“You seem eager this morning,” says the gray-haired magus as he ushers Alyiakal into the study.
“I came across another student of yours, Master Triamon.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“The black-haired young woman.”
The gray-haired magus nods and smiles. “How did you meet her?”
“She gave the image of herself as a great black panther cat. I created an image of a large flame. She dropped the image and laughed.”
“You must have amused her. Otherwise, you never would have seen her.”
“Who is she?”
“That, my young pupil, you will have to discover for yourself.”
“She said the same thing. Are you both so frightened of my father?”
The magus shakes his head. “Your father is but an officer, a strong and honest one. But he is a Mirror Lancer, and one does not anger the Mirror Lancers.”
“Why would telling me her name upset anyone?”
“She has the gift of the Magi’i, and the powers of altage and those of the Magi’i would be less than pleased if I facilitated any acquaintance between the two of you.”
“But I’ve already met—” Alyiakal breaks off the remainder of what he had been about to say as the import of what Triamon said sinks in. Then he asks, “Because you are of the Magi’i?”
“Exactly. There are … agreements…”
“That’s absurd. I don’t intend to consort her.”
“Consorting is not precisely the problem.”
“Then why are you teaching me?”
“To determine if you can become a magus. If the Magi’i accept you, then the Mirror Lancers will not want you. If your talent is only minor, such as lighting candles and healing, then you will never become a magus, and you are acceptable to the Mirror Lancers.”
“Just acceptable?”
“They prefer Lancers who have no talent with order or chaos, but limited ability, especially healing, is acceptable in junior officers.”
“Then why should I study with you?”
“Why indeed?” Triamon smiles.
“Another answer I must find for myself?”
“In the end, we all must find our own answers.” Triamon’s smile vanishes. “Do you wish to proceed with your lessons?”
“Why would I not?”
“Good. Today, we will begin work on the importance of focus…”
After his glass of instruction and practice with Triamon, Alyiakal makes his way to the market square, rather than return immediately to his quarters.
He begins his inquiries with the woman who sells grass and reed baskets.
“Good woman … would you know the black-eyed young woman with black hair?”
“The child of forest and night?”
“Yes … I believe so.”
“No … I have seen her. I do not know her.”
“Do you know her name?”
“No. It would not be wise to ask.”
“Thank you.” Alyiakal makes his way to the next stall.
He visits more than a score of carts and stalls before he comes to the one-eyed beggar propped against the wall. He has always avoided the beggar before, but ashamed of himself for his lack of compassion in the past, he places a copper in the near-empty bowl.
“Heard your question of the weaver, boy. They all fear her, you know?”
“You don’t, I think,” replies Alyiakal with a half smile.
“What’s to fear? Her name is Adayal, and her father is a carpenter. Her mother … who knows?”
“Thank you.” Alyiakal puts another copper in the bowl.
“Just be careful in what you’ll be wanting, young fellow. Great wants call to great danger.” With that, the old beggar closes his one good eye.
Great wants call to great danger? How could wanting to know Adayal’s name be a great want?
With a smile he turns and heads back toward the quarters, hoping to arrive before his father.
IV
Despite all his walks along the wall, and his forays into the town, the summer days pass, and his instruction from Magus Triamon widens, so that he can call up a limited concealment and more illusions than merely flames. Even so, Alyiakal does not see Adayal, or any large panthers, either. Often he climbs the wall of the Accursed Forest and perches or sits there, watching what goes on beyond, trying to hold a concealment as he does, but when he does, he finds he cannot see, and can only sense through his limited use of order. But for all his efforts, he does not encounter the forest girl. He thinks of her as such, even though it is clear that she is truly a woman.
At breakfast on threeday of the seventh eightday of summer, the majer clears his throat. “I received a dispatch late last evening. You were not around.”
“You said I could walk so long as I was careful.”
Kyal continues without addressing Alyiakal’s observation. “I’m going to have to leave this morning and accompany Third Company to Geliendra. Commander Waasol wants to see all the majers posted to duty near the Accursed Forest. Areya will come in to fix your dinner. You’re to fix your own breakfasts and keep up with your lessons. I’ll likely be gone an eightday. I’ve sent word to Magus Triamon. You’re to see him both morning and afternoon. I’ve told him to keep you challenged and busy. You’re to do exactly what he tells you.”
“Yes, ser.” Alyiakal does not point out that he has never not followed the instructions of the magus. He also does not mention the times when he has done things that would have been forbidden, had he asked.
After breakfast, Alyiakal bids his father good-bye and then practices perceiving order. Two glasses later, he leaves to walk to his morning lesson with Magus Triamon. On this day, he does not have to wait, and Triamon ushers him into his study almost at once.
“There are many shades to chaos,” begins Triamon. “To be even the lowest of healers, you need to know the shades and what each signifies.”
“Why do I need to know about healing? Are not the most valuable talents of a magus those that can be used to store and channel chaos?”
“They are … but you are more grounded in order, and order suits healing. If the Magi’i accept you for training, the more you know the better, and because many Magi’i deal more with chaos than is healthy, you should know your limits. Without understanding healing, you will not. If you do not become a magus, then you will be a Lancer, and it will help if you can aid healing of your men. That will keep you from losing too many rankers and give them cause to support you when you need it.”
Alyiakal frowns.
“Mirror Lancer officers will always need the support of their men at least once, if not more often. The ones who don’t get it generally die before they make majer.” Triamon’s words are delivered in a dry sardonic tone that emphasizes their verity.
Alyiakal starts to protest, then closes his mouth. His father does know field healing, even if he does not have the skill of even a beginning healer magus.
“The lowest and least focused chaos is a dull red, infused with gray. Sometimes, even a bad bruise will show this…”
Alyiakal forces himself to concentrate.
V
Even with two lessons a day for close to two eightdays, Alyiakal has more than enough time to continue his walks along the wall, but he sees neither Adayal, nor any large panthers, either. He still studies the creatures of the Accursed Forest from the wall, and he can now distinguish most of them by their patterns of order and chaos, or rather chaos held in patterns by order. But summer gives way to harvest, and Alyiakal has yet to see Adayal, even though he now knows her dwelling … yet she is never there … or she has created a concealment so perfect that his order senses cannot penetrate it. How is he to know which it might be, or both … or neither.
On the second threeday of harvest, early on another evening when his father is away, Alyiakal has removed himself from the quarters to a place on the wall from which he can watch one end of the pool some thirty yards away, the same pool th
at Adayal had shown him the first time he had looked into the Accursed Forest. He can barely make out the stun lizard half-concealed by a fallen log, although it is small, from what he has seen over the past season, only two and a half yards from nose to tail. That is more than large enough to stun a man and a large horse.
He hears a rustling and the faintest of scrapings on the stone … and Adayal sits on the wall beside him.
“You have grown,” she says. “There is an order about you.”
“Magus Triamon has been teaching me how to use order to manipulate chaos so that the chaos does not break down the order of my body.”
“You’ve learned well.”
“I’ve been looking for you all summer and since.”
“I know. Would you like to walk through a little part of the Accursed Forest with me?”
“Have I learned enough to be safe?”
“Enough so that I can keep you safe. Perhaps more.”
“I would like that.”
“Then let us go…” She slips down from the wall onto the mossy ground beside the sunstone.
Alyiakal follows, and when he stands beside her, she reaches out and takes his hand. “This way.”
“Should I hold a concealment?”
“There is no need of that.” Her voice is throaty yet warm.
She leads him down a path. “Look carefully, beyond that fallen trunk…”
He studies where she has pointed, then sees a tortoise, or perhaps it is a turtle, whose shell stretches two full yards with a pattern of light and dark green diamonds that hold the faintest light of their own. Farther on, he sees two gold-and-black birds perched on a limb, the like of which he has never seen.
Adayal stretches a hand out. “Wait.”
Alyiakal waits. His mouth opens as a giant serpent slithers across the path some fifteen yards ahead of them, its scales a mixture of greens and browns that blend so well into the forest that he can only make out the part of its body crossing the darker path.
In time, after she has shown him more creatures than he ever would have believed existed in such a small part of the forest, they come to a tree whose trunk contains a small door. Adayal opens the door and gestures for him to enter.
He senses nothing within and follows her gesture. Once inside, after she closes the door, he can still see, because of a faint greenish illumination that somehow surrounds them.
“There is something else you need to learn, Alyiakal,” she says gently, turning to him. “I would not have you too innocent or too unlearned about women … or learning from rough Lancers.” She reaches up and draws his head down, and her lips are warm upon his.
“Slowly…,” she murmurs drawing him down onto the soft pallet he had not noticed. “Slowly … let me show you.”
Alyiakal, surprised beyond belief, does … so afraid that the moments that follow will end, but they do not, not for glasses.
Finally, she draws her garments back on and around her. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Try to keep some of that sweetness.”
He dresses slowly, not wanting the night to end.
After a time, they both stand at the base of the wall, outside the forest. Alyiakal looks through the darkness, sensing Adayal as much as seeing her. He remains stunned by both the warmth and the fire Adayal had shown, and touched by the gentleness behind both.
“That is how it should be between a man and a woman,” she says softly. “Never forget.”
“How could I?” Abruptly, he adds, “You’re not leaving Jakaafra and the forest, are you?”
“No. I am part of the forest, and it is part of me. I will always be here.”
For all of her words, he can sense a sadness and a regret.
“You must go,” she says. “It is late.”
Too late, he thinks as they separate and leave the wall in different directions.
It is well past midnight when Alyiakal slips back into the quarters, only to find too many lamps lit. He sighs, if silently, and makes his way into the study.
“Where have you been?” asks the majer.
Alyiakal inclines his head politely, hoping his father will answer the question himself, as he sometimes does.
“Out walking the wall road, no doubt, and peering into the forest.” The majer shakes his head. “No matter.”
Alyiakal tries not to stiffen at the resigned tone of voice.
“I’ve been talking to Master Triamon. He says that you have some talent. He also says that you’re not suited to the Magi’i. You are too ordered, and your interests lie elsewhere. He feels that you’d never be more than the lowest of the Magi’i, if that.”
Alyiakal does not sigh in relief, although relief is indeed what he feels. “Yes, ser.”
“That being so … young man, next oneday you’re leaving for Kynstaar.”
“Kynstaar, ser?”
“That’s where they take the sons of Lancer officers and see if they can train them to be officers. Some of what they teach, you already know. Much you don’t. It’s time to see what you can be. There’s nothing more you can learn here.”
“Yes, ser,” replies Alyiakal, although he has his doubts about that, given what he has learned earlier in the evening, but there is little point in protesting. Already, he knows to pick his battles. That much he has learned from his father, from watching the Accursed Forest … and from Adayal.
VI
On fourday, Alyiakal searches Jakaafra for Adayal, but can find no trace of her. Nor can he do so on fiveday, or sixday. On sevenday, he leaves the quarters just after dawn, determined to find her.
She is not at her parents’ house, nor anywhere along the wall.
Finally, he walks to where she had found him on threeday. She is not there. He looks to the wall, then nods. He quickly climbs the wall and stops on the top. Does he dare to enter the forest without her protection?
Do you dare not to?
He takes some time to create a concealment around himself, not one like he has raised before, but one more like the interlocked patterns of the great forest creatures. Hoping that it will suffice, he eases himself down into the forest and onto the shorter path, the one Adayal had led him back to the wall along at the end of their evening. He cannot see, not with his eyes, but must rely on his senses. He walks as quietly as he can, not wishing to alarm any creature needlessly, but he must see Adayal one more time.
He slips around the last curve in the path before her tree bower … and senses that she stands by the door, as if she has expected him.
He hurries to her, dropping the concealment, then stops as he sees the sad smile. “Adayal … I have to leave.”
“I know. I knew then.” She smiles more happily. “You can walk the forest now, whenever you wish.”
“I learned it from you.” Quickly, he adds, “I have to go to be trained as a Mirror Lancer officer … if I can be.”
“You will be, if that is what you want.”
“Will you be here when I finish training? I want you to be with me.”
“Alyiakal, you have seen me. I cannot be far from the forest, and you are meant for one kind of greatness. I cannot share that greatness. Nor would you be happy if I were by your side, because I would be but half there.”
He finds he can say nothing.
“I will walk back to the wall with you,” she says gently. “I cannot tell you how it moved me that you would enter the forest for me.”
Alyiakal’s eyes burn, but he nods. He does not trust himself to speak.
She takes his hand in hers, and they begin to walk.
Two large tawny cougars, perhaps half the size of the great black panther cats, appear and walk before them.
“They … they do your bidding.”
“No … they are here to honor you. For your courage and your understanding of the forest.”
Alyiakal has his doubts, but he does not voice them.
When they reach the wall, there is a flicker, and Adayal appears as the great black panther and sprin
gs to the top of the wall. Alyiakal studies her with his senses, but she is indeed what he sees. He climbs to the top of the wall, where Adayal has returned to being the black-haired, black-eyed, beautiful woman who has loved him.
“Do you see now?” she asks softly.
He nods.
“Do great deeds, honest deeds, and do them with all your heart. You can.”
Now. After a long moment, he slips down the wall and then steps back to look at her once more.
The two tawny cougars have joined her on the top of the sunstone wall, flanking her. She looks down at him, then speaks softly, as if to a beloved, yet her words are clear in his ears and thoughts. “You are a part of the Forest, and part of it will always be with you.”
“Because of you.”
“And you,” she replies.
She stands there for a moment, then reappears as the great panther, framed by the two smaller tawny cougars. An instant later, the top of the wall is vacant.
Alyiakal just stares for long moments that seem to last forever, her words reverberating in his thoughts. Finally, he takes a deep breath.
After a last look at the empty wall, Alyiakal turns and begins the walk back to Jakaafra.
North of the Rational Stars, far, far away
There lie the lands of Naclos, warm and so fey
North of the Rational Stars, well beyond day,
There wait in tall trees words no altage dare say.
In Magi’i of Cyador and Scion of Cyador, there are allusions to a history between the Emperor and his consort, but only allusions. Here is a bit of the backstory.
THE CHOICE
I
The cool misting rain that has briefly enfolded the Palace of Light begins to lift, and the white sun struggles to shine through the mist to bless the greenery of the City of Light, as if to reclaim the first city of Cyador from the gray green of winter. The lightest of breezes whispers into the palace through the half-open window, mixing the scent of old leaves with the faintest hint of trilia and aramyd. As the tall and slender Toziel strides across the polished white stone tiles toward the bedchamber of his mother, the Dowager Empress, he glances toward the tinted panes of that eastern window and out across the green-tinged white stone buildings of the Quarter of the Magi’i.
Recluce Tales Page 8
