The Spirit Gate

by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

  Lukasha thought the Tamalids enjoyed killing; the more pathetic or helpless the victim, the better. And they had made a point of their hatred for both shai and Mateu. Out of that hatred, they had profaned even the courtyard of Lorant with death. He quivered with memory too horrible to be either recalled or forgotten. The blood of children had bathed those stones. The blood of mothers who fought and fathers who resisted. Shagtai had lost more than his eye in that courtyard and never spoke of it.

  Lukasha grunted aloud at the sudden awareness that his nails pressed painfully into his palms. He opened his hands, freeing the blind pain and anger. Thank God the children here today had no real knowledge of what had happened on the stones their feet trod every day. The blood had been scrubbed clean and bleached by Mat’s Sun, though if you looked with the eye of memory, you could still see it. Some days, like today, it was more vivid.

  The envoys from the court of the king now carried only such weapons as might protect them on their long journey. They brought life to Dalibor, not death—at least for the time being. Kiril, Zelimir I, had been a good man. And his son Michal, likewise, was a good man—just and empathetic. But that was not certain to continue. The second Zelimir, thirty-four years of age, yet had no heir—had not even selected a wife as of Lukasha’s most recent visit.

  “Soon,” he would say, and smile his charming smile, “Soon, when I have time to give the matter the attention it deserves.”

  Their king was a busy man. Busy adjusting the reins of a new and untried form of government. Even now he set his plans in motion—selecting advisers, calling for an assembly of darughachi to help him govern.

  As if, Lukasha thought, provincial governors could understand the imperatives of nationhood. As if they would be capable of seeing the whole as more important than their respective parts. They would be blinded by their own self-interests, he had argued to Zelimir. They would be provincial in their thinking.

  “That may be true,” the king had replied, maddeningly reasonable, “but I have a council of elders to speak to me of the realm, and the Sacred Circle to remind me of things spiritual. If I don’t hear of the darugha’s needs from the darughachi, from whom shall I hear it?”

  The philosophy made sense, Lukasha was willing to allow, but he still could not trust it. The only fit advisory council for the king was the Sacred Circle, but Michal Zelimir had made of the Circle only one party among many to advise him. Unwise.

  There was still the question of an heir. Who could say that the next Zelimir to sit upon the throne in Tabor would value the Sacred Circle any more?

  Lukasha’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a footfall upon the spiral wooden stair that led to his aerie. He closed his eyes and saw the stair with Damek upon it. Schooling his face to a peace he didn’t feel, he turned to await his aide’s approach.

  The little man popped into sight and bowed deferentially to his lord. “Master Lukasha, some matters for your attention . . .” His bony hands proffered a page of tightly packed script.

  Lukasha realized suddenly how much his eyes burned. He waved a hand at the offering. “A summary will do.”

  “As you wish. Tagach-itu, wife of royal envoy Gazan, has conceived. Naturally, they wish to come before the Circle for a blessing upon the child. Gazan also requires a reading for his new aide. There are three couples seeking marriage blessings at Solstice. A new business has opened in the fountain square. They’d like a blessing, too, of course. And Master Yesugai is feeling ill and asks that someone else preside over Matyash this week. We also have an Initiate in the first year class who is posing a bit of a discipline problem. Master Tamukin has tried to control him, but to no avail. He wishes to meet with you to discuss the matter. The boy’s parents are paying a noble sum for his education,” he added, and Lukasha grimaced.

  “I shall deal with these things later, Damek. I promise. Right now, I’m . . . distracted.”

  “Ah. The woman, I suppose. Do you think of anything else?”

  The sarcasm brought a smile to Lukasha’s lips. “No, Damek, not ‘the woman’. I was thinking about our young king and his grand plans to revolutionize government.”

  “Do you think him frivolous in that? Or insincere?”

  “Neither. I think . . . I know he is quite earnest. My concern is about the men and women he surrounds himself with—family elders, darughachi, tribal shaman—dear God, I think he may even include the Frankish bishop among his advisers.”

  “There are also Mateu and priests of our faith.”

  “Ah, yes. Priests who now talk of Mat having fathered a son on a mortal woman, and Mateu who allow the talk to continue.”

  Damek’s mouth opened and closed several times before any sound emerged. “I . . . I had heard . . . but I had no idea . . .”

  Lukasha grimaced. “I had a few words with Master Antal about it. His opinion is that it’s better to allow young priests a few . . . disparate beliefs than to discourage them from participating in their faith. He fears some of the priests might be converted to Frankish beliefs. Magic is proscribed in this particular sect and the priests, so Antal fears, will be seduced by the thought of equality. While any man might rise to be a bishop; only one with a gift can become Mateu.”

  Damek knew that only too well. “Surely that can only weed out the insincere and weak of faith.”

  Lukasha peered into his amanuensis’ narrow face. “Sometimes, Damek, you say the most profound things. Those were my words exactly.”

  Damek bathed in the pleasure that evoked. “Do you fear the king might be converted?”

  “To what, from what? He already picks and chooses his religious philosophy as if it were fruit in a market barrow. No, I have no such fear. It is Zelimir’s eclectic nature that keeps me in his inner circle—and his respect for magic. I worry only for the future of Polia.” He made a dismissive gesture. “My thoughts are heavy. Perhaps I’d be better off if I did think about ‘the woman’, as you call her. What has she done to provoke you now?”

  “You laugh at me, Master. That is your privilege. But she is above arrogance. I think you waste Zakarij’s time with her. He should attend to his own aspirations, not aid hers. Do you know what I caught her doing?”

  “I’m certain you’ll tell me.”

  “I caught her poring over the old texts. ‘Studying them,’ she said. At your own reading table. While she was supposed to be indexing them.”

  Lukasha was vastly amused and silently thanked Damek for providing him with some levity. He feigned shock. “I am appalled. Do you think she has any idea what she’s reading?”

  “No. But that doesn’t keep her from pretending that she does. To get at me, most likely. No, I accord myself too much importance. It’s Zakarij she wants to get at, I imagine. You, she merely wants to impress.”

  Sensing another presence on the staircase, Lukasha raised his hand to stop the flow of Damek’s diatribe. “Hold a moment . . . Ah, it’s only Zakarij. Come up, boy!” He moved across the head of the stairs as Zakarij emerged into the room, and dropped into the window seat overlooking the courtyard. “Damek tells me Kassia is trying to impress us with a pretended knowledge of the Mysteries. What do you think of that?”

  Both Zakarij and Damek reacted with a swift raising of eyebrows—Zakarij because he caught the wry humor in his Master’s voice, and Damek because he caught the implied ridicule. One smiled fleetingly, the other bristled.

  “I don’t believe her knowledge is pretended, Master Lukasha, though I’m sure you’re more qualified to judge. I believe it’s quite real.” Zakarij held up the thin folio of papers he held in one hand. “These are her index entries for the Scrolls of Find. Perhaps they will help you decide if Damek’s suspicions are well-founded.”

  Lukasha tool the folio and scanned it, well aware of his Apprentice’s patient regard and Damek’s discontented fidgets. It appeared Zakarij was right; Kassia had indexed incantations and entire spells, that had been as impenetrable as the stone walls around Lorant to its Mateu ma
sters. Did he doubt her interpretations? No more than he doubted her ability to interpret. But he supposed that for the sake of his audience, he ought to show doubt. What he would not show was the now icy, now hot tide of excitement that lifted his spirit and rolled beneath his heart. It spread through him like liquid fire, suffusing his limbs, heating his cheeks, making his breath come more quickly.

  None of this did he allow to rise to the surface. Instead, he lifted his eyes to Zakarij’s intent face and smiled indulgently. “It seems you may have a prodigy on your hands, Zak,” he said lightly. “How would you feel about that?”

  The Aspirant blinked at the unexpected question. “If you mean by that, would I be jealous of her success, I can only say, I would hope not to be. I would pray not to be.”

  “Well . . .” Lukasha returned the pages to the folio and laid it beside him on the window seat. “There is probably no reason for you to worry. We’ve yet to establish that these are anything more than what Damek supposes them to be—the imaginations of a young woman who is trying very hard to impress someone. Kassia will have to be tested. I will see to it when I have the opportunity. Thank you, Zakarij, for your report.”

  Zakarij bowed lightly and returned to the library below.

  Damek was unable to hide his delight. “So, you begin to think the girl is somewhat less than she pretends to be?”

  Lukasha looked up from the pages of the folio, which he had retrieved from the padded seat. “What? Oh no, not at all. In fact, I have every reason to believe her insights into these spells are perfectly legitimate.”

  “But you said—”

  “That was for Zak’s benefit. I’d hate him to be over-awed by her.”

  Damek uttered a sharp, choking laugh. “I’d hate you to be over-awed by her! Cease teasing me, Master. A seven year Aspirant, over-awed by a . . . a woman who isn’t even a real Initiate?”

  Chuckling, Lukasha shook his head. “Damek, Damek. You are the most stubborn human being I have ever known. How often must I tell you that Kassia Telek is more legitimate than any Initiate now walking these halls?” He shook the folio at the other man. “She’s a piece of a mystic puzzle. Half of a whole that was severed nearly a century ago.”

  The ardent expression on his master’s face made Damek almost queasy. “I don’t mean to seem disrespectful, Master, but you and the Masters Radman and Yesugai are the only Mateu I know who believe that. The others—”

  “Yes, yes. I know. The others want someone to blame and the shai have done very nicely for that purpose. If the Mateu want to place blame, the Tamalid’s shoulders are broad enough to bear it alone.”

  “So, will you test her, as you said, or was that also for Aspirant Zakarij’s benefit?”

  “No. I intend to test her, Damek. To see if she can use these spells she has indexed.”

  “If she can?”

  Lukasha smiled. “Are you willing to concede that possibility? Well, if she can, then I will have to tell Zakarij that he must make room for a prodigy.”

  Damek’s eyes all but started from his head. “You would make an Apprentice of her?”

  Lukasha’s smile faded. “Damek, you aren’t listening to me. What Zakarij has achieved through years of education and performed by craft, Kassia owns by birthright and force of spirit. Magic is not a vestment she wears, or a process she has mastered. It lives in her.”

  Damek’s lips took on the look of a wizened cherry. “You seem so certain, yet you know so little of her—”

  “I know everything about her, Damek. Since the moment I first saw her shivering in our forecourt with her white-haired boy-child huddled in her arms, I have taken it upon myself to learn everything there is to know. Would you hear how her great-grandmother was one of the most accurate augurs Dalibor valley has ever produced? How, in the first year of the Tamalid reign, her grandmother became the first female of her line not to bear the mark of the shai? Or how her family was forced to live on the lower bank of the Pavla Yeva because after the Fires, the town would not have her mother among its citizens?

  “Would you hear how her father and husband braved the censure of Dalibor to stand beside the women they loved while her eldest brother and sister disowned them? I’m sure you remember the village gossip about the floods three years past—that Mat had sent retribution against the shai for their lack of fidelity to his Goddess. According to these enlightened souls, Kassia and her mother, Jasia, were responsible for the loss of their own husbands. She has been an outcast, Damek. Acceptance has been denied her everywhere. Until now. I accept her, Damek. Even if you will not.”

  “She is that important to you?”

  Lukasha settled on Damek a look that chilled his bones to the marrow. “To us. She is important to us—to all of Polia. In dreams, I have seen this. I trust my dreams.”

  Damek inclined his head. “Then I will attempt to tolerate her, Master. I do not say it will be easy, or that I will ever like her. But I will try.”

  Lukasha chuckled. “Hard-hearted Damek. Then I suppose your toleration will have to be sufficient.”

  oOo

  Damek’s hostility and Zakarij’s skepticism aside, Kassia felt very good about her brief tenure at Lorant. She did well in class, Master Radman genuinely liked her (which necessarily meant that certain members of her class did not like her), and she even had a few close friends. That, as pleasant as it was, took some getting used to. She had only just become accustomed to Devora’s close presence in her life and now gratefully made room for Arax-itu and Shagtai.

  She was ecstatic in her work for Master Lukasha, even if it must be done under the watchful eye of Zakarij. Best of all, she was daily exposed to the magic that was her mother’s legacy. She found she understood it, and amazed herself with the depth of that understanding. Reading the incantations, she saw not a mere framework of words, but a vibrant fabric of living magic. The incantations were as much poetry to her as they were to Ari. They breathed in her soul, vibrated her spirit, filled her heart with dizzying pleasure. She wanted to lap them up, absorb the newness, the wonderful nuances of the written spells. She had suspected the Mateu must have written records of the incantations they used, but the reality was overwhelming in sheer wealth and volume. That shai magics were included in the record amazed and thrilled her.

  By far her biggest surprise was that she comprehended the Mateu sorcery almost as thoroughly as she did the shai. What she did not grasp intellectually during her sojourns in Lukasha’s private library was sorted out in her dreams.

  Alas, there was a negative balance. Because she was shai, she sensed the uncertain mixture of prejudice, awe and resentment that clouded the air whenever she was around Gavmat and Matim. Their behavior was now cool and aloof, now argumentative. They were always trying to trip her up in class or make her look stupid or slow. They rarely succeeded—a thing that gave her a certain amount of pride. They were only mischievous, not malevolent, so she wasted no anxiety on the situation. She merely watched the two young men from the corner of her eye, the way a sister might watch the surreptitious plotting of her younger brothers. Hence, it came as a complete surprise when the youths showed somewhat darker intent.

  Kassia knew there was something afoot when Ioakim came flying through the classroom door one morning into an animated huddle with his brother. Class had not yet begun, nor had Master Radman entered the room. Kassia was on her hassock near the black wall, trying to explain Beyla’s spell for “firies” to Ari. It was the prickle of hair rising at the back of her neck that alerted her to the whispered conference near the door. The next thing she knew, Matim was at her elbow, his twin hovering nervously behind him.

  “Please, Matim,” Ioakim was saying, “I only—”

  Matim held up a silencing hand and fixed a piercing blue glaze on Kassia. “Is it true?”

  She glanced at Ari, who shrugged. “Is what true?”

  “That you were made Initiate without applying and going through Confirmation.”

  Kassia was at a total los
s. She knew, of course, that there must be some formalities of initiation that she had bypassed (as if she could forget when Damek reminded her nearly every day), but assumed that since she had applied and been accepted by the Headmaster himself, all that was irrelevant. She opened her mouth to say as much, when she realized the confrontation had gathered a wider audience. A puzzled Casimir was peering at her over the top of Ari’s head while Gavmat had crowded into Matim’s shoulder.

  “Where did you hear this?” he asked the Initiate.

  Matim gestured back over his shoulder. “From Ioakim. Tell them Ioakim. Tell them what you told me.”

  The boy quailed as all eyes turned to him. “Matim, please, I only said—”

  “I applied to Master Lukasha to be accepted as an Initiate here,” Kassia interrupted. “He accepted me himself. Since he’s the Headmaster, I had no reason to question him.”

  “How did he accept you? What did he say?” Gavmat’s eyes were hard, shiny flints.

  “He said . . . that I should be studying at Lorant and that he was pleased I had come to him. Then he opened the Book of Registry and wrote, ‘Kassia Telek of Dalibor, shai, accepted as Initiate this third day of Aprilis in the year Zelimir 2-4’. I remember the exact words because they mean much to me.”

  “He wrote you in as an accepted Initiate? Without consulting the Sacred Circle?” Gavmat turned on Ioakim. “Where is her name in the Book? On what page?”

  Ioakim swallowed noisily. Kassia couldn’t help but feel pity for him. “On the Page of Acceptance.”

  “How did you find this out?”

  “I went to the Headmaster’s office to speak to Damek, but he wasn’t there. The Book of Registry was on his desk, opened to the applicant’s page. Her name wasn’t on it. So I . . . I turned back to the Page of Acceptance and it . . . was there. Just the way she said.”

  Matim and Gavmat were both glaring at her as if she had done something reprehensible. “You never went through the Confirmation ceremony, did you?” asked the former.