by G. H. Duval
Siare reined herself in, relaxing the fists she’d unconsciously formed. Recalling the litany she had learned long before ascending to First Seer (for she had enjoyed the benefit of a First who was still in her prime when Siare, herself, had been named), she regained her poise. She had submitted to the Great Shepherd’s will and allowed the woman to go free. Lena was headstrong and irreverent, but she possessed an equally strong talent. After even the briefest look into her mind, Siare knew that the best way to punish Lena was to require formal service of her…and to separate her from the daughter she had worked so hard to secret away.
My daughter now.
A small, feral smile blossomed on her lips as she nodded to the guard at the door, who awaited her signal before ushering in the next party of petitioners. She added the slicing motion that meant no others were to follow them. This was to be another private audience.
As the diplomatic party from the nation of Kirin entered, Shavare stiffened and a soft gasp escaped him. With long-practiced ease, she slid into his mind. Yes?
Search the boy. She could feel Shavare straining toward the child of the approaching trio. I sense au Ciele in him. And something more, though I cannot name it. He is one of ours, See. I swear it!
Her eyes widened for just a moment before she schooled her features to a polite, formal acknowledgment of the Ambassador and his small family. Intensely curious now—for she knew better than to doubt Shavare’s senses—she quickly, lightly, brushed the boy’s mind. If he bore an affinity of any kind, he knew nothing of it. With a flash of intuition common to her Office, Siare knew that would not be the case with the boy’s father. She would have to search him, but she would do so carefully. Mother had already encountered the mage-crafted barriers with which the Kirin armed their envoys. Thanks to the last Ambassador’s missteps, however, she knew better what to look for and how to slip past the potential mental guards.
Instead of speaking, she nodded encouragingly to the man as he pressed his palms together, touched the joined fingertips to his forehead, and bowed deeply from the waist—first to her, then to Shavare. The wife and child—not expecting any acknowledgement—stood to his left, slightly behind him, their eyes firmly trained on the floor.
“I am Kerg ian Maced.” The Ambassador’s voice was formal and bore the lilting, sing-song accent that Kirin speakers lent to the Coerdan tongue. His palms remained together, fingers pressed as if in prayer. “I present myself before you, Most Honored Firsts, as requested by His Eminence, Emperor Baowin Dinh the Third.” Again, he bowed.
“We welcome you, Ambassador Kerg ian Maced.” Siare affected a warmth she did not yet feel.
“My documents have been presented,” Kerg continued, his voice smooth and polished.
“Indeed, Ambassador,” Shavare took up his role in the formality. As the head of Coerdom’s Marshall forces, it was Shavare, not Siare, who reviewed the documents that had been sent ahead of Kerg, establishing him as the next Kirin Ambassador to Coerdom. “It is our honor to receive you. We hereby recognize you as the duly appointed representative of Emperor Baowin Dinh the Third and bestow upon you all the rights, privileges, and protections therein.”
“Welcome to Coerdom, Kerg.” This time, when Siare spoke, she poured warmth and welcome into her words. He must feel secure if she were to make any headway with the real reason he had come, and certainly if she wanted to gain greater insight into his son. It helped that her initial testing of the man—a simple grazing around the edges of his emotions—left her feeling kindly toward him.
Kerg ian Maced, of the nation of Kirin, Ambassador to Coerdom and Voice of Emperor Baowin Dinh the Third, finally relaxed. “Thank you.” An easy smile came to his lips and his hands fell, at last, to his sides. “I look forward to strengthening the ties between our nations.”
“As do we, Ambassador.” Siare held Kerg’s eyes a moment longer than was necessary before glancing at the two still standing silently beside him. “Your family?” she prompted.
Finally released to do so, Kerg proudly introduced his wife, Biyu yan Azer, and his son, Mori ian Kerg. Both bowed deeply with the same clasped-hands formality as had Kerg. She murmured a welcome to them as she quickly skimmed the wife’s mind before dismissing her. She, too, knew nothing of her son’s dormant affinity. Though she did suspect something amiss with her son, she could not conceive of anything so foreign as an Aspect at work.
“I trust your retinue has been settled,” Siare added, knowing full well through Culari that they had. “Your quarters are satisfactory?” She re-entered Mori’s mind as she spoke, moving beyond his consciousness to where—in a Coerdan Shepherd—his Aspect node and tether would reside.
“More than that, Honored First,” Kerg assured her.
“Excellent.” Her heart sped as she found what she sought just where they should be—though his node was barely beginning it’s wakening cycle and his tether was barely more than a wisp of silky tendril.
Siare affected an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we’ll be keeping you from refreshment and rest for a bit longer.” The Ambassador quirked a brow and nodded as he waited for Siare to explain. “We have an issue that could use your nuanced understanding of Coerdan-Kirin relations, Ambassador. We were hoping to impose upon you immediately while Culari sees your family back to your chambers.”
“Of course, your Eminence. I am at your disposal. Always.” Kerg spoke to his family briefly, indicating that they should follow Culari, and Siare wondered just how much Coerdan the two spoke. She hadn’t sensed a lack of understanding when she touched their minds. Either way, the two bowed formally to both her and Shavare once more before falling into step behind Culari.
With a small flourish of his hand—a habit Siare knew he employed for the sole purpose of warning the non-gifted—Shavare lifted an embroidered, deeply cushioned chair from the gallery. He brought it to rest on the dais before their thrones—not quite an equal footing but certainly a respectful one for their guest.
“Please sit, Ambassador.” Shavare’s voice betrayed none of the pleasure Siare felt rolling off of him at the Ambassador’s startled expression.
Kerg steadied himself, taking another long beat to stare at the chair before climbing the four marble steps to the dais. Once seated, he again folded his hands into what Siare thought of as “prayer position,” his chin resting lightly on his fingertips. He was alert and ready to do the work for which he had been trained. Siare was happy to find when she intertwined a whisper of her consciousness with his that he was as she had intended: relaxed, confident, and secure. If his mages had prepared him with mental guards, they were well hidden.
“Ambassador,” Siare began, keeping her tone conversational. “I assume, as preparation for this post, that you must first be thoroughly acquainted with your homeland.” When Kerg nodded, she continued. “And in all your travels of Kirin, did you ever encounter a natural mage—what we call in Coerdom a ‘Shepherd?’”
Kerg’s demeanor immediately changed. He stiffened, and his fingers moved from resting lightly against each other to a tight interlacing. More dramatic was his mental reaction. His son’s face immediately came to mind, fear and near-panic washing over the image before the guard Siare suspected had been placed on him fell into place. From one breath to the next, the image of his son and the seething emotions attached to it were gone. But that brief moment was all Siare had needed. Kerg ian Maced knew very well what his son was, and he was intent on keeping it a secret. Why then, Siare wondered, had he come to Coerdom—to me—where his son’s discovery would be all but assured?
“I cannot say that I have, your Reverence.” His inflection was odd, and Siare wondered if it was the result of translating from one language to another. She considered his intent instead. Whatever guard had been placed on him, it did not bar her ability to sense the man’s emotions and thoughts. She would know if he spoke a falsehood. To his mind, Kerg was telling the truth. She changed tack.
“You cannot say?” she repeated, leaning
forward. “And why can’t you, Ambassador?
The man went pale, and as the color drained from his face, slight tremors began in his hands. “I did not think it would be discovered so swiftly,” he whispered, tearing his eyes from Siare’s and staring at the gleaming marble at his feet. Siare remained silent as he considered his response. She sensed his turmoil but also his resolve. He did not hesitate in order to evade. Rather, she sensed a man attempting to escape a maze. A trap, she realized, finally.
From her place in his mind, Siare tested the guard now active there. She probed it carefully, testing for any awareness attached to it. There were no tendrils, no connection she could follow to its terminus. Kerg had been blocked, certain areas sealed, she assumed, to preserve the Emperor’s most sensitive information, but he was not being actively observed. She suspected it was a limitation of mage craft as compared to the partnerships that existed between Shepherds and their affinities. She knew, for instance, that even the youngest, weakest Shepherd at the Steading could accomplish feats a fully trained Kirin mage could not. To Siare’s mind, this was not surprising, as the Kirin approach to interacting with Nature was heresy—an affront to all that Hirute had gifted to mankind. But so was war, and so she and Shavare kept the peace.
“Are you forbidden, Kerg?” Siare’s voice softened, and this time she poured warmth directly into her connection with him. “Your words are safe here,” she assured him. “No one outside of these walls will hear us.”
The man grew even paler and his eyes went wide. The tremors increased. “How can you know so much? So soon?” Despite her assurances, Kerg glanced about the large room, his eyes bulging slightly as they rolled in search of danger.
“To know is my calling,” she reminded him, voice gentle. “I was born to know, Kerg. And this is what I know: Mori is a Shepherd of Air, though he knows nothing of it. Whatever you have told him to hide his true nature, he has accepted wholeheartedly. So goes for your wife. What I do not know is why you have misled them so, just to volunteer for this assignment? You have been keen to hide your boy up to now. You must have known we would discover him.” She shook her head, made a small sound of incredulity in her throat.
“Kerg,” she said, soberly. “The Formynder recognized Mori the moment he laid eyes on him. Though not so gifted as the Formynder, others who share his Aspect may have similar experiences. This is not something we can hide. Not in Coerdom.”
Kerg squared his shoulders, met her eyes and held them. Before she could decide if the act was one of desperation or impudence, he spoke. “Can you cure him?”
“Cure him!” Shavare nearly rose from his seat with the outburst. “As if our gifts are a malady to be healed.” His voice shook with disbelief and outrage.
“He meant no offense, love.” Siare’s voice silenced Shavare at once though she barely spoke above a whisper. “I imagine it may very well be the case in Kirin that such a gift would be perceived as a curse. Perhaps even considered a display of barbarism, though the Ambassador is entirely too politic to say so?”
She held Kerg’s eyes and mustered a wry smile at the sudden touch of scarlet across his cheeks. “Are you ready now to declare your true intent for coming, friend?”
Kerg did not respond immediately. For the span of several heartbeats, he carefully considered his next words, and the Firsts allowed him that grace. At last, he left his chair only to move meticulously to his knees before Siare. “I have come, Honored First, to beg asylum.”
Thirteen
“Serve me completely or not at all. For My call will cleave husband from wife, brother from sister, and parents from their offspring. All bonds will yield to Mine own!”
–Helig Ra’d, Teachings of the Great Shepherd
Spring rode at the front of a small party, both proud at the honor and suffering nerves at every attentive glance that came her way. At her back rode her parents, side by side, appearing a united front though Spring knew they remained estranged. Jayden and Jate pulled up the rear. They moved slowly at a stately pace Jate had insisted she observe, which she was now thankful for. Her Declaration dress did not allow for a great deal of jostling.
All too soon, they reached the square housing the Declaration circle and found it awash in torchlight. The torches were the long, formal affairs she had seen in the Firsts’ Wing of the Steading. The square was near to overflowing, packed with more people than she had ever seen attend a Declaration ceremony; yet a clear and easy path emerged for their party as they entered. Before the fountain, in the square’s center, sat the Declaration circle: a circular patch of loam, meticulously tended and kept moist. Even before she reached it, Spring sensed each component of the rich mixture: red clay, mulched leaves, and chipped bark; several minerals her father would know more intimately than she were also present, and finally dirt from the nearby riverbed—the residual salt from its fish and from the droppings of the birds that lived off of them fragrant. She drew deeper and deeper breaths, savoring the smells, yearning for the moment she would touch the circle.
Their party was halted several feet from the circle by silent Steadies, and she took a moment to admire the work that had been done to transform the solid stone façade of the square into the soft, luxurious space it was now. Long pools of fabric fell from second-story homes nestled above the shops at street level, draping the walls. Every visible door boasted a wreath honoring one of the natural elements, the Great Shepherd, or the Firsts—some managing to honor all three at once—and Spring wondered what led each of these families to their particular allegiances. She knew she mused about such things to keep calm in the face of the grandeur of the packed square and of the moment itself, and it nearly worked.
There were two boys and a girl of roughly her age to the right of the circle dressed as she was in white—they would not don their Aspect colors until after their declarations were complete. She had met each of them as they’d been sharing the same first-year dorm while awaiting Declaration and assignment to a formal niche cluster. Together, they represented each of the natural Aspects, and Spring assumed this was by design and that they’d be assigned to the same cluster.
They each stood directly before a flagpole that flew a silken, draping flag in the color of their respective affinities, and Spring was eager to take her place among them. She noted, surprised, that there were no non-Aspect touched declarers present. Odd that, as the non-touched far outnumbered the touched back in Hayden’s Declarations.
As the flags rustled in the breeze, their Aspect crests shone in those moments they unfurled and caught the light. At the front of that line was her flagpole; atop it a deep green flag with the sharp, stylized leaf symbol of the Earth Aspect set out in gold stitching.
The Steadies motioned for their party to dismount and took their reins; the one who’d taken Spring’s mount motioned toward her place in the line. Before she could comply, Jayden took her in his arms in a brief but fierce embrace. Eschewing his usual doublet and hose, he wore a deep green robe that draped beautifully across his shoulders. His family’s crest—a ship at full sail—shone in bright gold embroidery over his heart. He smiled at her, his eyes pooling with emotion, and whispered, “You will do wonderfully. Do not be nervous. Remember to enjoy it!”
Jate came to stand beside them and in his rumbling voice added, “Shepherd’s Own Truth.” He wore his at-ease uniform of grey tunic and hose, trimmed in dark green, with the green belt and boots to match—the uniform Spring would soon be wearing, herself.
Together, Jate and Jayden would stand witness for her. She looked back for a moment to seek her parents, but they held back from her, nodding their encouragement and looking pointedly at where she should be standing.
As she closed the final distance to the circle, Spring spotted the six ceremonial stones along the arc of the far side for the participants of the ceremony. In the center would stand the two officiating the Declaration. In Hayden’s, Arbiter Jeyson conducted the search accompanied by the town’s generally accepted Shepherd of hi
ghest talent and rank. Idly, she wondered who would hold such honors in the capital, where so many talented Shepherds resided. To their right would be her parents, ready to accept the stripping of their parental rights, while those who would vouch for Spring’s moral character would take their left. This was no empty formality; if she were found to be lacking the proper qualities, these two would be responsible for her tutelage until such time as she proved satisfactory.
There was no stone for the Declarer, for their place was on the loam itself. The promise of that rich, inviting soil was the only element of the ceremony keeping Spring calm. She smiled and nodded politely to the other candidates as she moved to her position under her Aspect’s flag and waited for the officiating Shepherds to arrive.
A sudden breeze swirled through the square, setting the torchlight first to dancing, then to blazing as it soared past. The fountain surged and drops of water swirled around the center, reflecting the suddenly intense torchlight like thousands of suspended crystals. It was a signal, Spring realized, as the crowd cheered and applauded. As if crazed, they waved banners in green, blue, red, and silver above their heads. Already, she understood that this Declaration would be unlike the intimate, humble affairs she had witnessed in Hayden’s. She had no idea what the signal might mean.
She turned to the boy beside her, an au Feur named Gauldry, and had to practically scream into his ear as she asked, “Why do they cheer so?”
His eyes widened in surprise at her ignorance before he nodded. “Right. You’re not from Coer.” He, too, was shouting, but he smiled to soften his words and make it clear he intended no insult. “The Formynder calls to the elements—his way of announcing that the Firsts are approaching.”
“The Firsts?” Spring repeated, incredulous. “They attend Declarations personally?”
