The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  Despite the fur pelts that covered him Tarod was still shivering. Part of his mind wanted to think about the implications of his bizarre experience; but another, stronger part reacted violently against the idea. What he really needed now, he told himself as he closed his eyes, was sleep -- and sleep without dreams.

  Sleep came to Tarod that night, but it was racked with nightmares that clamored at him out of the darkness. There were shrill, strident voices, gargoyle faces that leered and gibbered wherever he looked, and, presiding over all, the golden-haired apparition with its knowing and disdainful smile. Tarod twisted and turned in his sleep, striving to escape the sights of his inner eye, but the images only became wilder and madder. Now and then the smiling specter would take on his own aspect, so that the color-flooded eyes flashed green and the hair became black, tangling with the grinning, elemental faces below.

  Tarod was awakened at last by the sound of his own voice screaming wordlessly, and sat up to find a cold dawn filtering through the curtain. The brazier had burnt out and traces of stale smoke from the incense still hung in the room, smelling sour and acrid now. The sense of failure weighed heavily on him and it took some effort of will to rise and cross to the window to look out at the day.

  The courtyard below was quiet. Only a few servants-moved efficiently about their early morning duties, and every sound they made seemed magnified against the still background. Mist obscured the upper reaches of the four spires, and faintly in the distance he could hear the sea. The peaceful scene did nothing to soothe him; rather it emphasized his own unrest.

  As he watched, someone emerged from a minor doorway and began to cross the courtyard in the direction of the dining hall. Doll-like from this distance, Themila Gan Lin walked slowly as though lost in thought; beside her, the woman in the white robes of a Sister of Aeoris was speaking, gesturing gracefully with one hand.

  Lady Kael Amion... and suddenly Tarod recalled the conversation he had had with Themila last night. She had recommended him to Kael, and though he felt that his experiences might now have gone beyond the province of a dream-interpreter, he surely had nothing to lose by seeking the old Sister's counsel? His spirits lifting a little, Tarod turned from the window, hurriedly smoothed down the crumpled clothes he'd slept in, and left his rooms to intercept the two women.

  A fire had been lit in the dining hall to combat the cold which pervaded even midsummer mornings in this Northern latitude, and Themila and Kael were warming their hands before the blaze when Tarod found them.

  Themila looked up at the sound of his footsteps. "Tarod -- you're an early riser today."

  He smiled. "Not the earliest, it seems. Lady Kael -- good morning to you."

  The old seer acknowledged his bow with a small, grave nod, and Themila said, "It is a good morning -- but not for you, I suspect, Tarod. You look worn; as though you have had no rest."

  He was surprised and a little chagrined by her bluntness in Kael Amion's presence, but Themila, forestalling him, added, "I took the liberty of speaking to Kael about our discussion." She smiled obliquely at the seer. "I hope you'll both forgive my presumption."

  Tarod looked quickly from one to the other. "On the contrary; I'm grateful to you! That is -- if the Lady would consent...?"

  He thought that the gaze Kael Amion returned had an odd slant to it, but she spoke equably enough. "Certainly, Tarod. If you're troubled, and I can aid you, then that's the task for which I was trained."

  Again, did he detect a note of reluctance? Themila seemed unaware of it, for she said, "I've apprised Lady Kael of all that you told me, Tarod; although it may not be enough for her to draw a full interpretation. If -- "

  "There's more," Tarod said.

  "More? Oh... then last night -- "

  "Last night, yes." He stared at the stone of his ring, which was winking malevolently in the firelight.

  Themila pursed her lips, and gathered her skirts about her. "Then I'll waste no more time, but leave you to discuss this matter between you," she said firmly. "No -- " as Tarod was about to invite her to stay, "It's not my province, and I wouldn't presume to interfere. Kael -- when you've done, perhaps you'll give me the pleasure of breakfasting with me?" And before they could argue she was walking briskly towards the hall doors.

  Kael Amion lowered herself stiffly onto one of the benches that flanked the long table. Her faded but candid eyes regarded Tarod for a long moment before she said, "Well, now. If there's more to this than Themila has already told me, I believe I should know it, if I'm to help you."

  Tarod sat on the edge of the table, one finger idly tracing an old groove in the wood. It wasn't easy to speak, to catalogue aloud the monstrous nightmares, the visitation, the sense of helpless horror he had felt at the encounter, be it dream or reality, with his own ghastly mirror image. But once the halting flow of words had begun, the floodgates opened of their own accord, and he found himself telling Kael of his experiences, his fears, as easily as if she had been Themila. The seer listened without reaction or comment, and when Tarod finally finished his story there was a long silence. The old woman seemed to be lost in thought, and at last Tarod's anxiety got the better of him.

  "Lady... can you help me?"

  She looked up as though she had forgotten his presence, and her pale blue eyes were narrow in the lined face.

  "I... don't know."

  The distance in her voice disquieted him, but he pushed the feeling away. Before he could speak, she folded her hands in front of her and, gazing at them, continued, "What you have told me is... not within my normal province, Tarod. I make no claims to omniscience, and I'll admit that such -- experiences -- as yours are rare, if not unprecedented. Which is, perhaps, as well." A faint smile caught at her mouth, but it was obviously an effort. "I need a little time -- time to meditate on what you've told me, and to consult some of the older records." Now she looked up again. "You've been patient thus far -- I merely ask that you be patient a little longer."

  Frustration roiled in him, but there was no help for it; her request was reasonable enough, and at least she had given him hope. He rose.

  "Lady Kael, I thank you. I'll do as you ask. And I'll pray to Aeoris that your meditations bear fruit."

  Kael made the White God's sign before her breast -- hastily, it seemed.

  "Yes," she said. "Pray to Aeoris..."

  She waited until Tarod's tall figure had vanished through the hall doors, then, taking a grip on the table edge, pulled herself with difficulty to her feet. Her hands weren't steady, and it took a great effort of will to stop her legs from shaking too. Her heart was racing, making breathing difficult, and she fervently hoped that her disquiet had not communicated itself to the young Initiate. For what she had seen as he told his story had spoken to her as loudly as a physical voice. Evil.

  Unbidden, memory took her suddenly back to the night, years ago, when she and her escort had found the child Tared in the mountain pass. He had saved their lives then -- but he had also demonstrated unconscious control of a power that appalled her. She had feared such power might grow without the discipline of Initiation to contain it; and now it seemed that her fears had been well founded. The force that called to Tarod through his dreams was no sending of the white gods.

  Slowly, Lady Kael began to make her way towards the doors. She would see Themila later, and apologize for missing their breakfast appointment; at present, her stomach rebelled at the idea of food.

  On the threshold of the hall she paused and looked back. Then, suppressing a shiver, she moved stiffly away in the direction of the Castle's guest rooms.

  The day was well advanced when Tarod sought out Themila. Again, he found her in the dining hall; but at this hour the room was a hive of activity. Servants were making preparations for the evening meal, and a few hungry early-comers had already taken seats at the long tables and were passing the time over a flagon of wine.

  Themila started when Tarod's voice interrupted her reverie. She had been sitting by the fire, seemingly
idly watching the flames, but when she turned her eyes were deeply troubled.

  "I'm sorry," Tarod said, "I'd no intention of startling you. But I thought you might know of Lady Kael's whereabouts."

  "Oh, Gods..." Themila stared into the fire again. "I was afraid of this..."

  He frowned, apprehensive. "What do you mean?"

  Themila half rose, then thought better of it and subsided again. "Tarod... Kael has gone. She left this morning."

  "Gone?"

  Themila nodded. "I tried to persuade her, but -- she wouldn't stay. She gave me a message for you, Tarod, but I -- I've been putting off the moment when I must tell you."

  "Then in the name of the gods, Themila, tell me now!" He spoke more sharply than he had intended, but disquiet was rapidly giving way to fully-fledged alarm.

  She glanced at him, then away again. "I've never seen her react in such a way before. She said to tell you that -- that she can't help you. That there is nothing she can do."

  Tarod swallowed. "You're telling me that she refused!"

  "...Yes."

  The familiar, companionable bustle of the dining hall suddenly seemed a world away. For a seer to refuse counsel to anyone in need was unheard-of... and a seer of Kael Amion's reputation... he felt numbed by her rejection, and found his voice only with an effort.

  "What -- reason did she have for refusing?"

  "She would give none. But -- " Themila blinked suddenly, and there was a darkness behind her eyes. "I think she was very much afraid..."

  Chapter 5

  Five days after the Quarter-Day celebration, Tarod was seriously beginning to wonder if he was still entirely sane.

  The dreams had recurred, as he had known they would; each night was worse than the last, and though he had brought all the resources of his formidable will to bear in an effort to control them, nothing made the smallest difference. Finally, realizing that the power of his own mind couldn't keep the nightmares at bay, he had resorted in desperation to the orthodox practices of the Circle. Perhaps he lacked faith in the elaborate exorcism he performed, perhaps not; either way, the effort was a failure and the smiling face of his supernatural tormentor had presided over the wild, skirling denizens of nightmare all through the dark hours.

  On the sixth day, halfway through the morning, he staggered from his bed hollow-eyed and exhausted, and as he dressed -- trying to ignore the fact that his hands were unsteady -- he inadvertently glimpsed his own reflection in a mirror.

  He barely recognized himself. His green eyes had lost their luster and were glazed with a half-crazed stare, his hair was ragged and unkempt, and he seemed to have aged ten years.

  "Oh, Gods!" Tarod swung away from the mirror and smashed a fist down on the table, oblivious to the pain that drummed through his arm. The strain on his mind was nearing the point where it must snap, and he was no closer to a solution than he had ever been. Why the dreams and the entity who seemed to direct them had come to him, what they wanted of him, he couldn't even begin to guess, but unless he could either find the answers to those questions or gain some respite from the torment of his nightmares, he knew that he could lose his reason.

  As he had done on three previous mornings he reached for a flagon that stood on the table by his bed. Wine was no shield against the dreams, but it helped him to see the days through, and he poured a generous cup for himself, splashing a good deal on the floor as he did so. He was about to raise the cup to his lips when someone hammered on his outer door. For an instant Tarod's mind flashed back to his astral experience of a few nights ago -- but then a familiar voice called out from the corridor.

  "Tarod? It's Keridil -- are you there?"

  Tarod reluctantly set the cup down. His recent mood had driven him to shun company unless absolutely necessary, but he knew he had to face the world sometime if he was to avoid drawing attention to himself and his state of mind. Slowly he moved to the door and drew back the bolt.

  "Tarod?" Keridil stepped into the room and scanned his friend's face uneasily. "I've been looking for you this past hour; I didn't expect to find you here at this time of day."

  Tarod made a gesture that was half dismissal and half apology. "I'm sorry, Keridil. I've been... preoccupied."

  "And not a healthy preoccupation, by the looks of it. Tarod, what in the name of Aeoris is wrong with you?"

  Tarod would have turned away, but Keridil gripped his arm. "Don't evade the question! For days now you've barely shown your face, and when you have you've been morose and troubled. If there's anything -- "

  Tarod cut him off. "There's nothing anyone can do, Keridil. I appreciate your concern, but this is a matter that involves me and no one else!"

  "I'll dispute that! And I speak out of more than friendship." Briefly, anger flashed in Keridil's tawny eyes; whatever the cause, he didn't take kindly to Tarod's cavalier dismissal of his offer of help. "Like my father, I have a duty to your well-being as an Initiate aside of any other considerations. Constantly absenting yourself from Circle matters does no good to yourself or anyone else!''

  Tarod disengaged his arm with a savage movement. "Involving myself would be of little benefit to anyone at the moment, believe me!"

  Keridil bit back an angry retort as he realized that, contrary to his first impression, this was no simple transitory mood. Tarod was unpredictable at the best of times, but this.... He recalled a conversation with Themila, in which she had told him that his friend had been troubled by dreams. Dreams? It surely took more than a nightmare to bring about such a change.

  Tarod was standing by the window, staring out over the courtyard, and Keridil decided that discretion would stand him in better stead now than any attempt to probe further. He said:

  "Whatever you may feel about your value to the Circle at present, Tarod, the fact is that you're needed now." He too moved to the window. "Haven't you felt the change?"

  "Change?" Tarod had only half concentrated on the question.

  Keridil shivered. "The tension in the air. It's been building all morning. No one thought anything of it, until the sentinel in the north spire reported that the Spectre Lights have begun playing."

  He was relieved when his last words finally caught Tarod's full attention. "The Spectre Lights? And they're visible at this time of day?"

  "Clearly. I climbed the spire to see for myself." Keridil grimaced at the memory of the exertion demanded by those seemingly endless spiral stairs. "It can only mean one thing -- there's a Warp coming, and it's a big one; perhaps the biggest we've seen in years. That's why I've been trying to find you. Father has ordered every Adept of fifth rank or above to gather at the Marble Hall. We're to perform a Higher Rite, and try to pick up on the Warp and learn something of its nature." Keridil grinned suddenly. "I'd have thought you of all people would be eager to take part -- or doesn't your memory go back that far?"

  An old recollection of his last day in Wishet Province... that hadn't happened to Tarod, but to a nameless, clanless child who didn't understand his own latent power. That child was dead -- long dead.

  Briefly but warmly, Tarod smiled. "Keridil, you're no diplomat, but you've succeeded in reminding me that I have obligations. Go on ahead -- I'll join you as quickly as I can."

  Crossing the deserted courtyard five minutes later, Tarod silently chastised himself for having failed to notice the change in the atmosphere. As Keridil had said, a tension was building up; the very flagstones beneath his feet seemed charged with it and the air felt cloying and unnaturally still. Glancing at the sky he saw the first tell-tale signs; the Summer blueness was soured by a faint tinge of a shade that defied description and the first faint play of light was beginning in the distance. He was half tempted to climb the colossal spire and see for himself the Spectre Lights, the strange aurorae that shimmered sometimes on the Northern horizon and which were normally only visible in the dead of night; but the urgency of Keridil's summons drew him. And if, just for a while, the work ahead enabled him to forget his own preoccupations, it w
ould be a much needed relief.

  The oppressive atmosphere was intensifying rapidly < and as Tarod reached the colonnades he paused, looking back across the courtyard. Almost every window had been shuttered; there was no sign of life anywhere and only the fountain, still playing, gave any movement to the scene. Even as he watched the quality of the light was changing; suddenly the cascading water lost its sparkling brilliance and became colorless and dead, and an eerie shadow without a source seemed to fall on the courtyard. Listening carefully, Tarod could just make out the first, faint singing of the approaching storm, an echo almost beyond the threshold of human awareness. He shivered with what might have been a sense of premonition -- or memory -- then turned and began to move quickly along the pillared walk.

  Even in the maze of passages that wound down into the Castle's foundations, the inexorable approach of the Warp could still be felt. The slight twist of time and space that held the Castle aloof from the outside world also served as a barrier against the ravages of these storms -- although, as with so many of the Castle's properties, no one knew quite how or why -- but the presence of a Warp nonetheless had a disturbing effect on the inhabitants. Old fears and superstitions died hard even among the Circle, and all those not answerable to the High Initiate's summons had shuttered their windows and bolted their doors until the fury was past.

  Tarod's own attitude to the Warps was an odd blend of unease and fascination. His fear of the storms had ended on the day he had faced one and survived, yet their sheer titanic power still inspired him with awe. He would have given a great deal to know more about the nature of these deadly phenomena, but felt instinctively that the Circle's attempts to penetrate the veil of the mystery were doomed to failure. This was the third time in little more than a year that Jehrek had summoned the higher Adepts with the intention of trying to tap into the power behind the Warps. So far their efforts had yielded nothing, and Tarod was privately convinced that this occasion would be no different.