephew. He decided he liked the name.

‘Come, Lukas,’ the magus said, still standing near the lump of iron. ‘Come to claim iron.’

The smile fell from Nikolas’s face and he tensed once more. But his son knew what to do, and he walked to the magus, knelt at the corner of the diamond, and picked up the lump of iron.

Nikolas whooped as a resounding cheer filled the room. Helena wiped her eyes as she and Thea embraced. King Markos shook hands with the men around him.

‘Lukas is a fitting name. The gods chose rightly,’ Dion said as he turned and clapped his brother on the back.

‘Thank you, brother.’ Nikolas pulled him into an embrace. Dion felt prickly hair on his face as his older brother planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘Go.’ Dion laughed, pushing him away. ‘Go to your wife and son.’

Nikolas lurched across the room to join Helena, who was impatiently waving a hand for him to come over. She had a necklace of tiny iron rings in her hands and together she and Nikolas fastened the chain around Lukas’s neck; soon a circular amulet imprinted with the bull of Balal was proudly displayed for all to see.

As the parents united around the boy, Dion smiled. But then he felt a gaze on him and saw the magus’s dark eyes looking at him from the very center of the hall. Their eyes met before the old man nodded.

Dion’s smile faded as he reflected on his own naming ceremony.

He was now old enough to know that the magi and his family would have been discussing him behind closed doors. Even at the tender age of seven it was already clear that Dion wasn’t a natural warrior like Nikolas. He’d somehow managed to cut himself on the dull edge of a child’s sword and he’d always been afraid of large groups of hoplites, with their sharp spears ready to kill and steel helmets hiding their faces. He did have skills: he was good with horses and liked to ride; he was clever with numbers and could add, subtract, and multiply better than his much older brother.

Gold wouldn’t have been appropriate, for it was Nikolas who was heir to the throne, and Dion didn’t exhibit the natural charisma that would have made him the leader of other boys his age. Copper was out of the question: the last thing King Markos wanted was a musician or a craftsman for a son.

So the magi chose silver.

But when the magus circled the diamond and gave Dion his name, calling him to the silver, Dion wouldn’t come.

It had been an awkward moment. Eventually, King Markos had picked up the newly named Dion and taken him to the magus.

With loud conversation now filling the banqueting hall as the musicians took up their instruments and the festivities resumed, the magus continued to stare. The silver chain, with its amulet bearing the symbol of Silex, felt uncomfortable on Dion’s skin, as if it didn’t belong.





14


As the night progressed, the guests became more raucous, until finally, in ones and twos, they begged their leave, departing after a final congratulation offered to the proud parents. Eventually only the royal family and Peithon remained, though the magus was still present, waiting on the king’s permission to leave. They all sat in a circle of benches drawn up close together in the center of the room, the white chalk now smudged by countless feet crossing to and fro.

In a lull in the conversation, the old magus, seated a little apart, turned an inquiring gaze on the king. It was tradition that at the end of every family banquet would come a story for those still awake. Often the storyteller would be Markos or Nikolas, but on this occasion the king had requested that the magus honor them with a tale.

‘Magus,’ Markos said with a nod, ‘I believe now is the time, should it suit you.’