Kara understood statecraft far better than wizardry and she was immediately able to grasp the implications of Lavella’s proposition. The sovereign of the two most powerful cities also being the head of the wizards’ cabal… But it was a fantasy. The odds were tiny of her being one of those rare men or women who possessed the talent without the ideal bloodline.
What if she was, though? Was it something she would even want? Hadn’t she heard the phrase “the curse in the gift?” One glance at Lavella was all it took to confirm that wielding magic came with a price. Her teacher had lived 45 years but looked at least two (perhaps as many as three) decades older. Lavella’s life was passing at twice the normal rate.
“I can turn it down, right? I mean, just because the portal acknowledges me doesn’t mean I have to go through it.”
The suggestion took Lavella aback. Her normally calm features expressed shock at the thought. Kara understood the reaction. She knew a little of the magus’ history. Before accepting the mantle of The Lady of Air, she had spent fifteen years living a cloistered life as The Wizard’s Bride, the very title Kara was about to inherit. All those years in the temple had shaped her world view, giving her a deeply rooted sense of duty. The possibility of rejecting magic - the gods’ final gift to human beings - was inconceivable to her.
“Once you’ve heard the call of the portal, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch. It cries out comecomecome and you must answer. When we went to the portal in Ibitsal for my investiture, there was a man with us named Dorthik. He had been chosen as Sorial’s successor. However, because Sorial was still with us at the time, he wasn’t able to pass through. He was there to bear witness and to see what might be required of him. From that moment until the time of his ascension, he was tormented by the call.”
“But you didn’t become a wizard until you were thirty? How did you cope for all those years?”
“I didn’t know I had the talent until I was brought to Ibitsal. The closer to the portal you come, the more insistent its call is. There’s no portal near Vantok, where I spent the entirety of my youth. I didn’t first hear the call until after the war.”
That revelation crystalized Kara’s suspicion that her mother didn’t share Lavella’s view of Kara’s future travel plans. Myselene apparently didn’t care whether she was a wizard or not. She was a princess and so she would remain. If a trip to the portal could endanger that - not to mention putting her life at risk - such a thing would never be allowed. Lavella, on the other hand, took it for granted that Kara would be tested. The two most powerful women in the world were on a collision course and she was trapped in the middle.
Now it was up to her to make her decision. What did she want? The pampered, safe life of a princess with a carefully directed life and a ring of protection? Or the maverick existence of a wizard, simultaneously blessed and cursed? If she went against her mother’s wishes and accompanied Lavella to the portal, even if she failed the test, it would represent a change (perhaps even a break) in her relationship with the queen. Kara’s future was at hand; she couldn’t avoid it.
For the first time, she understood why many adults opined that Maturity was overrated.
Chapter Four
“Is all in readiness, Brother Bartholemu?”
“It is, Your Eminence,” said the younger man, approaching the dais upon which the prelate sat in his Great Chair. He genuflected before rising to face his superior.
Belmar’s smile was thin. “You conscience is clear in this matter?” He was asking a lot of the young man - far more than Ferguson had asked of him at a similar age.
“I am a faithful servant of the Temple. I’ll do what necessity requires.”
How easy to make statements like that when you don’t understand what “necessity” may entail. The prelate had told Bartholemu many things but he had kept the darkest possibilities hidden from the priest. Belmar sincerely hoped this would become the noble endeavor Bartholemu was expecting, but it wouldn’t take much for everything to descend into ugliness. If the princess refused consent… Ferguson’s strength had been the poise he had displayed in such instances, and he had never shrunk from making hard decisions. “Everything in service of a higher purpose” - Belmar had taken that lesson to heart.
“She really is a remarkable young woman,” continued Bartholemu. “She chafes under the constraints placed on her by her mother and yearns for the kind of freedom her new role will offer. In time, I think she’ll embrace what we have planned for her.”
Belmar didn’t say anything. Perhaps it might be so, but he was skeptical. For now, it suited his purposes not to dispel Bartholemu’s idealism. Let him believe that the princess might embrace the new order with an enthusiasm to match his.
“I admire her. I think we’ll be well matched.”
Belmar couldn’t tell whether those were Bartholemu’s true sentiments or whether he was trying to convince himself. It didn’t matter - regardless of how he felt about Kara, the two of them would be mated. The first Kara had never felt anything for Maraman but she had done her duty. So it would be this time. The difference was that Sorial’s mother had been a homeless waif. This girl was a princess. Their roles might be similar but the consequences for conscripting them would be vastly different.
“She’s an attractive girl and it’s good that you’re kindly disposed toward her, and she toward you. It will make everything easier. But never forget that she’s a princess. Her mother is the most powerful woman on the continent. What we’re planning will carry a heavy price if we fail. You understand that if we’re discovered, the charge will be treason and the penalty will be a public hanging?”
“I do, Your Eminence. If it comes to that, I’ll pay the penalty, knowing that what I do will make the world a safer place.”
Belmar nodded. Bartholemu’s loyalty was as strong as he could have hoped. He was convinced he had done as much as possible under the circumstances to prepare the young man for what was to come. History would determine whether the next act was seen by future generations as an act of courage and necessity or one of treason and deceit. Either way, the time for planning had expired.
“Then go to await the princess’ arrival. When all is in readiness, we’ll act and you must be ready to play your part. Steel yourself to do what’s right and never forget that you follow the path blazed by Prelate Ferguson. Let no harm come to Her Highness but ensure that she never leaves your sight. The journey will be swift and difficult. Through it all, she’ll be under your care and protection. You won’t be alone but the final responsibility will be yours. If you fail, then our last chance to set humanity on the right path will be lost forever.”
* * *
The morning before her day of Maturity, Kara awakened in a surly mood. It had been a bad night with tossing and turning aplenty. On those occasions when slumber had claimed her, unpleasant dreams had lain in wait. The future, which had appeared so clear and mundane a few days ago, now looked like a quagmire of vanishing pathways.
She wasn’t overly concerned about the possibility of being a wizard. After all, considering the lack of magic in her bloodline, it wasn’t a realistic consideration. Oh, there was always the chance that she could be the one in several thousand to have the ability, but Kara was sufficiently schooled in mathematics to recognize how infinitesimal the odds were. Her unease was more about the political ramifications of her making (or not making) the journey to the portal, not about what might occur if and when she stood before it. Lavella was determined that the trip was going to happen. It seemed likely that her mother was of a different opinion.
If the Magus and the Queen clashed over this issue, the outcome wouldn’t be good - not for the cities, the continent, or humankind in general. Technically, Lavella was Myselene’s subject but that relationship had never been put to the test and, if the Lady of Air was thwarted, she could use her abilities to enforce her will. Kara hated that a power-play about her future could have such dire consequences. She was young and in some ways n
aïve but she didn’t want to be responsible for the next ugly chapter in the world’s history. Wizards had fought kings and queens in the past and the results had rarely been beneficial for anyone. There were no winners in such wars, as the one fifteen years ago had proven. How often had she heard it whispered that “if Justin had resorted to diplomacy rather than bloodshed, the world would be a different place?”
As her maid was dressing her, she did her best to clear her mind. Most of what was going to happen was out of her control. The influence she could exert over her mother was minimal and anything she said would have even less impact on Lavella. At least there were a few people she could confide in. Uncle Rexall, for example. He was a good listener and she knew he would take her seriously. Remembering the knife he had given her, she made sure to slip it into the concealed sheath the cobbler had stitched inside her right knee-high boot.
Then there was Brother Bartholemu, whom she would see in a few hours. Like Rexall, he was a good listener. Last time, as she had spent the better part rambling about her fears and frustrations, he had simply sat there, listening with rapt attention, never breaking eye contact. After she had finished, he had responded with words of insight and comfort. In this case, perhaps his position as a neutral observer lacking a relationship with either Myselene or Lavella would enable him to see things more clearly than she could and offer advice accordingly. She trusted him implicitly. The gap in their ages might not be dramatic but Kara accepted that, as a priest, he was far wiser than she could hope to be when she entered her twenties.
The early day proceeded normally, although Kara didn’t encounter her mother at either the morning or noon meals. She assumed the queen was too involved in last-minute arrangements for the morrow’s celebration to bother with the niceties of her usual agenda. She didn’t encounter Rexall either but that wasn’t unexpected. In an average week, she might see him two or three times at meals; he preferred breaking bread with his soldiers. She could have commanded him to attend her - technically, she outranked everyone in the palace except her mother, and that included him - but she would have felt awkward issuing a royal summons to the man who had raised her. (She knew her mother would have been disappointed by her timidity in the matter.) Plus, it wasn’t a good way to foster an atmosphere of trust.
She was distracted at knife-practice and the instructor noticed his prize student’s lack of attentiveness. Her laxity with the blade earned her sore knuckles as wooden practice sticks struck home but there was no accompanying verbal reprimand. All the adults knew the princess was about to reach a milestone age and, remembering their own days of Maturity, they ascribed her mindset to nerves and excitement.
Brother Bartholemu greeted her and her two protective guards at the temple’s front entrance. The soldiers checked their blades - weapons weren’t permitted inside by any but the small contingent of battle priests assigned directly to the Prelate - but Kara elected not to hand over Rexall’s gift. She wasn’t sure why but it was as if she could hear her uncle’s voice in her head telling her that, if something unexpected happened, it might be her last line of defense. Few places in Vantok were safer than this building but there had been times when, wandering through its vast, silent lower levels, she had felt her nape hairs standing on end. The temple was without a doubt secure but she doubted she could ever feel comfortable here. And that was without considering some of the old stories - of all the priests who had died in here after Justin’s invasion and how Duke Carannan, the Lady Alicia’s father, had met his end while conducting a routine sweep of the premises after Queen Myselene had retaken the city. People had died in the temple - some in ugly, unpleasant ways.
Bartholemu led her through the maze-like warren of corridors until they reached the small room where she normally received her lessons. The temple was a quiet place with only the distant drone of chanting overcoming the silence. As usual, her escort waited outside, assuming positions of silent watchfulness, while she seated herself across a functional wooden table from the priest. He drew back the hood of his robe to allow for a more natural conversation. People were often intimated speaking with a man whose features were half-hidden in the shadows of a hood.
“You seem… not yourself, Your Highness.” His words were tinged with concern.
Kara was surprised by his perceptiveness. Perhaps she was doing a poor job of hiding her discomfort. “For so long, for so many years, I’ve looked forward to tomorrow but, as it grows closer, it becomes dire. My Maturity is a curse.”
His smile was gentle, understanding. “Surely not, Your Highness. It is, above all, a mark that you have put childish things behind you and are ready to assume a place of responsibility in the world of adults. There’s nothing ‘dire’ about that.”
“I’ll always be in my mother’s shadow.”
“Possibly. Possibly not. Who knows where our destinies might lead us? Once, the gods guided them but, now that they are no more, we exist in an era of freedom when the unforeseen may thwart our expectations. Take my life as an example. I was born on a rich estate in a small village far south of Earlford on the east coast. I imagined I would spend the whole of my life there as my father had, marrying a local girl from a good family, raising our children, and passing my lands onto my firstborn. That was until Prelate Belmar arrived. He came for me personally - a long journey for one of his advancing years. He didn’t send his underlings. Now, I am a valued member of his inner circle. Quite a change for someone of my upbringing. At the time of my Maturity, I never would have imagined that, one day in the not too distant future, I would be a servant to His Eminence and a tutor to Her Highness.”
“Father Belmar personally sought you out?” Kara looked at Bartholemu with new interest. Who was he that the prelate of Vantok would travel six-hundred miles to find him? Clearly not just an ordinary priest.
Bartholemu deflected the question. “My point is that you think your future is mapped out but it may not be so. You see only one path when in fact there are many. Your mother’s ambitions for you have hidden many trails.”
“Magus Lavella would agree with you, I think. She wants me to visit the portal to confirm that I can’t use magic.”
“Or to transform you into a wizard.”
“The chance of that is so small as to be unworthy of consideration. I believe my mother has decided that I won’t make the journey. Despite the regular patrols and the presence of a permanent battalion at the portal site, there’s still an element of danger in the trip. Too much for a queen to risk her heir’s life on a fool’s errand. How many times have I heard from my teachers that ‘whole armies have been lost in the Forbidden Lands?’?”
“Not going disturbs you?”
Kara shrugged. “I don’t want to go, although it would be more adventure that I’ve ever experienced and would give me a chance to see a bit more of the continent than Vantok. But if Lavella is determined, and she seems to be, it could result in a schism between the queen and her wizard.”
“This is the danger of having a wizard working autonomously. Lady Lavella would not have the political or practical power she has if there were three other wizards to check her. Yet she has resisted allowing anyone to enter the portal for fifteen years, maintaining a monopoly on elemental magic. No one would gainsay your mother’s right to rule two cities. She holds the crown of Vantok by dint of a lawful marriage to King Azarak and earned the throne of Obis by defeating her rivals. Our current Lady of Air, however, gained her position through good fortune and has maintained it by blocking the investiture of other candidates.”
“But Lavella lived in the temple for fifteen years. She adheres to the ascetic principles ingrained in her while there. She has neither married nor taken a lover and has rejected most worldly possessions. I would have expected the priests to be sympathetic to her plight. She’s almost one of you.”
“I don’t mean to cast aspersions. We in the temple have great respect for the magus. She’s a woman of solid principles and that gives us confidence that
the situation isn’t urgent. But what if she was another Justin? There are no longer gods to oversee the wizards. It’s up to us as humans to ensure that the power of magic is controlled and balanced. From birth, wizards must be taught that the noble goal for those with their abilities is to serve their fellows not lord it over them. Who better to take on the role of the wizards’ caretakers than the priesthood - men who have devoted their existences to serving and nurturing the citizens of Ayberia?”
Kara was shrewd enough to understand that she was being recruited. She could understand why she was being approached. Her mother’s mistrust of the temple was as widely known as it was justified. She had been betrayed by the highest priest on the continent and had nearly died as a result of the treachery of another priest. But if the queen couldn’t be swayed, what about her daughter - the one who would one day replace her on the throne? Kara was suddenly uneasy not only about the conversation but about the rapport she had developed with Bartholemu. This was not a conversation any tutor should be having with a pupil.
“You’re asking me to support this proposed ‘new order’ at Court?”
The priest appeared startled by her question. “No! By no means! I fear I’ve been misunderstood. I was simply framing the situation for you and acknowledging what you have seen for yourself - that the current political situation is unstable and only the decency of those involved keeps us from the brink of another conflict. Imagine, however, if there was a venal queen or self-seeking wizard…”
“But what should I do? Defy my mother and go to the portal? Defy Lavella and remain in Vantok? Either way, there will be a breach! I’m trapped!”
The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia Page 21
