by Hal Emerson
He passed into the courtyard through two large doors, bordered on both sides by huge sheets of glass – literally sheets, stretching from floor to ceiling, with no metal to hold them together. How was it they didn’t break under their own weight?
Tall trees grew in the corners of the courtyard and all around the edges, providing privacy from the outside world. The ground was soft grass, carefully trimmed, with walking stones that led from the door to the paved center, where was located a large stone structure that covered a circular seating place. Four walkways were spaced out evenly around the circle so people could come and go, and the white stone seats were covered in deep purple cushions.
“Hello!” Called Davydd, lounging across a whole section of the seating area.
Lorna was seated nearby, playing with a long stick, pushing at something in the center of the circle. As Raven approached and Tomaz moved out of his line of sight, he could see Lorna had built and was stoking a fire in a quite ingeniously crafted round pit with high sides that protected it from wind and rain.
Now that the sun had set, the air was indeed becoming quite cold, and Raven was grateful for the fire.
“What do you think of the place?” Davydd asked languidly.
“It’s … very different from what I’m used to,” Raven said honestly, thinking of his chambers in the Fortress of Lucien. This was about as far from that gothic, contained interior as possible.
“You’re all here!” Called a voice behind them, and they turned to see Elder Goldwyn come through the doors, walking with a brisk step. He was wearing spectacles now, and it made him look like the archetypical scholar.
Davydd and Leah got up and embraced him, making Raven feel strange and awkward. Public displays of affection were strongly discouraged among the upper classes of the Empire. The Empress herself had never shown him physical affection where others could see. Nor had she ever really in private.
Goldwyn joined them at the fire, explaining that Elder Crane had only needed to speak to him about a meeting the next day at the Capitol where the ceremony would be made official.
A Blood Ritual, Raven thought. His hackles rising, he tried not to give any sign of what he was thinking. His mind flashed back, unbidden, to the Bloodmage ceremonies he’d had to preside over as the Prince of Ravens. Each one was burned into his mind; one did not forget horrors like that.
They say their magic is different. Is that possible?
“There is something on your mind,” Goldwyn said, breaking into Raven’s thoughts. The man was looking at him as he took his place by the fire between Leah and Davydd.
“Go on – out with it!” Davydd said with a huge grin. “There are no secrets here – it’s one of the rules we all have to abide by.”
“Rules to which we must abide,” Goldwyn corrected.
“Yeah, rules we have to abide by.”
“To be fair,” Leah said, eyes twinkling, “we didn’t tell him beforehand.”
“Too bad,” Goldwyn said with good humor, “maybe next time he’ll learn to ask questions before entering strange houses.”
Tomaz and Lorna rumble-chuckled and Davydd grinned, watching his father with plain, undiluted adoration.
Raven, caught off guard and not wanting to say what was really on his mind, cast around frantically for a topic. The Elder’s eyes struck him suddenly: unlike his children, Goldwyn’s eyes were not a bright, piercing color. They were soft and inviting – more than that, they pulled you, made you want to tell him things. They were the color of an early morning sky after rain and just before the sun.
“He – you aren’t their real father,” Raven said. He realized as the words left his mouth that this was not at all what he should be talking about. He immediately started working through other things he could say, trying to find a way to backtrack, but Goldwyn spoke before he could.
“Indeed not,” the Elder said, shooting an amused smile at his two children. Leah shrugged, looking decidedly uncomfortable, but Davydd, to whom shame was a foreign word, spoke up.
“No offense, but as parents go I don’t think you’re the one to throw stones.”
Leah snorted with involuntary laughter before she remembered to be reserved and taciturn. Raven, encouraged by the man’s candor, decided to continue.
“I’m sorry if I come across as rude,” he said, “but how are they your children? The laws of the Kindred are confusing to me at best.”
“I never had children of my own,” Goldwyn said immediately, not appearing the slightest bit offended by the question. “I never married –”
“You never had the time for it,” Davydd said with a sardonic grin.
“Always had his head in a book,” Leah continued.
“And since I never married, I never had children,” Goldwyn said with a small smile, “and when these two came along … well, it is customary for children who are orphaned to be brought up by all of the Kindred. But these two … they were trouble makers. Most of the other Kindred couldn’t handle them properly.”
Davydd smiled like a cat being stroked, while Leah turned a little red – just a little, as if to show she could, but not enough to be truly embarrassed.
“So I petitioned the Elders, they approved, and I took them on myself. The first year was rough, particularly with what Leah had been through … though that is her story to tell, not mine.”
“He knows it,” Leah said quietly; she was staring into the fire now, her mind once again pulled away in the swirling tides of memory.
“Does he?” Goldwyn asked without expecting an answer, watching his daughter. She turned to him and the stony look melted and she smiled. He smiled back, and Raven felt something start to ache inside him. He lowered his eyes and tried to contain the sickly feeling; it was like anger, but with jealousy and resentment mixed in.
He’d never had a relationship like that, and he never would.
The silence lengthened and he looked up to see Goldwyn watching him, gray eyes reflecting the heat of the fire between them. Those eyes that pulled.
“I think,” the Elder said, “it is time for Raven and I to have a conversation.”
The others all looked up in surprise. They weren’t shocked, Raven realized – in fact, it seemed as if they’d all known this was coming, they just hadn’t expected it to come so soon.
“Already?” Davydd asked. He glanced at Raven. “I mean I know he’s pretty, but c’mon dad, don’t you wanna get to know him first?”
“Oh be gone,” Goldwyn said fondly, pushing Davydd away.
“Parental abuse,” Davydd said as he got up to leave, “parental abuse. Call the guards. Call them now. Parental abuse.”
“Hush!” Lorna growled, grabbing him in a headlock and towing him toward the house. Davydd let out a strangled noise that sounded like a laugh, and then they were back inside.
Leah and Tomaz stood slowly, both looking worried. Raven suddenly felt anxious; his palms began to sweat and his mouth was dry. What was going on here? What kind of conversation did they need to have? Was it possible this man could have him imprisoned?
I’m a member of the Kindred now, they can’t do that. Can they?
“You’ve already decided, Elder?” Tomaz rumbled.
“I decided the moment I met him,” Goldwyn replied with a smile. “Go on, we’ll be fine. I’ll call you back when we’re done. Oh and Tomaz, would you mind bringing me a cup of kaf? I left it heating on the stove, it should be done by now. And one for this young man as well please.”
“Certainly Elder,” Tomaz said, nodding his head slightly to the man before moving away. He stopped as he passed Raven and put a hand on his shoulder, nearly engulfing half of his chest in his huge palm.
“Be nice,” he rumbled, and then left.
Be nice? If one more person says something that makes me think I should be worried I’m jumping that wall and running back to Roarke.
Leah looked at him as well, though her face was impassive. It seemed that she had reached her daily limit o
f emotions. She simply nodded and left.
“Do you remember your first conversation?” Raven heard Tomaz rumble to her as they went into the house. No doubt the giant thought he was speaking low enough that he couldn’t be heard.
“I remember it very well,” Leah said quietly. “I think everyone does.”
And then they were gone, and it was only Raven, Goldwyn, and the flickering fire between them.
“I apologize for the formality,” Goldwyn said, breaking the silence, not looking at Raven but instead examining the flames. “I usually don’t stand too much on ceremony, but sometimes it’s nice.”
Raven stayed silent, watching the older man closely, not sure what to expect. On sudden impulse he sent his mind through the Raven Talisman, searching for life around him, searching for assassins or anyone who might be hiding nearby. It may have been an unnecessary precaution, but ever since Raven’s own Mother had tried to have him killed, he had learned to embrace the survival benefits of paranoia.
But there was nothing to be found, just the background of plant life circling the courtyard, and the lights of the others inside the manor.
So, out of curiosity and the hope it would give him a better gage on who he was dealing with, he reached out to Goldwyn, and felt … nothing.
In shock, he surged to his feet and dropped a hand to his side, looking for the sword he’d left outside on his horse, before he realized that he had been mistaken. No, there was something in the man sitting before him … there was something there, of course there was. It was a light, there was life. It was just … steady. So steady it was almost impossible to sense.
There was no fear in this man, no anxiety. No images or colors flashed in Raven’s mind, no scents or sounds came unbidden to his ears when he touched this man’s life. This man just … was.
“I understand that you can read people’s lives with the Talisman you posses,” Goldwyn said, watching him with an unreadable expression. No, not unreadable, blank.
“How are you doing that?” Raven asked harshly. He’d had too much experience with the Empire’s Bloodmagic to be comfortable here. Death Watchmen, Daemons, Clockwork constructs, anything was possible with the power of a Soul Catcher. Was this some new kind of trick? Was this man before him a construct?
It can’t be, you know it can’t be. The light of his life … it’s so pure, so calm. Like new fallen snow or the air after it rains.
“How am I doing what?” Goldwyn asked, leaning forward now, looking interested. “Are you trying to sense my life right now? What is it you feel?”
“I … I don’t feel anything,” Raven said slowly, still tense. The sound of laughter came from inside the house, Davydd’s rich baritone as he boasted about something or other accompanied by Tomaz’s deep rumbling chuckle. This should be a safe place. Tomaz and Leah both trusted Goldwyn. He had to trust the man too.
Slowly, very slowly, he forced himself to sit back down. Goldwyn didn’t seem to pay any attention to this – it was as if he hadn’t even seen Raven stand, as if a threat to his personal safely held no interest for him.
“What is the process usually like?” the Elder asked, the light of the fire reflecting off of the glass in his spectacles, which rested carelessly at the end of his nose. He looked intrigued, and he waited politely for an answer.
Raven had no idea what to say. How could he reveal such a thing? Until a few months ago the two of them had been mortal enemies – this man had led raids against the Empire, fought openly against Ramael and maybe even Rikard. Certainly Goldwyn had lost hundreds if not thousands of men to Ramael throughout his lifetime – could he be trying to gain Raven’s goodwill so that he could lure him into a trap? Could this all be an elaborate plot to gain information?
Stop it. You cannot go on like this. Leah and Tomaz trust him – isn’t that enough for now?
“Well,” Raven said slowly, his voice strained, “when I touch a person’s life, I see things. Hear things. Reflections of their life, ideas of who they are. I think it’s because you can’t actually know who or what a person is … a person isn’t a string of words. It’s a series of memories, a chain of wordless impressions. It’s thoughts, and things that don’t make sense unless you experience them. Like … the sound of steel cutting through silk. Laughter bathed in moonlight. Twilight dying to the sound of midnight bells.”
Goldwyn sat back, a look of quiet wonder on his face. The feel of his life never changed – this man was unshakeable. He was the kind of rock that would last for thousands of years, that simply was, as permanent a fixture as the earth or sky.
“Please,” the Elder said, his gray eyes watching him carefully, finally acknowledging Raven’s wariness, “don’t worry. I swear to you that I mean you no harm. I am sorry that the … feel of my life frightened you. I promise you it was not intentionally done.”
Raven nodded slowly, accepting the statement, even though he still had half a mind to run, to get himself as far away from this man, this Elder, as possible. Paranoia had kept him alive for months now, and the one time he’d let his guard down was the time a half-dozen Death Watchmen had tried to kill him. Over-reactions seemed to be what was keeping him alive.
“When Tomaz was leaving,” Raven said, “he asked Leah if she remembered her first conversation. What did he mean by that? A conversation?”
To Raven’s surprise Goldwyn laughed and shook his head ruefully.
“I’m constantly amazed at how quiet that man can be in the forest, and yet how terrible he is at whispering. In any case, I am a teacher at heart, I always have been. And when I see someone who needs help … I talk to them. I listen; sometimes I suggest things. Sometimes push them if they need it, sometimes pull them back. Over my life I seemed to have had a great many conversations with a great many people … and most of them seem to have learned something from it. I’ve learned a lot from them too – that’s the point of a good conversation, I think.”
“So a … conversation … is a lesson,” Raven said.
His mind flashed back to all of the books inside the house, and wondered suddenly if this man had read them all. But no, that couldn’t be – they must be for show. It wasn’t possible for one person to read that many books in the space of one lifetime.
Though I’d certainly be willing to try.
“A conversation is a lesson of sorts, I suppose,” Goldwyn said. “So let us begin. Do you have something you’d like to talk about?”
“Not particularly.”
“Very well, would you like for me to chose the topic?”
“Yes.”
“Very well … tell me about your Mother.”
Raven looked up so quickly he cricked his neck.
“I should have known you were just interested in getting information out of me,” he growled. “At least you didn’t beat around the bush – you just came right out and asked. The honestly is refreshing.”
“You don’t trust many people,” Goldwyn said, watching him. Those gray eyes saw far too much. Far too much.
“No,” he spat back at the man, “and with good reason as you can see.”
“Why not?”
“What does that matter?”
“It doesn’t, so why shouldn’t you answer?”
“Oh, you’re clever.”
“Not so much as you by half, that I can tell already.”
“Don’t mock me,” Raven said, fuming now.
“I wasn’t,” Goldwyn said, looking like the picture of honesty.
“Then don’t pretend to be smart enough to get inside my head.”
“I cannot get anywhere you will not let me.”
“That’s right,” Raven retorted, “so stop trying. You won’t get anything from me with your lies.”
“You seem to think that just because your family told you lies, everyone will tell you lies.”
‘Everyone will,” he said harshly. “Everyone always does – that is how you run an Empire, it is how you rule. You lie to the people so you can govern them
effectively, you lie to the aristocracy to set them against each other, you lie to the other Princes so you can get more from Mother. It is all a game – a game made up of lies. If you don’t lie, you are soon left behind. If you do not lie, you cannot rule.”
“I think both you and I know that true government, true leaders, don’t rule at all, they inspire. It is a subtle difference, perhaps a meaningless one to many people. But not to me, and not, as I suspect, to you. True leaders don’t make people better, true leaders are symbols that all people can be better. Symbols that all people have in them nobility if they only choose to see it.”
