The vaulted room was nearly empty and lay in semi-darkness when they entered. Beyla, who had absolutely refused to go to bed with such excitement afoot, tagged along in silence, respectfully trailing the three adults among the tall shelves. The handful of readers who were hard at study that evening barely marked their passage as they made their way toward the rear of the huge chamber. In the gloomy corner they formed a square about the little altar, then Kassia knelt to look at it.
“Under the altar,” she murmured. “She found it under the altar.” She ran a hand around the base of the structure. There was a definite seam between white and pink stone. She glanced up at Shagtai. Awaiting no further request, he moved immediately to grasp the top of the altar while Kassia hastened to whisk its ceramic adornment away before it suffered destruction.
The altar was surprisingly easy to move. Shagtai rocked and wrestled it for barely a minute before he and Zakarij were able to lift it from its foundation. The marble plug upon which it sat pulled from the floor, leaving behind a hole roughly two feet square. Kassia, still on her knees, called up a soft flame by which to peer within. In the recess, barely a foot down, was a wrapped package. She was reminded of her discovery of Marija’s diary and prayed this find would be as fortunate.
oOo
In his private rooms, Damek read and reflected on how much more peaceful his life was when Lukasha removed his two so-called apprentices from Lorant. The woman wasn’t around to annoy him, her child was with Shagtai and so not constantly under foot, and Lukasha was not requiring him to support her naive and amateur efforts to achieve aspirancy. He had nothing personally against Zakarij, except that the young man had shown the impossible bad taste to be attracted to Lukasha’s White Mother.
Gods, the woman was little more than a village witch, but the Master was completely taken by the simple shai magic that clung to her like dew to a rose. Damek wondered if Lukasha had even noticed the growing affinity between Aspirant and Apprentice. It seemed unlikely. He wasn’t nearly so sensitive to those things as Damek was, despite his much-vaunted wizardry. That innate sensitivity was surely what had drawn him to make the younger man his assistant, though Damek possessed not so much as a shred of occult talent.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted. The words on the page he was attempting to read refused to engage him. The story in his head was infinitely more interesting to him at the moment. It had been a pleasant story up until the advent of Kassia Telek. Why in Mat’s name the wretch hadn’t been swept away in the flood with her benighted father and husband was more than he could fathom. That would have been just punishment, he would have said, once. Punishment for all the ill the shai had brought to Polia over the past decades. She suffered as all her kind suffered.
Alas, Kassia Telek’s fortunes had improved dramatically, to Damek’s cost—improved so much she might, if Lukasha had his fondest wish, form a liaison with the king.
Perhaps, he mused, Mat has, in His great mercy, presented her with an opportunity for salvation.
Or perhaps God and Goddess were extracting payment from her. If her desire was to be a Mateu; might divine punishment not decree that she become Zelimir’s concubine? If she desired Zakarij, might in not be her destiny to bear children to another man?
Ah, there was a satisfying music! Yes, let that be the God’s will for Kassia Telek and Damek (the Unimaginative!) would be content, indeed. Then his story would continue happily, things would return to their sweet progression, and Zakarij would be rescued from his ill-considered cravings.
Damek was at the point of forming those thoughts into a prayer, when a sharp, quick rap sounded at his door. Grumbling, he rose and went to answer it. It was a second year Initiate named Hieronim, who blinked up at him through startled eyes (as if he’d expected someone else to answer his summons) and stammered, “Sir, th-there’s something happening in the library. I just thought you should know. Apprentice Kassia, Aspirant Zakarij and, um, Master Shagtai have taken apart the little pillar at the western wall and found something underneath it.”
Damn. Damek cursed himself for even calling the blasted woman to mind. “Found? Found what?”
“I don’t know, sir. A package of some sort. Should . . . should you come, sir?”
Irritated, Damek shooed the boy away. “I’ll come at my own pace, thank you, Initiate. Return to your studies.”
The child bobbed in obeisance and started to scurry away.
“And, Initiate—”
He swung about with wary eyes. “Sir?”
“Shagtai is a tender of kites. He is not a Master of anything. You are never to accord him that title. Is that understood?”
“Sir.” The boy bowed again and hurried away.
Damek turned back into his chambers. He would not hurry to the library, though the desire to see what the wretched shai had dug from under the altar was already burning in him. He moved to his wardrobe and removed a long, loose coat with which to cover his shirt and pantaloons. He absolutely refused to appear as though he had come running the moment the word was given him. He pulled on the coat and regarded himself in the mirror. Behind him, in the middle of the room, a fantastic image was forming.
With a shriek of sheer terror, he whirled to face the apparition. It was as if a spectral window had opened, letting in . . . He swallowed, his heart pounding. The face in the window was familiar.
“Master Lukasha!”
“Damek.” The Master smiled. “I’ve startled you. Forgive me. I must speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency. I’ve sent Kassia to Lorant to find an object of great value.”
“Ah. Yes. She has apparently found it.”
The Master’s smile grew, underscoring Damek’s annoyance. “Has she? I should not have doubted her. You’ve seen her then?”
“No, but I’ve heard reports of her activity. She and Zakarij have apparently been dismantling the library looking for something. A package, Hieronim said.”
“Zakarij, you said—Zakarij is with her?”
Damek narrowed his eyes, trying to read his Master’s face through the smudgy brightness of the spirit window. He seemed agitated.
“So Hieronim said. Is something wrong?”
“Everything may be wrong. I sent Kassia alone to Lorant; Zakarij is supposed to be in Khitan province. I can’t imagine how they came to be together.”
Damek could not resist a knowing smirk. “Surely you can see how enamored he is of her. I don’t wonder he disobeyed you; she exerts a strong influence on him, you know. I’ve seen it coming.”
Lukasha made an impatient gesture. “It’s of little importance now. What is important is that they have found the book.”
“What book, Master?” Damek asked, praying his Master would confide in him. His prayers were answered.
“A Bible belonging to the monk, Honorius. In it, he apparently kept a record of his work with the Traveling spell. There is a list of names, a list associated with a level of power denied us until now. I must be able to harness that power, Damek. The life of Polia may depend upon it.”
Now the hair stood up on the back of Damek’s head and arms. “What’s happened? Please, I beg you, Master. Tell me. I am your most faithful servant. I would have you confide in me as you once did.”
Lukasha was silent for a moment, his bright image wavering slightly in the ghostly window. Then he said, “You are my most faithful servant, aren’t you? You have never betrayed me, though I hesitate to say you have always obeyed the spirit of my commands.”
Damek reddened. “My only disobedience has been in areas concerning Kassia Telek. I promise you, I shall never disobey you—in the spirit or the letter—again.”
“Things are not well with our king, Damek. My hopes that he and Kassia would form a natural liaison have proven futile. The Bishop of Tabor uses some dark magic to manipulate him, and further, to manipulate the darughachi, his noble advisers, even Chancellor Bogorja. He has even the power to incite the Gherai Khan against our southern borders. Even
as we speak, the Gherai nibble at Khitan province.”
Damek swallowed, nodding. “Ah, I see. Where you sent Zakarij to observe.”
“To do more than that—to provide a barrier to the Bishop’s designs. I must assume he has failed.”
“Why have you come to me?” Damek asked, struck, suddenly, by the strangeness of the conversation they were having. “Why did you not simply locate Kassia and come here to oversee her search?”
Lukasha hesitated, then said slowly, “I would not want Kassia to think I didn’t fully trust her with this undertaking. And . . . it is imperative that I be available to Zelimir at all times.”
“Do you? Trust her fully?”
“Yes, Damek, I do. But I also trust you. I trust you to go to her and to tactfully—and I meant tactfully—find out if she has found this monk’s Holy Book and if it contains the list of names.”
“And then?”
“Go to my studio. I will appear to you there. I must know what she has found.”
Damek did as Lukasha bid him. He always did as Lukasha bid him . . . eventually. He hurried down to the library only to collide with Kassia and her train of companions in the great hall. His eyes went immediately to the large, partially wrapped package in her hands.
“I thought you were in Tabor, Kassia Telek,” he told her, then turned to Zakarij. “And I thought you were in Khitan. Why did you leave your post?”
“He was driven from it,” said Kassia before Zakarij could respond. “I’m here at the Master’s bidding.”
“You have found a book.”
“A book the Master is waiting for.”
“So he explained to me. Is it everything he hopes for ?”
Kassia looked down at the book in her hands, running her thumbs over the warped wooden front cover. “I don’t know. But when I know, the Master will also know.” She slipped past him and headed across the hall toward her quarters.
Arrogant bitch!
“Oh, Apprentice Kassia,” Damek made his voice sweet. “I thought you should know that there was a fire while you were away. In the upper village. Master Lukasha mentioned your concern about someone living in that area.”
Kassia turned back slowly, her face nearly as white as her hair. “Was . . . was anyone harmed?”
“Well, you know how those houses are constructed there—multiple stories, many rooms. It’s difficult to escape a midnight blaze in such a warren of rooms. I heard it started in a nursery, and that the babe . . . well, the mother tried valiantly to save it, of course, but . . .”
He tried to look sorrowful, tugging down the corners of his mouth when they wanted so to rise. Ah, the look on her face! It was worth the near lie just to see it—to have caused it.
Her hands trembling on the book, Kassia murmured, “Thank you, Damek for telling me. I had hoped . . .” She turned away from him.
He could see that her shoulders shook as she moved into the semi-darkness of the corridor to her rooms, grimaced as Zakarij moved to put his arm about her and her son took hold of her hand.
Well, that was rich. The stupid creature had actually thanked him for his dreadful news. He wondered if she would ever bother to corroborate his story or if she would merely accept it, since it fit so neatly with her need to feel oppressed. He hardly cared. He had needed the victory.
oOo
Under bright light in Kassia’s studio, Honorius’ Bible showed its extreme age. The thick front cover was not only warped, but scarred, and dry to cracking. The pages were yellowed, with broken, time-eaten edges. Struggling to set aside her sudden grief at Damek’s news, Kassia handled them with care, turning the book over before Shagtai and Zakarij’s watchful eyes and laying it naked-back-down on her desk. She lifted the front cover gingerly. The rippled edge of an inset piece of veneer clearly hinted at the cover’s hollowness. One side of the inset showed a worn indentation. It was this Kassia pried at with a fingernail, worrying it until it came loose, revealing an interior compartment occupied by a thin packet of folded paper.
Kassia heard Zakarij’s intake of breath as she lifted it from concealment. The single folded page was more like fabric than paper—not brittle like the pages of the Bible, but soft. It contained line upon line of handwritten words. Names.
Kassia frowned. “What language is that?”
“It’s archaic Polian. I think I might be able to translate this, given a little time and some reference books.” Excitement made Zakarij’s voice a husky whisper. He pointed at the symbols on the page. “Look, this one’s Iron, and this, I think, is Thunder.”
Beyla, whom Kassia had ordered to bed, slipped between the adults and touched the pages with a tentative hand. “It’s . . . sour,” he announced, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s been in that little compartment a long time,” said Zakarij.
“No, I mean the magic is sour. Isn’t it, Shagtai?” He glanced up over his shoulder at the kite master.
Shagtai didn’t reply, instead asking Kassia, “What will you do with these names once you have translated them?”
“Give them over to Master Lukasha, of course.”
“What will he do with them, do you think?”
“He will protect Polia.”
“Using these? These are the names of things at twilight.”
“Does that mean they can only be used for ill?”
“Mama, listen to uncle Shagtai,” insisted Beyla.
She glanced at her son, her heart turning over in her breast as he reminded her again of another child, another mother. “Beyla, you should have been in bed hours ago. Please go now.”
He looked about to offer argument, then glanced at Shagtai and drifted off to his room, unaware how his mother’s eyes followed him. Shagtai, too, disappeared a short time later, though neither Kassia nor Zakarij, already absorbed by the shred of soft paper, marked his departure.
Sometime later, Zakarij shook his head in frustration. “There are several names here for each element and catalyst. How are we supposed to know which ones to use in the spell?”
“Marija said there was a key to the incantation in the back cover of the Bible.”
“There is no back cover,” said Zakarij. “Did she ever find it?”
Kassia grimaced. “I don’t know. There was no mention of it in the journal—but then there are so many missing pages. Maybe there’s a clue in the Bible somewhere.”
While Zakarij performed a careful search of the yellowed pages, Kassia turned the events that had led to them being here over in her mind. “How did you come to be in that crevasse?” she asked at length.
Zak glanced up from a scan of the Book of Isaiah, eyes revealing puzzlement. “The Khan was pursuing me. He saw me, Kassia. He saw me through a Matic shield.”
Kassia’s surprise was complete. “What elements were you using?”
“Air and water—water dominant. It was an opaque cloud shield. He shouldn’t have been able to penetrate it.”
“He probably couldn’t,” said Kassia, “but Benedict obviously can.”
“He shouldn’t be able to either. How can he split himself like that? What power is he drawing on, that he can manipulate people so?”
Kassia closed her eyes, willing to memory her last confrontation with the Gherai kagan, seeing again the fleeting gesture—forehead to heart, shoulder to shoulder. She expelled a hiss of breath. Of course, of course, of course! “He’s not splitting himself, Zakarij. He’s channeling himself, using someone else as a focus, an amplifier.”
“Who?”
“Pater Julian.”
“Pater Julian? Are you certain?”
“Almost certain. When we get back go Tabor, I want to prove it.”
Anything Zakarij had been going to say was interrupted by a cry from the parlor. Recognizing Beyla’s voice, he and Kassia all but flew from the studio. The boy was standing before the fireplace, both hands pressed against the carved facade below the mantelpiece.
“Beyla, what’s wrong?”
The boy
turned to look at his mother, his face drawn into a consternated pucker. “It feels the same,” he said.
“What? What feels the same?”
“The magic. This magic is sour too.”
Kassia glanced at Zakarij and shook her head. “What magic, Beyla?”
“In here.” He pointed at the raised mandorla pattern worked into the stone.
“In here?” Kassia came to her knees beside him, laying her hand over the stone design.
He nodded. “Behind that circle.”
Her fingertips on the twin circles, Kassia tried to see the design with eyes that went beyond the material. What she sensed awed her. “There’s a Shield on this spot. It’s . . . strong. And I . . . I think it’s Marija’s magic.”
Zakarij knelt beside her. “How can that be, after so many years?”
“I don’t know, but Beyla saw right through it.”
Her son didn’t seem terribly impressed with his ability. He was frowning at the mantelpiece. “You’re going to dig it out now, aren’t you?” He raised his eyes to his mother’s face. “I wish you wouldn’t, mama. It’s not good magic.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “Beloved, if it’s what I think it is, Master Lukasha needs it and Zakarij and I must take it to him.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Now, you must go back to bed. I promise you I’ll be back before morning.”
His mouth drew into a pout, but he said nothing more. He kissed her solemnly and returned to his room. Kassia turned her attention to the mandorla, then, trying to draw from it its secrets. It wasn’t an easy task, but since Marija had used a bit of earthen magic to shield the spot—a magic that resonated in the mind of the living shai—Kassia was able to follow its patterns, and carefully countered each one. At length there was a dull knocking sound from within the mantelpiece that vibrated her fingertips. A sorcerous tingle rolled up her arms. The piece of stone the mandorla capped slid outward with a whispered scrape, allowing Zakarij to gain a firm purchase on it. A firm tug was all it took to pull it completely free.
The Spirit Gate Page 31
