by Gail Merritt
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‘You have much to learn,’ she said, stroking my hair. I was sitting in her lap, still clutching the disbelieving fox. He washed the cuts on my hands with his tongue, muttering to himself that these were strange times.
‘The fox owes his life to you.’ She stooped to look into my face. I had not spoken since the huntsmen had called the dogs off me and the Silver Mantle had taken charge. My father was busy organising refreshment and the King was sitting on a small stool beside the Lady. ‘Will you keep him as a pet?’ he asked.
‘He is a wild beast,’ I said, in a small voice. ‘He makes his own choice. He can stay, but he is free to go.’ The fox gave me a quizzical look but said nothing.
‘Has he asked you to let him stay?’ queried the Lady. I tried to hide my surprise, but it was too late. She smiled and ran her finger along my forehead, ‘You have much to learn.’
‘Could you teach me how to use the Tongue?’ I felt suddenly bold. If this was a dream, then it could do no harm to ask. If it was not a dream, why then strange times make strange heroes. Ruthen was always saying that.
She laughed. ‘No, I cannot. That is your power and your art. You must seek it out yourself.’ She took my hand. Her fingers were cool and thin but not unpleasant. ‘But I can teach you the way of the Mantles. I must teach you the way of the Mantles.’ My jaw dropped. The College of the Mantles. Even their name is spoken with awe. ‘You must return with me to Vellin to begin your study, for it takes many years to become a Mantle.’
I never knew what arguments and negotiations went on between the Silver Mantle and my father, or what part the King played in them. When we returned to the castle, I was put to bed, but not before Ruthen had made a bed for the fox and I had fed him. While I sank into a dreamless sleep, the Silver Mantle was making her plans to take me away from everything I knew. I was to begin a new life in the King’s city of Vellin. I was too dazed to think much about what that meant. The Mantles were feared but honoured too and their power was greater even than the King’s. It didn’t seem possible that I could be joining them. Perhaps I had misunderstood. The Mantles’ power came from magic, and dark powers they were, full of spells and the ability to rule the weather. They would soon see that I was not qualified to be one of them. They were consulted when rain was needed or when a plague threatened a town, when hideous monsters crept out of the caves of Gaheil or when the safety of the Meeds was threatened. My last memory of that strange day was hearing Channa sobbing as she mended my torn dress.
2.
Vellin
I first saw Vellin at sunset.
When I started to write this history, I thought that I would begin with Vellin and then, as if to warn the reader of my perversity, I wrote about my early life in Brak. Well, perhaps that was not by accident. I had never seen the royal city until my journey with the King and Silver Mantle. My whole life had been spent in a tiny Meed town. The greatest assembly in Brak was on market day, in a space smaller than the great courtyard of the Palace and my father’s Meed castle was a crumbling manor compared to the King’s palace.
Vellin sits in a natural bowl, surrounded on three sides by hills, the forth side being the meandering highway of the River Listi, with its shallows and eddies, its labouring barges and narrow ferries. Our company came over the hill from the north, in the late afternoon and below us Vellin blushed in the low sunlight. The buildings seeming to crowd together, interlocking, embracing, until it was impossible to tell where one started and another ended. They climbed on the back of each other, stretched and merged across alleyways, shared walls, stairways and courtyards. Old dwellings sprouted newer ones that created their own alleys and walkways, between which hung lines of washing like blossoms in late spring. The city seemed to be a huge, pink vine, spreading its tendrils up the sides of the hills, dipping its roots at the riverbank. The hills to the south were soft and brown, row beyond row to the haze of the horizon, dotted with homes, overhung with terraces of vegetation.
Ahead of us, imposing and ominous, silhouetted against the setting sun, rose the steep escarpment of the Angirat, straddled by the dark limestone Palace of the King. Beyond the Palace, where the Angirat dropped sheer, 500 spans to the Listi, four pale towers glistened in the fading light. This was the Talarin, the College of the Mantles.
My heart pounded louder than the hooves of our horses on the cobbles as we rode through the town, the people of Vellin greeting their sovereign and his returning court with a reverence tempered by warmth. They loved their King. I cannot say that I noticed much as we passed through squares and down wide avenues, for my eyes fixed on the towers that were about to become my home.
‘They are expecting you,’ said the Lady, suddenly at my side. It was a strange thing but sometimes I was not sure if Silver Mantle spoke to me in my head or with her voice. I felt the urge to ask how, but the question seemed foolish. I knew how. She smiled and I wondered if any of my thoughts would ever be private again.
‘Of course,’ she laughed. ‘You will learn very quickly how to mask your thoughts from us.’ She bent closer and whispered, ‘And you will learn to read the thoughts of others.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know them,’ I said. Beneath my eagerness to see Vellin was the sorrow of parting from Ruthen and Channa. I wondered if she knew how I felt, because she took my hand as we rode.
‘Do not be afraid of the Mantles.’ Her eyes also looked towards the Talarin as she spoke. ‘Your power will be strong. Some will oppose you. It is always so, but if you are truthful and work hard, then you will gain much more from their teaching.’ She looked down at me. ‘I will visit you soon.’
‘You aren’t coming?’ I almost fell from my horse. I had assumed that she would be there with me, to explain who I was, that she would use her influence to make my way easier and would be there to talk to me. The chill of night was tiptoeing down my spine.
‘I go to the Palace with the King. That is my home. Lord Harkon will take you to the Talarin. Have courage. You will be among friends.’ She squeezed my hand and then turned her horse to follow the King. Like a stunned fish, I let Lord Harkon lead me up the steep path to the great bronze doors of the Talarin. He knocked once and the doors opened, apparently all by themselves, for we could see no one in the courtyard beyond. Harkon was anxious to be gone. He shooed me forward, giving my horse a slap on its back, almost dislodging the fox in his travelling bag. The horse went forward and, before I could gather my wits, turn it and gallop screaming back to the retreating Lord, the heavy doors closed behind me.
I sat on the horse and squinted in the gloom. The place appeared to be deserted. Three colonnades surrounded the cobbled yard but there were no welcoming lights in the windows, and no one seemed anxious to come and greet me. Eventually, feeling rather stupid for sitting on the horse too long, I dismounted, calling out, ‘Is there anyone here?’
‘The stables are this way,’ the horse informed me. ‘The fox can come with me tonight.’
‘I think its best if I stay with her,’ the fox nodded to the horse. He usually tried to whisper when he spoke to me, to lessen the pain in my head. I was grateful for his loyalty. Since the day of the hunt he had remained by my side and, with Channa and Ruthen gone, I was thankful for his friendship. The horse clattered off down an alleyway. We listened until the sound of his metalled hooves on the cobbles was gone. I sat on the step.
‘Do you think they’re all in bed? Should we sleep here tonight?’ I looked around at the imposing bulk of the stone walls, the looming shadows that crept from dark passages all wrapped in silence, and I felt very small. The fox may have started to reply but was stopped by the opening of a door behind us. Again, it appeared to operate without human help, revealing a dimly lit hall beyond. This hall was bare except for a great curving stairway that swept up and out of sight on three sides. Although I could see neither candles nor torches, there was a dim light, and the stone flags echoed far too much as we tiptoed across them.
It was all
too much for the fox. He was trembling violently, and I had to carry him. Together, we stood in the middle of the hall and waited. Time passed, and in the gloom, I found myself thinking about Brak. I remembered Ruthen, in my father’s treasury, polishing goblets that were used for banquets. I remembered Channa, sitting with a great metal bowl between her knees as she shelled peas. I remembered the geese. I remembered the yellow elder and the skylarks. I remembered the clover.
‘Memories are the bedrock of our lives,’ a voice echoed down the stairway. ‘They mould our view of the world. A mantle must sometimes use their skills to lessen the power of a memory. Power without restraint can be very dangerous.’ I tried to see the speaker but could see only the bare walls. ‘Do you agree?’
‘I might, if I could see who I was talking to.’ I took a step forward, feeling the fox squirm in my arms.
‘All in good time,’ said the voice. He was somewhere on the first floor, probably pressed against the wall, in so much shadow that he merged with the very stone. ‘Your cell is prepared for you.’
‘Cell? Am I a prisoner here?’ I was alarmed but nevertheless, I took another step towards the stair.
‘Room, then.’ Was there amusement in his voice? ‘Here, we call them cells. Go up until you find the open door and a lighted room.’
I reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘I have a fox,’ I said and felt him shrink in my arms.
‘We know,’ was the reply. I started to climb, keeping my eyes on the place where I thought the voice came from. Soon I would be level with the first floor, and he would not be able to remain hidden.
‘Can he stay in my room, cell?’ I asked.
‘Of course.’ There was no one on the first floor. I ran my fingers along the cold stone wall on my way to the next flight of steps. Yet, his voice was beside me.
‘Are you a ghost?’ I asked. The stupidity of the question surprised me, even as I asked it and it made him laugh.
‘I am Black Mantle, Master of Initiates. You and I will become well acquainted in the coming years, if you are successful in gaining entry to the College.’
‘I thought I had gained entry,’ I told him as I climbed higher.
‘Physically, yes.’ The voice was now behind me. ‘You are inside but you are not accepted yet. Even the recommendation of Silver Mantle cannot gain acceptance for you. You must prove your worth.’
‘I’m not sure I am worth anything,’ I sighed.
‘Then you will be sent back to Brak, to your flowering bushes and your singing finches.’
I stopped. ‘Did you read my thoughts?’
‘I read the thoughts of all who come here.’ His voice was ahead of me again.
‘Well, I don’t like it, sir.’ I added the ‘sir’ because I thought my protest might sound impertinent, but I also remembered what Silver Mantle had said about honesty. If I was going to join the College of the Mantles, I had to do it honestly. He was silent for a while and I wondered if I had offended him. ‘Sir?’ I called when I reached the fifth floor. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I am always here.’ His voice came from above my head and I looked up, fearful that he was looked down on me from the ceiling.
‘But surely you must sleep, and you must go out sometimes too?’
‘I am always here.’ The voice was flat and ahead of me again.
‘Sir, what am I to call you?’
‘By my Mantle, as all the Souran councillors are known.’ I knew that the Souran was made up of the five most powerful Mantles. I thought through their Mantles, as the Lady had taught me. First was Silver, silver for the deepest, strongest mysteries, mysteries that drew their strength from the forest at the heart of the world. Blue for the wisdom of the sky and water and the unknown world within us all. Green for the natural world and all the life that flourishes there. Red for the fire, the secrets of the smith and the deep places beneath our feet, that burn forever. Black for the knowing, the sharing and the mysteries beyond. I wasn’t sure what the ‘mysteries beyond’ meant but I doubted that it was anything good. ‘You have learnt a little already,’ commented Black Mantle. ‘You may begin your testing tomorrow.’
‘But Black Mantle, what testing?’ I was now twelve floors above the door.
‘Rest well!’ was his answer. As his words faded into the darkness, I saw a warm, dim glow at the end of the corridor. The fox saw it too and wriggled free of my arms. It was welcome after the murky dimness of the stairway and we both hurried towards it. At the door, I stopped and looked back into the darkness.
‘Goodnight, Black Mantle.’ I didn’t expect a reply and I received none. I closed the door, half expecting it to close without my help, then looked at my room. A single candle showed it to be plain with walls of bare stone, a simple chair and table and a surprisingly comfortable bed. I felt very tired and was grateful for the warmth of the bedding and soon found myself dozing. The fox curled at my feet and sighed heavily before both of us slipped into a heavy sleep.
3.
Listening
My sleep ended before dawn, when the sky outside my window was deep grey. I was like a mole coming to the surface of a field after days of digging. My body was still at rest, but my mind was aware of voices in the cold air beyond my body. My ears slept on, but the voices whispered, and my brain listened.
‘Too young, I say,’ an old, deep voice insisted.
‘But strong,’ another added.
‘Strength of power is not enough. There must be strength of will and character in equal measures.’
‘This one is too young for that.’ Five or six voices echoed inside the room.
‘If the power is recognised early, then we may teach the use of it. Better to draw this child to us to guard her rather than allow such a potential to be warped into something that cannot be checked when she is older.’ I recognised the voice of Silver Mantle.
‘There was no need to bring her here. Surely, she would be of little threat to us hidden away in Brak. We have others here who show promise. Why bring another?’
Silver Mantle replied, ‘We have a duty to gather them all.’ Her voice was calm, but I could feel the strength of her leadership in every syllable.
‘Too young, I tell you,’ the deep voice persisted. ‘There has never been one so young.’
‘But canny!’ hissed the voice of Black Mantle from somewhere near the bottom of the bed. It was a hard struggle not to open my eyes, but I persevered, careful not to think of anything in case they knew I was listening.
‘And how will we test this one?’
‘As with the others.’
‘But this is just a child.’
‘A child with great power.’ Silver Mantle insisted and I felt the warmth in her voice. I longed to open my eyes and reach for her hand. Who were these people discussing me so harshly in the room where I slept?
‘Uncontrolled power,’ cautioned Black Mantle, ‘That is the danger. Our memories are not short enough to forget the other with such abilities, and the disaster that resulted from our mismanagement. It must not happen again.’
‘All the more reason to draw her to us now while she is young and innocent. Direct her study carefully. Teach her to use wisdom in the use of her power and her skills become ours.’ I could feel the Lady becoming impatient with them. I could feel the heat of her breath.
‘How can we teach such a child?’ the older, deeper voice asked.
‘With gentleness.’ Silver Mantle’s voice laughed, and they laughed too.
‘One month,’ said Black Mantle. ‘I will give her one month and then we shall see, but I make no promises, Olemia.’
‘I can ask for no more. Her innocence touches my heart. She is like a small, wild creature, with no idea of what the world can do to her.’ The sadness in Silver Mantle’s voice brought tears to my eyes and I was forces to blink. To my amazement, the room was empty, except for the fox, who was snoring soundly at my feet. The conversation continued but now they were speaking of other things and the words were muffle
d, distant, harder to hear clearly. They discussed the visit of a foreign king and the Prince’s birthday celebrations.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Could it be that the walls of the Talarin distorted sound so that it came from everywhere? That might explain my conversation with Black Mantle the previous night. Strange, for I could not hear any other voices and there must be servants and others awake but I heard nothing of them.
There was to be a celebration for the Prince which included a banquet on the river, a procession on water and in the city, as well as the Palace. One voice, fearful for the Prince’s safety, counselled against a river full of boats. Silver Mantle insisted that as this was the Prince’s dearest wish, the College of the Mantles must ensure his safety. I soon tired of listening to the discussion of details and decided to dress and explore. It was only as I fastened my tunic, the soft brown one that Channa had made, that I realised the voices had faded away. I could still hear a faint murmur and when I concentrated, the conversation grew clearer, but when my mind wandered, the voices disappeared.
I do not think that I understood what that meant, not then, at least. Without knowing, I had uncovered my first skill as a student of the Mantles. The art of listening begins with seeking out the voices, but I had a long way to go before I learnt the true value of listening.
There were ten other novices at the Talarin, six boys and four girls. Our ages were so spread out that few shared much in common. The eldest, a tall, softly spoken girl called Kerith was twenty, while I was by far the youngest. From the first day, I sensed that most of them regarded me with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. I was a child, to be tolerated rather than befriended.
Each day began with breakfast in a large, echoing room full of long tables, where we took all our meals. Only one table, by the open window, giving us a pigeon’s view of Vellin, was ever set and we were the only diners. Kerith told me that sometimes the King and his court would dine at the college and, even more rarely, Mantles who ranged through the Five Kingdoms and beyond might return, recalled to elect a new Silver Mantle or to collaborate their skills in some dire or noble enterprise, and then the great refractory would reverberate with their voices. Kerith assured me that the High Mantles, the Souran, never ate, having dispensed with their need for food. I found this very hard to believe and vowed silently that if ever I attained that high position, I would continue to eat, even if it was no longer necessary. The very idea of missing steamed puddings or venison pie filled me with horror.
