She stepped through the door. If she had thought the main room was bright with glorious light, it was only because she hadn’t this to compare it to. Rose-amber sunlight poured through the arc of mullioned windows that looked northeast, and cascaded in warm showers from the skylights cut artfully into the high, peaked ceiling. There was no clever mural here, but there was no need; the sky would be visible at any time of day or night in its full glory. Now, its light spilled over everything in the room, covering it with a coat of radiance.
Kassia’s heart beat furiously. There was the table at which Marija of Ohdan had sat and written out her spells and pondered her philosophies. Here were the cabinets and chests in which she kept her implements and elements. In the center of the flood was the dais upon which she had performed her spells and uttered her incantations, and it was there Kassia was drawn, to stand in the overlap of two rings of metal—gold and silver—inlaid into the dark, red wood. The sun bathed her, warmed her, dressed her in a robe of glory and crowned her head with a nimbus of palest gold.
She turned to Master Lukasha, to thank him and found herself struck speechless by the expression of intense scrutiny on his face. He said nothing, but smiled at her fleetingly, turned, and left her to her unpacking.
oOo
She worked in Marija’s studio now. That was the way she thought of it, for it felt of Marija, though she hadn’t been there for nearly a century. A team of young Initiates had wiped away all the dust, but it was Kassia who polished the overlapping metal rings in the rosewood dais until they shone. She still must do her indexing and annotating in Lukasha’s library and continue her chores about his studio, but when those were done, she took the texts she was studying and carried them to Marija’s room to pore over them.
Lukasha had charged her with looking for spells that might help him protect the king. It concerned him that the distance between himself and Michal Zelimir was so great. If there were a spell that could somehow bridge the gap, allow him to tell what was happening at court through the intervening miles without having to traverse them, he would have it. In Kassia’s mind, that evoked images of corridors or doorways. She set about her task, but quickly found that most spells dealing with doorways were charms intended to close them. Still, at the end of a week of research, she had found several simple incantations intended to let the wielder see through walls or closed doors. But those were not what Lukasha was hoping for.
“Unfortunately, these don’t allow the user to see across any distance,” he told her. “What we need, Kassia, is a spell that will behave as a window between Dalibor and Tabor. A window we can see through without traveling the distance.”
“You worry a great deal about the king, Master,” she observed. “Do you believe his life is in danger?”
“I don’t know. But I think perhaps his soul is in danger. He is surrounded by a mob of new advisers, each of whom wishes to pull him in their particular direction. The darughachi of Khitan believes in his heart of hearts that the concerns of his tiny province should weigh as heavily with Zelimir as those of Sandomierz or Teschen. It is not just the king I fear for, but Polia itself. We have only just escaped from hell. The thought of returning there is unbearable.”
“But you’ve often commented on what a good man Zelimir is.”
“He’s a very good man. And he’s a spiritual man, in his own way. But in striving to be a good leader, he often listens to advice other men would simply ignore. He attempts, I think, to please too many people at once which, in the end, may result in him pleasing no one. He writes me that he has at last conceded he must take a wife, and is literally besieged with people offering candidates. He will come under much pressure to choose, and I fear the choices may not be good ones.” Lukasha smiled. “I find myself thinking I must find some new ward to set on Zelimir. Then I recall how I dissuaded you from wasting your time with such ephemeral magic. I’m an old fool, I know. Any ward I gave to Zelimir would have to be . . . tattooed on his body.”
He caught the crooked grin Kassia directed at him and said, “Ah, well, yes. Actually, I did consider it. But Zelimir is not the same breed as Tamal. He is not interested in decorating himself with painful pictures.”
Kassia laughed. “It’s too bad a ward can’t have a mind of its own.”
Lukasha glanced at her sharply. “What an extraordinary idea. I shall have to give that some thought.” He rose from the table they shared and patted her shoulder, then left her to her work.
Kassia laughed at herself. A ward with a mind of its own—extraordinary idea indeed.
oOo
A living ward, thought Lukasha—the only kind that could work in the case of Michal Zelimir. Perhaps if the king were more the pragmatist and less the idealist, if he were more the politician and less the reformer, a normal amulet would suffice, if for no other reason than that, understanding his need for it, he would wear it. But Michal, Zelimir II, was by nature neither pragmatic nor political. He was much like his father, though he had not yet had to display the military mind that had won his father the throne. In fact, he’d known his own father less as the scourge of the Tamalids than as the steady, conscientious king of a new Polia. The latter years of Kyril Zelimir’s reign, like the regime of his son, had been relatively peaceful.
Michal Zelimir had come of age and learned to govern in a time of tentative bloom. He was, like his father, a man of deep feeling, but he had not his sire’s contemplative nature, a nature which his younger brother, now in the priesthood, had inherited in full. Since mounting the throne, Michal Zelimir had overseen sweeping rebirth and rebuilding in and around his capital. His people had, after long spiritual siege, known freedom once again, and for that, they loved him. He returned that love in kind. He was, indeed, a good man, and a good king. But he was a king that had yet to face very many difficult decisions.
Once, if anyone had told Lukasha that idealism could be as much a danger to the welfare of Polia as despotism, he would have laughed. Now he’d take the suggestion seriously. The news he’d gotten that morning from Tabor demanded it.
The messenger had arrived the night before from the yam at the foot of the hills east of Dalibor and, exhausted from travel, had kept his messages till morning. Lukasha was angered by that laxity; the young priest should have realized the importance of currying messages between his Mateu masters.
Lukasha was still pondering the letter from Zelimir’s Mateu adviser, Master Antal, when Damek entered the office. Seeing his Master’s knit brow, he paused before the reading table to inquire what was wrong. Lukasha answered without looking up. “It seems the Bishop of Tabor is now a member of the King’s Council. He has offered our king a Frankish bride.”
“We share the King’s ear with many whose beliefs and customs differ from our own. Has not the Godhead constructed many paths to Its Door?”
“This, I believe. But the Bishop of Tabor does not, and therein lies the problem. I doubt it will be enough for him to be one among a group of advisers, for he will have to live with the knowledge that his king listens to the advice of other spiritual leaders.”
“You have often spoken of Zelimir’s stubbornness.”
“You miss my point. Any group of men who hope to advise a ruler must be able to achieve consensus. Otherwise, their deliberations degenerate into political infighting and they become useless to their government . . . and to their country.”
Damek shrugged. “Then would not Zelimir replace them?”
“With what, Damek? Michal Zelimir is a man who dislikes conflict intensely. If he perceives that his spiritual advisers are divided along lines of dogma, what better way to avoid discord than to simply exclude leaders of religion from his council? The ramifications of that are many. Should Zelimir appear to be deaf to certain groups, I wonder how much longer Polia’s hard-won tranquility will last.”
Damek nodded his understanding. “You fear the sort of weakness that made us so feeble against the Tamalids.”
Lukasha smiled. “Kassia had an
interesting idea.”
“Did she, indeed?”
“Hide your fangs, Damek. You’ve seen what she is—what she can do. Now listen: What if we were able to give Zelimir a living ward? Someone who could be with him constantly. Perhaps someone he would want to be with him constantly.”
Damek frowned, considering the idea. “A companion? Like a dog, you mean, or a bird?”
“A pet? Well, yes, I suppose that might be a possibility. A dog would certainly remain close to him most times—but in the throne room? I thought, perhaps, a person.”
“You could set a ward on one of the Mateu,” suggested Damek, warming to the idea. “Or on Chancellor Bogorja.”
“I think that may very well be our solution during official functions. In fact, I think Master Antal himself might be vested as a ward, or that young priest—what’s his name?—ah, Bohumat. He’s a favorite of Zelimir. But would Zelimir desire to have a Mateu with him in his private chambers? I think not. Now, a woman who could gain near access to young Michal . . .”
Damek’s eyes lit. “One of his concubines? I see! Master, that’s brilliant!”
“Ah, but there is a problem with my brilliant plan—how do we get his concubines to be vested? If they decline to undergo the ritual, it would be unwise to force them. And how do we vest them without him finding out about it?”
“I see another problem,” said Damek. “Rumor has it that Zelimir is not . . . well, very constant where women are concerned. His concubines are said to change with the moon. If you could vest a concubine, you’d almost certainly have to lay an Attractant on her so he wouldn’t cast her aside. And Attractants are . . . highly discouraged.”
Lukasha smiled at his companion’s diplomacy. “They are forbidden.” He rolled the idea about in his mind for a moment more and was on the point of dismissing it when he had a startling thought. “The ideal would be to place near him a woman who could be both adviser and lover. A woman with beauty and intelligence and perhaps something more. That, in itself, might be a natural attractant.”
Damek’s thin lips stretched into a smile. “She would have to be an extraordinary woman indeed, Master, to entice the stubborn Zelimir.”
“Yes,” Lukasha agreed, “she would—an extraordinary woman indeed.”
oOo
A mandorla, that was what the figure of entwined circles worked into the top of Marija’s dais was called. Kassia found the reference to it in a small booklet that had all but disappeared behind larger volumes in Master Lukasha’s library. The little book was written in a hand that Kassia had come to know intimately, and it dealt with the symbols of her craft. She thought it must date from the other woman’s Apprenticeship, since it seemed to have been compiled as an exercise in memorization. As a discussion of symbology it was quite helpful, but by far the most interesting thing about it was its reference to Marija of Ohdan’s personal journal. Since Marija had compiled a significant number of the old texts, Kassia thought her personal journal couldn’t fail to prove enlightening. She was quickly developing a great affinity for Lorant’s last shai Mistress.
As Lukasha’s private library included an archive of the journals of past Mateu, Kassia searched it thoroughly, seeking Marija’s diary. It was not there. Zakarij had gone into town, so she didn’t have him to ask, and Lukasha was giving a lecture on meditation to the second year Initiates. Kassia, determined to find the journal, went up to her Master’s studio and subjected the shelves there to a thorough search. She had paused before the locked cabinet, considering the likelihood of the diary being there, when she sensed someone behind and below her. She turned just as Damek reached the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing?” he asked, as if she had been caught in theft.
She muzzled her annoyance and answered mildly. “I was looking for a book. I thought it might be up here.”
“Oh? And what book might that be?”
“A Mateu journal.”
“The journals are in the library downstairs. You know that. Why should you think you would find one up here?”
“I thought perhaps Master Lukasha was studying it.”
“Really. And which Mateu’s diary is of such interest to you that you’d ransack your Master’s studio for it?”
Kassia’s temper escaped her careful control. “First of all, I am not ransacking my Master’s studio. I’m doing some research—which Master Lukasha has commissioned me to do. I was hoping to find Marija of Ohdan’s journal.”
“What sort of research?”
She almost told him. Almost. But she caught herself in time, remembering that Master Lukasha hadn’t given her permission to discuss her research with anyone. “He’s not given me leave to speak of it.”
“Oh, how very convenient for you. Research you can’t speak of in a book that doesn’t exist. What will you say if I threaten to tell Master Lukasha of this incident?”
“I’ll say nothing, except that you may do whatever you please.” She slipped past him to the stairs, pausing at the top to glance back at him. “Do you always enter your Master’s studio without asking permission?”
“Never, when he’s here. But I knew he was not. You forget, I know the Master’s schedule better than anyone.”
Kassia slipped down the curving stairs, lips set in a determined line. Damek might know his Master’s schedule, but he didn’t know his library, according to Marija’s booklet on symbols, she had kept a journal, and Kassia was now committed to finding it.
After another day of search, during which she pressed even Zakarij into service, Kassia asked Lukasha about the journal. To her surprise, he too, denied its existence. Bemused, she gave up her search of the private library and switched to the student library across the main hall from Lukasha’s offices. Perhaps the journal was unknown, she reasoned, because it had become lost among the stacks of material there. But she was wrong—though it took another three free evenings of search to discover that.
Near midnight of the third night of her quest, she gave up on the student library and dragged herself into her rooms—into Marija’s rooms—knowing that if the journal still existed there was only one place where it could be found; here, where Marija had lived and worked. She would start her renewed search in the morning before breakfast.
Kassia slept until Beyla woke her, declaring she would miss breakfast in the college commons if she did not hurry to rise. There was no time for a search, and there would not be at least until mid-day. Lukasha kept her morning busy with research and practice, coaching her intensely in the theory behind the sensing of another’s thoughts. She knew warding inside out now and, with Zakarij as tutor, had moved on to so-called web spells which, when vested in a special amulet made of crystal or glass could catch the thoughts of others and tell the bearer if those thoughts were benign or malign. She must become proficient at spells like these, he told her, as they would be of great use to Zelimir when he sat in council or held audience.
She liked the work, but for the sake of Marija’s journal she would gladly have taken the morning off. It was hard to concentrate at first, but immersed in the task, she soon ceased to hear the call of the missing diary.
She and Zakarij vested a glass orb with the most sensitive web spell they could concoct. She was pleased to have had a large part in that sensitivity, for it was her innate ability to catch whispers of emotion that allowed her to name the proper catalyst. It was Zakarij who gave the glass its ability glow in changing colors depending upon what emotions were detected.
By way of a test, they took the vested globe through the student library, watching the little orb turn red, gold, green, blue as it sensed anger, pleasure, affection, unhappiness in turns. It turned purplish and muddy if it caught a lie, black if it sensed hatred. Ultimately, it was Kassia who tested that emotion. Thoughts of Ursel Trava produced only a murky brown, but recalling how three members of her family had died for prejudice called out a pure blue-black. Watching the orb return to its normal clear state, Kassia realized she no longe
r knew where to direct that hatred.
“Excellent work!” Lukasha praised them when he saw the finished orb at work. “Now, we must put this spell into a more suitable receptacle.”
“What do you mean, Master?” Kassia asked, rolling the small spell ball in her hands. “Why would this be unsuitable?”
“Can you picture our king sitting among his council with this in his pocket, taking it out to consult it every minute or so? Or perhaps wearing it around his neck? No, we need the web spells to be vested in objects that none would suspect.”
Zakarij was nodding thoughtfully. “Like a ring, perhaps, or a bracelet?”
“A figurine on the council table,” suggested Kassia. “Or . . . a mirror?”
Lukasha nodded. “Good ideas, all. And it is these ideas and others like them that we will take to Tabor to show the king how the Mateu serve him.”
“We?” repeated Kassia quickly, but Zakarij silenced her with a glance and asked, “Do you mean to travel to Tabor soon, then, Master?”
“I mean we will travel to Tabor. All three of us. I have important tasks for both of you.”
Zakarij, as always, was impassive, but Kassia’s heart kicked with swift elation.
“You, Zakarij, I wish to act as my liaison to the priesthood in the capital. I want to know how things are with them; I want to know what problems they face, any issues they would raise before the Sacred Circle. You will also act as my amanuensis.”
Zakarij gave Lukasha a low bow and Kassia could feel the glow of gratitude slip through his usually strict guard. She didn’t wonder at that, Zakarij had told her that Damek, as Lukasha’s scribe, was almost always the one who accompanied him to Court to gather communication from the Mateu and priests in Tabor.
“Thank you, Master,” Zakarij said, “I will do my best to collect a complete report.”
The Spirit Gate Page 15
