Women had been suppressed, true, a long time ago, and some reprobates thought that the Master, a man, was to blame. And some Mentors had wondered if indeed men ruling women were not what the Master had intended—if indeed it were not in the nature of the male to do what was important in the world and of the female to do naught but support the male and produce a new generation. But those who thought this were most often male Mentors with grudges towards specific women in their ranks, and the whole "men over women" issue was just one more weapon they sought to attain.
Dominick resisted a sigh. He acknowledged it now; Mentors strove amongst themselves just like other humans, but he had not noticed or had refused to notice it before. Interesting what things, seemingly unrelated things, attending a gathering of reprobates could reveal to him.
He watched Calia wriggle her hands together where she was sitting on the floor. "You do not agree?" It was a question for him, and there was still fervor in her eyes.
Well, good, he was not the only one wondering about that man's statements, then. The concubine, she would wonder, herself. At times she, more than anyone else, would wonder about a woman's status and purpose. If she allowed herself a thought not imposed by her husband and master, she would; if she allowed herself a thought of her own. And at other times she would not wonder about anything at all.
"Agree with what? That a woman's purpose in life is childbirth? Or that a woman should be respected, sanctified solely because she has birthed a child? Is this what you people believe in?"
He looked at Calia, and then at them all. "Or is it something our Brother here just patched together randomly?" He shook his head.
"Well, no, I do not agree with any of it. My own mother birthed six children and could not care properly for even one, could not even care for herself. Does she deserve respect solely because of the functions of her body if she lacks a damn mind? Or doesn't a woman who has not given birth and yet is a Healer, Librarian, Scientist, Cook, or a Wagoner deserve respect for what she is doing for the world? Is she not "fulfilling her purpose?" And how about the men? No respect, because they can never get pregnant? Or more respect than women, like years afore, because of perhaps the same thing, for it is easier for those not bloated and weak to take any respect and anything else they would want? Do you people think at all of what you believe in?"
"Maybe we do not." The woman who had slapped him, in a very quiet voice. "Maybe we do not because your kind never let us, and now we do not know how."
Her eyes were still angry, perhaps even angrier than before, but he knew she would not slap him again. There was a change in the way she was raising her head and in the stiffness of her body, a very subtle change, but a change it was—as if his words had done more than feed her anger, as if she might have heard them and was truly trying to find what truth they might hold.
"My kind? I no longer belong to the kind you call mine, Sister."
"But why did you leave them? Why did you come here, and for a second time, if you so much dislike our fledgling ways?"
Dominick was silent for a while. "Because I started thinking, myself," he said, and it was not even a lie.
* * *
He should have been thinking better, however, now in the Healers' Passage with this woman, and with the High Lord of Qynnsent before.
"So this is what you would tell me? That protection and abuse can go hand in hand?" Dominick could not see her, but he could imagine her shaking her head, the mouth thin and the eyes hard on her weary face. "Now, when I have you at my mercy, you say that?"
"What would be a better time?" He had been too bold and careless, but he might as well continue in the same way. Backing off from his words could only make the situation worse. "Or would you prefer me to lie to you, Sister? I can do that; I very well know how to do it. You would be surprised what knowledge one can gather from humans' minds."
She was silent for a while, then he felt her coming closer, but not so close that he could grab her if he had any intention of doing it.
"No." Her voice was sharp again. "I do not want you to lie to me, Brother. I indeed appreciate you holding on to an inconvenient for you opinion in an inconvenient for you time."
Had he imagined it, or was there a note of respect in her words now? It was more difficult to judge her reactions when he could not see her, or when he could not use the detector, for he dared not use it any more—and in a place like this, he dared not use it most of all. It was not a peaceful place, or a good place. Even now something, a voice or perhaps a melody, seemed to brush the edge of his mind. Edges. So many Edges ... The Mentor in him was still trying to deny the essence of what was imprisoned here, but he tried to summon the little boy who had come from Balkaene, who was perhaps wiser and would accept it well enough.
A foolish, snotty little peasant. Wiser than the Mentor he had later become. What had happened to Dominick to make him think in this way? Was this thought truly his?
"You have gathered knowledge from humans' minds, you say." The woman's words jerked him, drew his own mind away from the darkness he was now feeling even more acutely. Drew it away from that statue in the basement in the Steel Factory neighborhood, too, towards which some of his thoughts had drifted. He did not yet know why the statue had distressed him so much—but right now he knew that if the statue belonged anywhere, it was here, in this darkness.
But were not samodivi creatures of light ... Dominick shook his head. Still, he was rejecting it. He was no longer afraid of her who dwelt in this Passage, but Mentor or peasant boy, a part of him still tried to claim that whatever lived here must be different, that it was not one of them whose existence he had been denying for years.
"Tell me, Brother, are you reading my thoughts now? What do you—What do you ..." Katrina's voice faded, but her presence did not, her anxiousness hanging as a curtain between them, this question perhaps the most important one she had asked. Suddenly, a hint of a path appeared before Dominick in the Dark Forest, and he knew that it was a path that he, himself, had started to cut out with his words and actions. Suddenly he had a sense of direction. Suddenly he knew what to do and say.
" 'What do you see'—is this what you want to ask, Katrina? And why do you care?" He heard her inhale sharply, the question as shocking to her as he had expected. He did not let her take a second breath. "Do you need me to tell you what you think? I understand that it is a habit, but don't you want to try telling yourself?"
She was silent, but it was a heavy silence, loaded with too many thoughts and confused, suppressed feelings, and at this moment Dominick knew that some things that shocked and taught a little Balkaene peasant could still shock and teach certain others, too. He had just done to her the equivalent of Maxim knocking on his head.
"You are used to a Mentor telling you your thoughts, aren't you, three times a quarter, every quarter of your life—until you thought to break away and joined that Order of the Mother. Or perhaps, somehow, you make Confessions even now? Master knows that nowadays even Mentors cannot see all thoughts there are and you can go unwhipped freely. But you are used to relying on this system, aren't you? A Confession, perhaps some whipping, but then you are forgiven—then, for a time at least, you can sleep in peace at night because someone who knows better has taken care of you.
"Is Hannelore telling you your thoughts now, instead of old Maxim? Is Gabriel Flint? Some woman from your Order told me that the Mother must be better than the Master because of some gender stupidity, something like the feminine being kinder and higher than the masculine, and a mother thus being better than a father figure. What does it matter, I say? Either way, if you look up to a mother or a father, if you wait on them, you are nothing but a child.
"And children, Katrina, are weak. Children cannot take care of themselves, let alone save a fading world. You can save the world, at least pieces of it, one piece at a time. If you want to save the world. Will you teach me how to heal? Will you teach others? I think that in the days to come it will be needed. But don't answ
er me now. Think of what it is that you want. And right now, I want one thing from you, too: I am no Mentor, I have no whip, I have no power over you. Ignore whether I can or cannot see your thoughts, and if you can, treat others in the same way, will you?"
There was more silence, and he waited. In a way, he had not been fair to her. He knew that she was a very skilled and focused healer, and he knew that maybe she had joined the Order of the Mother because she sensed the coming changes—because she knew that in time her skills might be needed there more than elsewhere. He knew that these days it hurt her to heal, for she had been unable to heal the person she had most wanted to heal. He knew that, in a way, her being here was a sacrifice, and he used the knowledge that she would sacrifice herself.
She and her quiet, thickheaded husband had perhaps unwittingly given him that knowledge fifteen days ago in the basement with the statue, especially after he had told Calia what had happened to her friend.
Calia had cried. "She never sent a single message," she sobbed, Gerard's arm around her shoulders, Gerard staring at Dominick as if he were the one at fault.
"Kat, did you hear? Lind is alive, she's a lady!" Calia pulled Katrina's sleeve and made Katrina look at her, Calia's eyes wide and eager, Katrina's narrowed, with the color and consistency of ice. He knew it then, in the way he had learned to judge people, that both these women were or had been related to the woman he was seeking, but while one was moved by worry, sadness, and perhaps love, it was anger that burned in the other. Anger, and perhaps hate.
"I knew that." Katrina pulled her hand away.
"You knew? Why didn't you tell me? I've been so worried, I've been so ..."
"Why indeed? Should I always tell you everything I know? Trust me, you don't want me to. Sometimes there is knowledge that you don't need, knowledge that might poison you, and knowing about this person is like this. You are in the right place, you are where it matters, and perhaps you will do what matters. She is not and has not." Katrina's voice had risen now. "She has left us and betrayed us. Forget her!"
"Leave her alone, will you?"
Katrina stared at Dominick. "Leave whom alone?"
"Calia, of course. You were staring at her as if you wanted to hit her."
Katrina opened her mouth, but he was faster. "As for Calia's friend, you should not leave her alone." He hurried ahead, gripping at some not yet clear combination his mind was making of events and circumstances—something that could blend his duty, the charge Maxim had laid on him to take care of these stray sheep here, with finding the woman he wanted to find. "This woman is a Science apprentice. Her master is a both a High Lord and a Scientist, did you know that?"
"Science." She spat the word. "A suitable activity for those with too much time and money to waste. They don't go naked and hungry, but Science cannot feed a body, or clothe it, or heal a wound ..."
"Can it not? Are you sure? I do not know, myself, but I know that it can do other things. Building door locks, for example. Even lifting heavy things that a person cannot lift alone—yes, some of this is possible without Magic, as I know from a trusted Mentor." He stared at Katrina, neither his eyes wavering, nor hers. "If Magic is going away, do you not wonder what might be coming? Or do you people only dig up ancient caves and gather pebbles to dry plants on? Even if you don't want to participate, don't you at least want to know?"
Dominick stopped, taking a breath, that little pause giving him time to wonder at what he had just said. It had not been his intention to speak so passionately about Science. It had not been his intention to lead their thoughts—or to let his own thoughts wander—in a direction so perilous and unclear, a direction that he, himself, did not fully understand. But he had said what he had, and there was no turning back.
"Calia, there is a Science Guild gathering on Guilds Day, the first for the year. They are going to introduce the new apprentices then. Your friend has had a great change in her life—"
"So have I." So the girl was hurt, but she said nothing else, just sighed and let him continue.
He did. "Perhaps she is waiting for that gathering, for her to be introduced to society in her new role, before she contacts you." He did not know if this was true; it was plausible and, in any case, he could use it. "Keep in mind that the High Lord may have also imposed restrictions on her about contacting her old friends, but he should not be as arrogant as to refuse you if you contacted her yourself."
Calia's head snapped up from where she had been staring at the floor, sorry for herself. Yes, she would understand a woman restricted by a man, even if she would understand few other things—even if she did not much understand the world.
A master or a Master, each seemed to cloud the mind, to take the strength away from other thoughts, to take away the world these thoughts would have formed. Dominick shivered and hoped no one noticed. This was the kind of thought that sent reprobates straight to the Bers. And perhaps not having worlds formed by random, faulty humans' thoughts was the Bers' reason for this—just look at what world these here would form if let loose, just look at the atrocity beside the wall.
Dominick had not wondered about the reasons of Bers and Mentors, for years. It had been, and perhaps still was, dangerous because it meant letting his own thoughts loose.
"You want me to contact Lind for you—because you want to get in touch with her High Lord and Science. I don't mind."
Dominick looked at those large, clear, trusting green eyes, and was suddenly worried. He had not judged Calia correctly; he had expected her to emotionally run to the Linden woman and not think of much else, let alone poke into his reasons. It was Gerard he had been more concerned with, but Gerard was saying nothing now, watching his concubine in a way that gave Dominick a sudden realization.
The boy loved her. He must, or else he was an insecure, controlling fool, to have made her a concubine and assumed her transgressions—but the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes emitted warmth, protection, and concern for her troubles with her friend, meant that even if the second was true, the first was undoubtedly so. This was powerful knowledge. It could certainly be used, and the very thought made Dominick feel dirty.
That woman was to blame. She had swept into his life, with that little wind of hers, and she had overturned his world, which she would pay for. She was the reason he was here, at this stinking, moldy, ruined place, with people either dull or desperate or both, whose feelings he was even now thinking of how to use and abuse in order to get to her. She was at fault. She was ...
But had not Maxim played a role in him being here, too? Had not Maxim sent him? Had he not chosen to come, be a Mentor, and bring the lost ones back? He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit the statue, dead eyes brazenly staring at his back even now, to smash "the Mother" like he had smashed "the Master" in the temple.
* * *
Anger. Uncontrolled emotion. It was a Mentor's second greatest enemy, right behind doubt—and perhaps a human's first. Anger had muddled Dominick's thinking at that sad place in the Steel Factory neighborhood—anger was the reason he agreed to Katrina's whimsy, and chanced encounters that he should not have chanced.
Now, in the Healers' Passage, he could not afford this any longer. He had to think, to focus on thinking, and never to be angry or let anger control him again.
* * *
Katrina had put her hands on Calia's shoulders, telling her quietly that they would contact Linden later but that now Katrina and her husband, Mark, would talk to Dominick alone.
Mark came to Dominick, meanwhile, his face sad and his voice even quieter than his wife's. "Science, you say, Brother. But what is Science compared to our Mother? What can Science achieve? Science, like the Master, might make some things, but it can never make life or bring it back."
After these words he looked away, as if he had said all there was for him to say, as if he wondered why Katrina would even bother with further conversation. "A woman's purpose in life," the man had said, before. Dominick knew then, from the man's few
words and actions, that a child had been indeed his purpose in life and that the child had been taken away. The word "mother" and the personal hope that this word would bring to him was perhaps what had called him to this sorry group, unless he had simply been brought by Katrina.
So many beliefs, so many little personal paths, crisscrossing the Dark Forest, until it was no longer simply dark but was trampled, gray, and dirty. Had Dominick truly thought that it was the Master that people believed in? Had he truly been so naive as to think that it was easy to set people on a single right path that all followed and followed right? Then again, perhaps it was easy, with people. But it was reprobates he was dealing with—and yet the doubt of whether the rest were not like them, too, lingered, feeding his anger even further.
"This way, in the side room, will you?" Katrina said, leaving Calia and joining him and Mark, pointing to the left of the "Mother" statue. Her voice was brisk, a thin line cutting through her forehead. After his conversation with Mark, Dominick knew who she was. Maxim had once told him about a woman who had made Confessions to him; one of Mierber's best healers, who had lost her baby and became an alcoholic. Such a dependence on a substance, even if not aberration itself, was something that needed to be exterminated in a human, but Maxim had not whipped her even once.
Dominick remembered this, for it had disturbed him, as had Maxim telling the woman something he would not share with Dominick, making her leave Mierber in haste. How could Maxim let one such as her go freely, a danger to herself and others, to some province or other far from the City of the Master? To some place where Mentors mixed with rustic citizens and peasants and sometimes forgot what they had learned? Maxim's ways were sometimes unfathomable. But perhaps in this case his recklessness had worked, for there was now not a trace of alcohol in the dry, angry woman. Did Maxim even know she had returned?
Dominick wondered if he should tell him, and what he should tell him of the things he had seen and done after leaving the temple.
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