by Various
“Denk.”
I jumped at the unfamiliar name, then scowled. Anger covered a multitude of mistakes. (It had at home, where my sister had died. Where family subsumed life.)
Nef laughed softly. “You might be older than the usual first-year student, but you aren’t any wiser. Here, take your papers. Make your payments to the Bursar. His office is on the second floor of this building. You can arrange housing with him, or if you prefer, you may rent rooms wherever you like in the city. You start classes in two weeks.”
She wrote a few lines on a sheet of parchment, then pressed her thumb against the lower left corner, murmuring to herself. The quality of the air changed, I caught a hint of breeze in that windowless room, and a sharp green scent cut through the heavy spices. When she withdrew her thumb, a complicated pattern of copper and black occupied what had been a blank space.
Magic. Even here. And used so casually.
If the Registrar noticed my surprise, she gave no sign of it. She blotted the parchment, then extracted several different packets from a desk drawer and collected them into a neat bundle, which she handed to me. My own records disappeared into a different drawer.
A clear dismissal.
I retreated into the Registrar’s antechamber, where I examined this new set of papers. One packet consisted of maps for the University buildings—lecture halls, laboratories, offices for the various departments, and more. Another listed regulations for students, requirements for degrees, and other useless information. If my plans succeeded, I would gain a position in the palace long before anyone cared about my qualifications for a degree. Oh, but here was useful stuff. Lists of official dormitories, plus advertisements for private lodgings. And last of all, the paper with that extraordinary seal.
Irene Denk, it read. Entrant to studies at Duenne University. Departments of Philosophy, Rational Thought, and Magic.
* * *
Let me digress. No, let me explain.
Six hundred years ago, the horsemen of Erythandra rode south into Veraene’s plains. They murdered the chief of Duenne. They established themselves as kings over all the surrounding tribes. Theirs are the names for Lir and Toc used by citizens of the Empire, and theirs is the language for magic and government and learning.
My own province of Versterlant has escaped the Empire thus far. We occupy a land too cold and frozen for their attention, and bounded by the richer lands of Austerlant and Immatra. I grew up listening to the roar of the ocean against our shores, the creak of ice-bridges from one island to the next, and each spring, my heart was seized by gladness as I watched the months-long winter blackness splinter into sunlight.
But rumor slowly came north, how the Empire thought to add the northern lands to its treasury. Austerlant and Immatra, with their gold. Us, with our trade in fish and furs and oil. Austerlant has an army, but it cannot compare with the Empire. And we? We have nothing but winter and ice to defend us. And so my family offered my sister first, then me, as a sacrifice to keep our land free. And I, and my sister, had agreed.
To that end, Lèna and I spent our days studying languages and magic. We devoted our nights to practicing spywork. Versterlant’s Council sent an agent to Duenne as well. Afrim Halil owned a sewing shop in one of Duenne’s wealthy districts. Under the name Anzo Weber, he had collected information about the Court and the University for the past ten years. Ours was a long-lived set of plans. We had at least another decade, we thought, until those rumors of war turned into the truth.
Then came Halil’s report, just twelve months ago. The factions in Duenne’s Court had shifted. The Emperor required a victory abroad to prevent defeat at home. Even now, Halil wrote, he negotiates with his ministers to send his armies north within the year.
Lèna had set off at once for Duenne. Her goal was to steal the Emperor’s most powerful weapon, the three magical jewels, which legend said the goddess Lir had bestowed upon the ancient kings of Erythandra. Those same kings and their mage priests had used these jewels to conquer all their enemies and create an Empire. The Emperor would still have his armies, of course, but such a theft would send the Court into turmoil. It might even overturn his reign. I shall be a thief of war, my sister had said.
My sister failed. She died. Now I must try to do what she could not.
* * *
“My name is Nedda Korbel,” said the first woman.
“Mine is Klera Thaler,” said the other. “And this monster is called Biss.”
Klera bent down to scratch the miniature black-and-white cat at her feet. Biss nipped at her hand, then leaned into the caress, her purr rattling like a steam kettle.
Nedda and Klera had posted an advertisement for a fourth person to share their lodgings. Our agent had strongly suggested I take a single room in the dormitory block, but a brief tour had convinced me otherwise. All the rooms were like closets, with a hundred students in each house. I was certain I would go mad from the chaos within a month. Nedda’s placard, written in neat script, promised generous quarters, low rent, and the quiet of a district outside the University Quarter.
Nedda was the older of the two, a graduate student in her seventh year. She was tall and solidly built, with sharp-cut features and a ruddy-brown complexion. Klera had begun her third year at the University, and was at least two or three years younger than I was. Even before she told me, I knew she was a native of Veraene.
I clasped their hands in turn. “My name is Irene Denk. From the city of Veria in Fortezzien.”
Nedda’s mouth twitched. “What do you study, Irene Denk of Veria in Fortezzien?”
Laughter bubbled underneath her voice. I could not tell if her mockery was friendly or not.
“Philosophy,” I answered evenly. “And rational thought.”
They exchanged glances. Perhaps my reply was more edged than I first supposed.
Klera’s next comment said it was.
“Our friend bites,” she said. “She draws blood.”
“Indeed,” Nedda replied. “But we have begun wrongly. I study juristic. My household consists of nothing but merchants, and they find it useful to have a lawyer in the family. Strangely enough, I do not disagree.”
“Unlike me,” Klera said. “I came here to study economics. Which I do most faithfully, whenever I can spare the hours from my poetry. The third member of our foolish crew is Nedda’s cousin Taavi. He had not returned from his summer apprenticeship, but even when he does, we shall see nothing of him. He is working on his certificate in architecture, and he is sadly behind on fulfilling his adviser’s demands.”
Nedda shrugged. “Taavi will come back when he can. And he pays his share of the rent. Let me show you the room,” she said to me. “You can decide whether it suits.”
With Biss trailing behind us, Nedda and Klera led me on a tour of the lodgings, which occupied the entire floor. There were three bedrooms in all. Nedda and Klera occupied the largest, having divided the room with tall bookshelves. Taavi’s, hardly more than a closet, was tucked in the corner next to theirs, with a tilted desk set opposite the two windows. The last was long and narrow, empty of everything except dust and a broken-down bed. I suspected the building had once belonged to a more prosperous family, because the floors were of fine blue tile, and the ceiling in the common room had once been painted, though its colors were now dimmed by smoke.
Klera and Nedda left me alone in the empty bedroom that might, or might not, become mine. I drifted around its circuit, noting what furniture and other possessions I would need to acquire, until I fetched up by the window, which overlooked a small courtyard. One chicken was pecking in the dirt outside a large coop. A rooster perched on a shed nearby. From a distance came the muffled noises of the immense city, but I had the impression of having found a quiet shelter.
I pressed both hands over my cheeks and closed my eyes. My features had been overlaid with new ones by magic—my hair made thick and springy and my complexion darker—so that I could pass for a native of Fortezzien, but underneath the ma
sk, I could sense my own self, held in waiting.
How would it be, to spend an entire year or longer in these rooms, with these two women? To make them into friends, even when we could be nothing but enemies?
The future does not send us offerings, my mother liked to say.
Only of the past, I thought.
Everyone dreamt of past lives. It was the legacy Toc granted us, in remembrance of his own death and rebirth. We lived, we died, and our souls leapt from flesh to flesh and life to life. But we all of us carried our past in memories that visited us in our sleep.
I, too, had dreamed, but my dreams were scattered and vague. Nothing that offered any clues to the life I lived now.
Biss curled between my legs and settled on my feet, a warm and immovable weight. All at once I wanted nothing more than to unpack my trunk and sleep until the semester commenced. If I must, I can always change to new lodgings, I told myself.
I turned away from the window to find Klera hovering outside the door.
I like it,” I said. “How much for the first month?”
* * *
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling of my new bedroom. Biss crouches at my feet, attacking my toes under the quilt Nedda lent to me. The room is much smaller than my apartment in my family’s household, and much plainer. In the northlands, families decorate their homes with tapestries of dyed wool, depicting the history of our people. The ceilings are either wood, carved into patterns, or they are overlaid with precious stones arranged to reflect the constellations. The walls and ceiling of my room in Duenne are plain white plaster, but I am comfortable enough.
I cannot comprehend my position, not truly. It took me three months to traverse the distance from Hólar in northern Versterlant to the province of Veraene in the heart of the Erythandran Empire. I traveled by ship, by horseback, and finally by caravan. Each day, I was convinced someone would question my papers, my qualifications, but no one had. Léna was right, I thought. Pretend to trust them, and they trust you in return.
But. So. Here I am, no longer Arbija Ismaili of Versterlant, but Irene Denk, a new student of Duenne’s University. The Registrar has approved me. The Bursar confirmed my payments, secured as they are through various banking houses in Ysterien and their representatives in Duenne itself. Through those same representatives, disguised by other connections from Versterlant and Austerlant to Tiralien and then into Fortezzien, I will receive an adequate allowance to establish myself.
All that is left to me is to steal the goddess’s jewels from the Emperor.
* * *
Vrou Nef and the masters had assigned me three classes: an introduction to philosophy and rational thought, with an emphasis on the classical works, a lecture on Imperial history, and—what unsettled me at first—a practical course on magic.
It was nothing, I told myself. Everyone knew magic was connected with history and philosophy. No doubt the assignment fulfilled a University requirement for the department, and while Arbija Ismaili had studied magic since she was four, Irene Denk was a raw novice in the subject. In the end, this introductory course would gain me the necessary credentials for higher study, and speed me along my path to service in Duenne’s palace.
I spent the next two weeks preparing for my classes and my role as student. Klera showed me the booksellers’ shops where I could buy secondhand copies of the titles on my syllabus. She also pointed out the best noodle shops, the cheapest taverns, and even where the moneylenders kept their offices. Nedda offered advice on which laundry provided the best service for the fewest coins. Taavi the cousin wrote once to say he would most likely return the day before lectures began. Nedda scowled when she reported this news.
With only three classes for the semester, I soon acquired what I needed. The rest of the days I spent outfitting my room with better furniture, and exploring the streets between the lodging house and the University District. I was tempted to seek out our agent in the city, but I suppressed the urge. Versterlant’s Council had been quite clear on that subject. I must act alone, except in the direst emergency. That way, if I failed, I would not betray Afrim Halil as well.
On the first day of classes, I collected my books, my pens and ink bottle, and my folder of writing paper, then set off for the ancient hall where a docent would instruct us in basic magic.
Ten students had already claimed seats around the long battered table. More poured through the doors behind me, all of them chattering excitedly. I took my place with the others and occupied myself arranging my pens and papers.
A young woman to my left leaned close. “You won’t need to take notes today.”
“Why not?”
“My cousin told me. On the first day, the docent always— Ah, here she is.”
An elderly woman had entered the room. The docent, obviously. She took her place at the head of the table and gazed around the room. I could read nothing from her expression, but I suspected her chief emotion was boredom.
“Attention!” she said.
She rapped her knuckles on the table. At once, the air around me drew tight and the thick scent of pine and crushed grass filled the hall. The din of voices faded under a cloak of magic. Our docent surveyed us calmly until the conversations all stopped in truth, then with a single word, she released the magical current, leaving only an echo of our voices, and one soft exhalation from my neighbor.
An Ysterien. That surprised me. I had expected another Veraenen, like Vrou Nef and the Bursar. This woman’s pale brown face was a mass of wrinkles. Her eyes were light gray, the color of faded ink. Two brushstrokes marked her eyebrows.
“Excellent,” she said. “You demonstrate the willingness to listen, which is often more than I hope for. Now to judge what skills and latent talents you possess. Do not be alarmed. I shall not expect much from you.”
A murmur of protest rippled through my classmates.
Our docent smiled indulgently. “Listen, my children. If you obey my instructions and practice discipline, this is what you might expect to achieve on your own. Close your eyes. Choose one object that commands your attention. A button. A scratch not yet healed. A necessity you cannot deny.”
Ei rûf ane gôtter, ane Lir unde Toc. Ei rûfe ane zauberei …
The language she used was ancient Erythandran, but the invocation’s meaning was as clear to me as my own mother tongue. I resisted a moment, but the strength of our docent’s magic vanquished all my defenses, and in the end, I let myself succumb. The rattle of pens, the hum of voices fell away. As from a distance came the recollection of my grandmother’s dusky brown face, tucked and folded into lines of great age, reciting the same words …
The dusty dreary hall vanished. I crouched upon a rim of nothing, along with all my fellow students, surrounded by a black void. Bright dots streamed overhead, like stars in a midnight sky—souls in flight to their next lives. Below me spun a multitude of worlds.
Anderswar, the Veraenen called it. The void between worlds. The magical plane.
A soul opposite me winked into nothing. Then another. The young woman to my left gasped. She reached out and clasped my hand. The next moment, her body contracted to a pinpoint of light and she vanished. I reached out to where she had been, only to find myself enveloped by an irresistible warmth. It probed my heart, my mind, a brief, almost apologetic examination, before it released me and I was falling, falling, falling back to the ordinary world.
* * *
There was a time before the first history written, before the first story told, when humankind and the worlds did not exist. There was only the void, Nil, and her lover, Nothing. Between them, they gave birth to our goddess Lir, then Toc, her brother.
For a thousand thousand years, Lir and Toc lived in the void—alone, because Nil and Nothing had no voice or substance. And for a thousand thousand years, it was enough.
But it came to pass that Lir despaired of the darkness. We are gods of mists and shadows, she said to Toc, and it was clear to him that though she loved their
mother, Nil, Lir yearned for something brighter than this constant gloom.
And because he loved his sister, Toc plucked out his eyes—one for the burning sun, one for the cold bright moon—and set them in the skies. Lir found her brother, sitting blind to the glory he had created, his face wet with blood. She wept. She wept and her tears spangled the night sky with stars.
You are the elixir of my joy, Toc said to his sister. With you I am immortal.
And so they joined together in a season of love, on that mountain called the Mantharah, and from their love were born all the worlds, magical and ordinary, and all the creatures that inhabited them. Among these were three jewels, which Lir gifted to humankind.
Or so the legends claim.
* * *
By the time I exited my second lecture, the bells rang the first of the evening hours, and the sun was slanting behind the lecture halls in the University Quarter. I sweltered inside my woolen trousers and tunic, and wished briefly that my grandparents had chosen a northern province for my spy’s identity. Weary and sweating, I trudged back the long mile to my lodgings. Along the way, I bought a lamb pie from a cart, though I had little appetite. At least I had the promise of a cool bath to revive me.
Klera met me at the entrance to the building. “Irene.” Her voice was breathless, and she had an air of innocence and contrition that exactly resembled the one my youngest brother wore whenever he planned mischief. “I forgot to tell you yesterday,” she said. “We … we had planned a celebration tonight.”
Now I heard the roar of voices from above.
“What kind of celebration?” I said. “And where is Nedda?”
“Nedda comes later,” Klera said. “She has a meeting with her adviser to discuss her thesis. But this is our tradition—one celebration before the semester consumes us. Do you mind? Ah, you do. I’m sorry. I will chase them out within an hour. Sooner. I promise. But it would be a shame if you did not try a bowl of noodles first. Ach, what is that smell? I should have guessed. One of Elfri’s meat pies. Let me take that.”
As she chattered on, she abstracted the meat pie and my haversack from my hands. She soon had me up the stairs and settled in the corner of our elderly couch, with a bowl of spiced lamb and egg noodles. Several dozen students occupied every chair and most of the floor in our common room, all of them drinking and eating and gossiping. Biss had vanished, of course.
