“This is excellent!” He smiled at her over the crisply cut edges of the notes. “Your time at Lorant has already born fruit. I notice that one of these spells is a Battle—opposing elements in combination. Could you perform such a spell? Could you create fire within water?”
“Yes, Master. I believe I could.”
He set the folio of notes down upon his window seat and crossed the room to open the unlocked cabinet that contained all but his most sacred implements. When he turned back to her, he held a glass ball in his hands. He took the ball to the water pitcher that sat upon the work table between the western and southern windows and immersed it. When he raised the ball again it had filled with water though a hole in the curving surface. He brought it to her.
“I would like you to perform a Battle for me, Kassia. Please take the dais and attempt it.”
She took the water-filled globe and moved to do his bidding. On the dais, in the locus at its center, she turned to face him. “Master, before I begin, there’s something I must tell you. This morning while you were away . . . Zakarij and I . . . That is, Zakarij asked me to teach him how to control fire.”
The Mateu’s brows rose to accent his obvious surprise. “And did you?”
“I did. I wondered if it was the right thing to do.”
A parade of emotions crossed Lukasha’s face. Kassia watched carefully to see if disapproval was among them. There, that slight frown, that minute pursing of the lips—was that it? But in the end he smiled and said, “Why ever should it not be right? Zak is an Aspirant; you are both my Apprentices. You taught him something that has made him unique. You have likely assured his place among the Mateu, and perhaps your own, as well. I am pleased, Kassia—with Zakarij for learning such a thing and with you for teaching him. Now, show me this Battle so that I too, may learn.”
It was more difficult than controlling fire alone, but after several moments of careful meditation and even more careful incantation, Kassia brought the right balance to bear and saw a flame rise up in the heart of the water, shielded from it in a tiny envelope of air.
Lukasha questioned her then: How had she done this? What spirits had she invoked? Why in this combination? How had the flame not been extinguished by the water? Which name precisely was the catalyst? Was it the best catalyst? The strongest? How long could the fire burn? Could she perform this same feat before others?
The last question stopped Kassia in her tracks. “Before others, Master? What others?”
“The Sacred Circle would be interested in seeing what my newest Apprentice can do.”
Senses extended, Kassia caught an undercurrent that told her this was more important than Lukasha’s mild words implied. “Must I appear before the Circle, Master?”
“Yes, I think you must.” His eyes were kind, but commanding. “On Celek after Matyash.”
“Is it because I haven’t been formally confirmed?”
Lukasha came near and put his hands about hers, about the little globe of water where her flame still burned bright and warm. “It is because there are jealous souls even among those who would become servants of Mat. Two Initiates, who believe you took an Apprenticeship one of them might have had, have made a complaint to the Circle. As their families are rather important in Dalibor, and one has a father attached to the Zelimirid Court, the Circle feels impelled to hear the complaint.
“Gavmat and Matim.”
“Indeed. Gavmat and Matim. The Circle will seek to know if their claim of usurpation is warranted.”
“Have I usurped their place?”
Lukasha snorted. “Neither of those boys would be an Apprentice of mine. One of the other Mateu might have taken them; as you know I have higher standards.”
Kassia smiled at the compliment. “What must I do?”
“Merely repeat what you have already done. That is your best testimony. That and Zakarij and myself. Have no fear, Kassia. If you but glance ahead, you’ll see all will be well. I see you victorious.”
Kassia had no such vision, for her sense of future seemed fogged when she gazed after her own fate. Time flowed ahead of her, over, around or against perceived obstacles. What she did see was one such obstacle and beyond it . . .
She glanced up at Lukasha, puzzled. “I can’t see it. Or feel it. Why?”
“One’s own future is never as clear as another’s. Have you never noticed that?”
“The vision I had that brought me here seemed so crystalline, so clear—like a moment frozen in time.”
“Perhaps that’s because coming here was a major crux in your life, while appearing before the Sacred Circle, as intimidating as that might seem now, is not.”
She appreciated his attempt to allay her fears, and realized, as he took her through a series of exercises with spell balls and elements, that she did feel more at ease. The spell balls were interesting to work with and very versatile, but as the week progressed, Kassia found herself thinking more and more about the cabinet full of secrets. It distracted her at times, but when, in impatience, she asked Lukasha when she would be allowed to work with the old texts, he replied that she was not yet ready. She fretted a bit over the approaching appearance before the Circle, but Lukasha told her that she must only answer every question put to her as honestly as she could and to obey the instructions given her.
Celek arrived and Kassia dressed in her Apprentice’s garb and took Beyla to the Matyash ceremony in the cesia at Lorant. As it was the first worship day of a new month, she brought with her a small offering of homemade incense. The finely appointed college cesia was very different than the one she had grown up with at the top of the Little Holy Hill. Different, too, was the nature of the offerings brought by the worshipers. A basket sat upon the altar into which the suppliant placed small valuables—jewelry, tiny bottles of essence, even money. But most prevalent were small figurines, much like Shagtai’s onghot, fashioned from precious metals, stone and wood, which the giver placed, not in the basket, but on the altar beside it. By the end of the ceremony, the altar was literally covered with them. As she approached with her own poor offering, Kassia saw that they took every conceivable shape—fish, fowl, eggs, sheaves of wheat, ears of corn, even effigies she assumed were supposed to be Mat and Itugen.
She allowed the icons to distract her as she sent Beyla off to be with Shagtai and prepared herself for her appearance before the Sacred Circle. She asked Zakarij about them. “What are they? Where do they come from?”
The look he gave her was one of pure puzzlement. “They’re gifts to Mat and Itugen. Surely you’ve seen them in the shops of New Dalibor.”
“I’ve only been to New Dalibor once in my life and it wasn’t to buy but to sell. In Old Dalibor, we give of the fruit of our calling. We give what we have created or grown.”
“What shall a man give whose calling is to serve his king? Or what of the woman who sells what others make? What do they give? Is it wrong for them to spend of their earnings to give a pleasing gift to the God and Goddess? Believe me, the metal in those images is of much more use to the Mateu than a plough or a horseshoe.”
“Yes, but what about the charity allotment? A plough is of more use by a destitute farmer than a golden icon.”
“True, if there’s a farmer among those who need charity. In the past, there were many farmers among the destitute. Not so, now. If there is no farmer to receive the plough, these icons, as you call them, being made of precious materials, can buy what is needed.”
Zakarij’s reasonable words made her regret her pious debate; his mildly reproachful tone made her long to continue it. The call to attend the Sacred Circle saved her from having to make a decision. Master Lukasha appeared and bid them follow him into the cesia. Then he reached up and plucked Kassia’s soft azure hat from her head, and loosed her braid from its bindings.
“Show them what you are,” he told her, and led them into the place of worship.
They took seats upon the low stone bench to the right side of the altar. Looking up, Kas
sia saw that Gavmat, Matim and two men she took to be their fathers had entered from the left side to take seats there. On the benches opposite them, arrayed in casual order, were the members of the Circle. Kassia knew only two of them at all well—Masters Radman and Yesugai. They were introduced, along with the others by a stiffly solemn Damek.
Kassia memorized names and faces: stern Master Ojetei; white-haired Aniol; the sweet-looking Gavril, whose lips seemed perpetually to smile; the youngest Circle member, vibrant, red-haired Ziven. Brought in to serve as Neutral, since Master Lukasha had declared himself biased, was young Master Tamukin. Kassia prayed he would be fair.
Damek oversaw the proceedings according to the protocols and ritual of which he was so enamored. Standing at the northern access to the cesia, he called out in a stentorian voice, “Isak Mat! Isak Itugen! Hear us, we pray thee and attend these deliberations. The Circle is incomplete. Does the Circle accept the inclusion of Master Tamukin, a son of Dalibor, to complete its sacred number?”
“Aye,” said the members, in ragged unison.
“The Circle is complete, and being complete, will hear the plea of the Initiates Gavmat Melci and Matim Pranute. The protest is one of usurpation. The plea will be rebuked by Initiate Kassia Telek.”
“Apprentice,” corrected Lukasha mildly. “Kassia is my Apprentice. Were she not, there would be no protest.”
Damek nodded curtly. “The record will be so amended.” He nodded at the priest who sat inconspicuously before the southern access, serving as scribe.
“Let the plea be heard,” Damek said and seated himself.
Gavmat and Matim rose then, and came to the altar. Each genuflected the prescribed nine times, then took up a white taper and lit one of the small group of votive candles there, which signified the witnesses’ intention to shed the light of truth. Having completed the ritual, the two young men faced the Circle and, speaking in turns, laid out their protest against Kassia Telek. Kassia was not a proper candidate for initiation, they insisted. She was too old, she had a child, she was shai. Nonetheless, she had insinuated herself into Master Lukasha’s gentle graces—no doubt presuming on his well-known tenderness of heart—and had been accepted and inducted without proper initiation and confirmation. She had then improperly inserted herself into an advanced Mysteries class, obviously by misrepresenting her abilities. She had then somehow convinced Master Lukasha that she deserved to be his Apprentice and he had promoted her to that station.
Kassia’s anger swelled with every word that issued from their mouths. By the time their spate of accusations had ended, she was furious. They had made her out as a cynical opportunist and Lukasha as an unsuspecting and easily manipulated fool. She glanced at her Master to gauge his reaction and was amazed to see a smile playing about his lips.
When Gavmat and Matim had reseated themselves, Damek rose again and intoned, “The Circle will now hear the rebuke of Kassia Telek, Apprentice.”
Kassia glanced at Master Lukasha. He smiled, nodded and leaned close to her to murmur in her ear. “Light the votive in the shai way, Kassia. I’ll prompt you after that.”
Holding herself with all the dignity she could muster, Kassia went to the altar. Eschewing the taper, she held one hand over a votive and called a flame to its cold wick. She heard the stir among the Mateu of the Circle and took care to remove from her face any hint of satisfaction. As she faced them she saw that Lukasha had stood up in his place to her right.
“Kassia,” he said, his voice commanding, “tell the Circle why you came to Lorant.”
“To become an Initiate.”
“Why?”
“Because magic is studied here.”
“Such magic as you are obviously already conversant with.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Kassia, do I seem like a weak-minded man to you?”
She only just stifled a chuckle. “No Master, you do not.”
“An easily manipulated man?”
“No.”
“I evidently seem so to your accusers.” He turned his eyes to the Circle. “I leave it to those of you who know me to decide if I am as these two Initiates have portrayed me—weak, easily confused, malleable.” Several of the Mateu smiled at that. “Now, let me explain to you that Kassia Telek is an Apprentice because I brought her here,” he said, and proceeded to tell of how he had seen her as a refugee, how he had watched her battle prejudice and witnessed her attempts to use her inherent talent to earn a paltry living. “I saw a talent on the verge of being extinguished from lack of nurturing,” he told the Circle. “You saw her light that candle. How many of you remember the pains you took to accomplish that seemingly small feat when you were Apprentices?”
The Mateu were nodding, glancing at each other as if sharing a common memory.
“Yes, you recall it. The struggle for control of the alien elements. The careful subtractive incantations.” He gestured at Kassia. “She does it without a thought. That, brothers, is what I could not see go to waste in the streets of Dalibor. So, I brought her here by my design, not at her whim. I placed her where her natural talents indicated she belonged, among those who were on the verge of Apprenticeship. And when she proved herself able to comprehend that a spell was a living force instead of a static equation, I promoted her to Apprentice so I could work with her closely and nurture that tremendous gift. Now, brothers, it seems to me that Initiates Gavmat and Matim have raised two issues: One, their merit as potential Apprentices, and two, Kassia’s merit as an actual Apprentice. Very well. Let us establish merit. Zakarij . . .” He turned to the Aspirant in a swirl of white skirts.
Zakarij rose. “Yes, Master.”
“Tell the Circle what spell you learned earlier this week?”
“I learned to control flame.”
A whisper of sound circled the cesia and rustled the leaves of the great Tree.
“As Kassia did just now?”
“Yes, sir.” Zakarij’s tone and expression conveyed none of the passion that lesson had evoked. “But without the wick and candle.”
Again a breath of sound swept the holy place.
“Show us please.”
Obediently, Zakarij raised his right hand, palm up, his lips already moving in the invocation. He focused his eyes on this hand and breathed across his palm. The flame sprang into bright being, reflected in his bottomless gaze. The Tree seemed to bend its branches to him.
“How have you done this?” asked Lukasha. “Did you use subtractive equations?”
“No sir. I called directly upon Itugen and the spirits of fire.”
“You have aspired for seven years to become Mateu, Zakarij. Did you learn to perform this magic in that seven years?”
“No, Master. Kassia taught me.”
Lukasha turned to Kassia next. “I have already shown the Circle the annotations you did for me. There was a particular spell among your work that I asked you to perform for me. Will you tell the Circle what that was?”
“You asked me to create a fire within a globe of water. You called it a Battle.”
“You will perform the spell for us now, Kassia.” Lukasha produced a glass spell ball from the depths of his pocket and held it up. Water sloshed within it. He pulled from it the tiny bit of cork that had kept it from spilling and moved to hand it to Matim.
“Is this water in the globe?” he asked.
Matim sniffed the liquid, then rolled a drop onto one finger, which he touched tentatively to the tip of his tongue. “It is water.”
Lukasha handed the spell ball to Kassia. “Notice,” he said, as he did, “that the glass contains no pigment. No element to aid in the spell.” He nodded to Kassia to begin.
She, with a confidence born of Lukasha’s faith in her, murmured her incantations and called upon her flame. It flared within the water, amazing all watchers. While the light still burned in its liquid prison, Lukasha asked Kassia to explain the spell.
“One must invoke fire and air at once,” she told him, “and bid wate
r surround the one, which must surround the other. The air becomes at once a wall and a fuel to the fire.”
The Circle’s amazement was complete. While they politely watched as the two protesters tried and failed to prove extraordinary merit (though Gavmat did manage to levitate a cobalt blue spell ball), Kassia knew she’d won her cause . . . and two inveterate enemies. The realization was not so disturbing as it was depressing.
The Circle deliberated for all of ten minutes before deciding that, whether or not the two youths were ever promoted to Apprentice, Kassia clearly deserved to be.
Vindicated, Kassia went back to her work in Lukasha’s private library, sharing it with Zakarij most mornings in companionable silence, ignoring Damek if he should enter, stopping now and then to try an incantation which, likely as not, Zakarij would ask her to teach him. Lukasha monitored her work frequently, asking for demonstrations of the spells or elucidation on the notes and shedding light on points of Mateu philosophy, religion or science. In the late afternoon he would instruct her in the care and use of implements; she learned how the spell balls must be cleaned and stored to keep them from impurities and how the cherished ancient pages must be set about by spells to keep them from growing dry and brittle.
He seemed pleased with her work. She was pleased, herself, and waited patiently for him to allow her to do more with the old texts than simply renewing their care ward every other day. During the times she was in his studio—whether in his company or Zakarij’s or alone—her eyes would wander again and again to the locked cabinet and her heart drew closer to it with every day.
Once, alone in the studio about a week after her review by the Sacred Circle, she found herself irresistibly drawn to the locked and warded doors. The desire to lay eyes on the old manuscripts was strong—so strong, she thought surely Master Lukasha, in session with the Circle, must feel it. Why was he waiting so long to try her again? She realized she’d reacted poorly to them before, but that was then. She no longer felt so tentative. Her confidence in her own skills grew with every passing day. Surely, she was ready.
Perhaps, she thought, as her eyes stared unfocused at the gold filigree about the locking mechanism, perhaps I could to prove to him that I’m ready for this. Perhaps if I were to decipher one of the spells and perform it for him . . .
The Spirit Gate Page 13
