by Kate Jacoby
Jenn listened to them, hearing the anger and long held frustration in Finnlay’s voice and the dark determination in his brother’s. She found herself standing and moving to a position between them. “You don’t have to argue any longer. I’ve decided what I’m going to do.”
The air was thick with anticipation as she spoke her next words. “I’ll go back to Elita.”
“Would you help me with this?”
Robert looked up from his book to find Ayn standing in the doorway of his room, holding out a white stole in one hand and a palm full of silver studs in the other. He stared at them a moment, then pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Keeping his thoughts under tight control he murmured, “So, you’re going to Stand the Circle, too.”
She put the studs in his hand. “Why not? I don’t think the Key will choose me but I think it is up to me and others like me to give the Key some kind of choice.”
Robert took the stole and placed it around her shoulders, pinning it to her grey robe with the silver studs. “Who do you think will be chosen?”
“I’m not the best person to ask. After all, when Marcus stood he did so for the same reasons as me—and he was chosen. I’ve seen five Jaibirs in my time here and I would have guessed at none of them.” She paused. “Perhaps Jenn should stand.”
Robert raised both his eyebrows as he finished attaching the last stud. “So you broach the subject at last. You think to make me change my mind by suggesting Jenn take my place in the Circle—that if I care about her welfare I would sacrifice my own principles to save her. Interesting.”
“Oh, Robert, please ...”
“Don’t.” Robert stopped her with his hands raised. “Sometimes you can be as bad as my brother.”
“I find myself understanding him very easily. He’ll blame you for taking Jenn away, you know.”
Robert shrugged. “He can add that to the list.”
“He will say you poisoned her against the Enclave and the place you’re taking her to is far away. How will she receive any training? How will she survive as a sorcerer? Will you teach her?” She reached up and put her hands on his arms. “Please, I beg you to reconsider. Stand the Circle and finally allow the Key to make its proper choice.”
He looked down into her familiar tawny eyes. It would be so easy to give in. So simple to do as she wanted. She asked so little—and he owed her so much. Her and Marcus. He had wanted this. In his steadfast and forthright manner, Marcus had said over and over again that Robert should take his place. But now Marcus was dead and all Robert had left of him was his widow, dear, faithful Ayn. Her eyes pleaded silently, but she used no power on him. This—this silence was the hardest to bear. To reject her now would be to tell her to her face that he did not respect the memory of her husband, that he did not love her nor care about the community she lived for.
But he did care. He cared so very much.
Even as he turned away from her, a part of him cried out to tell her the truth, explain so she could understand, so she would not hate him. Why had she of all people come to ask this of him?
“I had hoped you and I would never reach this moment.” Self-loathing made the words taste bitter in his mouth, but he continued, unable to stop now that he’d begun. “You and Patric alone have never asked me.”
Patric had always had his own theories, his own reasons for not pushing Robert. But Ayn? Her reasons now were obvious. She wanted him to help the Enclave, to serve it as she did. To help free them from this prison. He could make her so happy—and Finnlay and all the others. All he had to do was say yes.
Robert took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and turned back to face her. Her eyes searched his for some sign, some unbending of his stubborn will. In response, he shook his head slowly, the answer coming without effort. “I cannot Stand the Circle, Ayn. Not today, nor any other day. Please understand that I can never do as you ask.”
He saw the words hit her, like a slap. Instantly he moved forward, desperate to reassure her. “I’ve been away, Ayn, but nothing has changed. I’m still bound by the same constraints I was three years ago.”
She twisted out of his grasp. “Why won’t you tell me the truth? Why won’t you say what the Key told you? How can it possibly be personal?”
“Oh really?” she snapped, “are you sure? I am. I have to be—because otherwise, I must assume your reason is nothing more than cowardice. That you’re afraid to become bonded to the Key and never able to leave this place!”
Robert dropped his hands and stepped back. So this was his choice: do as she asked or be called a coward. But it was no choice at all. The choice had been made for him twenty years before—by the Key.
Yes, it seemed she would hate him after all—both because he would not say yes—and because he could never explain why. The Key had not even allowed him that much freedom. Two things it had said to him, two disparate messages, but because it had said them, he was now forced to lose one of his closest and dearest friends.
“I am sorry, Ayn,” he replied, his voice flat and dead. “I must be a coward.”
She waited, her mouth shut firmly as though she were afraid to speak. Then, without looking at him, she walked out.
He could hear them gathering below, in the great cavern. Hours after the scheduled time, the Enclave was preparing to wake the Key. Robert glanced down at the forgotten book on his lap and, with a sigh, snapped it shut. He placed it on his table, then rose and went out into the passageway. It led to the gallery overlooking the cavern and there he paused, his hands on the railing. He was not ready for this. His public face was not yet in place, his emotions still raw and in turmoil. At any moment he was sure he could be persuaded to change his mind. But this had to be done. He had to make his appearance so that everyone would know he had chosen not to Stand. And once it was over—he could be done with them—all of them.
It was the voice rather than his battered senses which warned him of Jenn’s approach. He straightened up slightly.
“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?” Jenn said quietly.
Robert shook his head, “No. Why?”
“Well, you looked so ...”
“What?”
“Sad.”
Robert glanced at her, wondering how much of his mood she’d seen. Her expression gave nothing away, but still he frowned, “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Speak your mind without regard to the consequences. It’s just that I’ve noticed it a few times—and I can guess what happened with those Guilde soldiers. I just wondered whether you’d always done it.”
Instantly her face coloured and, equally quickly, he regretted speaking. There was no need for him to be cruel to her as well. He hissed in a breath, cleared his mind completely then spread his arms wide in apology. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult day.”
Jenn nodded slightly, but didn’t seem much comforted by his abrupt change of mood. Instead, she moved to the railing and glanced down. “I’ve just been talking to Finnlay. He was trying to convince me to Stand the Circle. Me, of all people!”
Robert was jolted out of his mood by this news. “What’s he been saying now? You know I just had a similar conversation with Ayn?”
“He was very ... how shall I put it?”
As she sorted for the right word, Robert had to smile. “Oh, please don’t be diplomatic on my behalf.”
“Determined? Will that suffice?” Jenn grinned shyly in return. “He told me he realized that my opinion of the Enclave was largely affected by yours and that if only I was to stay here for a while, I would see how it really was.”
“Exactly.”
“He didn’t seem to realize how offensive it was, suggesting I was unable to draw my own conclusions from my experiences so far.”
Robert turned to look at her with new respect. Despite the earth-shattering changes that had happened to her, she still retained an air of control, of purpose, to think for herself. An independence. Perhaps tha
t’s how she’d managed to survive her strange past—and how she managed to make so many perceptive observations.
“I have to admit your experiences so far with sorcery and the Enclave have not been ... inviting, shall we say.”
A warm smile lit her face as she replied, “Oh, don’t be diplomatic on my behalf.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he laughed. “Perhaps Finn’s right and you should Stand the Circle. They could do with somebody with a sense of humour for a change. And I could leave knowing my brother was in good hands.”
“Why do you think I want to leave?” She paused. “Can I ask you a question? Is it true? Am I really Jacob’s daughter? Do I really come from Elita?”
Slowly he nodded. “Yes, it’s true. But come, we must go down. They’re about to begin. We’ll discuss your father and your home later, I promise.”
The great hall was a dome of clean white limestone, as long as a field and half as wide. People streamed in from the doors at either end. Excitement and expectation fired their hummed conversation. They knew what was at stake here.
Micah and Patric were waiting on the cavern floor. As Robert joined them the ceremony commenced with a ringing bell—the Key was waking. In the centre of the cavern stood a pyramid of oak legs covered in snake-like tentacles of intricate carving. From its apex hung the bell, both beautiful and forbidding at the same time. This was the Key, but no human hand struck the peal.
The council entered and formed a line before the Key. Together, they raised their hands high and the crowd, almost four hundred souls, were instantly silenced.
In the centre of the line of Elders Ayn spoke, her voice clear and loud. “Let all Gather within the Enclave and mourn the loss of our beloved Marcus, Jaibir and father to us all.”
A murmur ran through the crowd before she continued. Robert had only heard the litany twice before, but it was for ever burned in his memory. In all likelihood, he was the only soul here who really understood what it meant.
“Let all Gather within the Enclave to witness the choice of the Key. The Key to wisdom, the Key to life. The Key blessed by the gods and the heart of our power. In the choice of the Key comes the choice of wisdom. Blessed be the choice of the Key for that choice will be our Jaibir and father to us all. He will wield the Key, seek out the Calyx an-Feer and once more regain the secret of the Word of Destruction.”
The Elders spread out to form a circle around the bell with their backs to it. Now Henry spoke. “Let all those who would be chosen step forward and Stand the Circle. But know only this. Darkness grows in the hearts of those who long for greatness. It is not to be believed that these are worth their own estimation. That is for the Key alone to decide.”
As he finished, a line appeared on the stone floor at his feet. Like an afternoon shadow, the line stretched out and grew until it had formed a perfect circle around the bell.
Then slowly it moved outwards, rippling along the cold stone flags until it stopped only feet from the crowd.
“Come now all those who would Stand. Come to the Circle and let the Key make its choice.”
The crowd waited in expectation. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, slowly, Wilf left his place and came forward until his feet reached the dark line on the floor. Then another man from the other side of the crowd moved. Then a woman to Robert’s left—and then Finnlay.
Others were moving forward, but Robert was only vaguely aware—his eyes stayed firmly on his brother. Fear and dread gripped him. He had to get Finnlay off that line. This was not the answer.
But he had no right to stop Finnlay from doing this. It was Finn’s choice to make, even as Robert had fought for that same right. Nevertheless, Robert had to try—and now, before the Circle began to move. After that, it would be too late.
He took a step forward but his arm was caught. He attempted to twist away and turned to see who was holding him.
Jenn gazed up at him steadily. “No.”
The bell rang again. It was too late. Robert turned back to see the elders had moved outside the Circle. The bell began to glow. Twelve sorcerers now Stood the Circle, each facing the pyramid and the radiant bell which hung from its arms. Then, slowly and laboriously, the pyramid of supports dissolved away to nothingness, leaving the bell suspended in the air.
The glow increased, but rather than burn brighter, it fuzzed and shifted shape until the bell had gone. In its place was a sleek black shining orb which glistened like dew in the candle-light. The orb now gave out a faint pulsing hum which the crowd took up in reverent prayer. The cavern echoed with the vibration of the orb and the chanting crowd raised their hands towards the dome above. The pulse beat faster and faster, becoming a single solitary roar.
Then it stopped and silence reigned.
Suddenly, twelve arms of light shot out of the orb to pinpoint each of those Standing the Circle. White faces stunned by the light remained frozen in space as the Key went about its choosing. Time stood still as they waited. Robert could not take his eyes from Finnlay. If he should be chosen...
One of the lights died, its object rejected. Then another died and another until all but two remained. Wilf—and Finnlay.
Jenn’s fingers dug into Robert’s arm, but he was oblivious to the pain. He tensed as Finnlay’s face was contorted by some invisible horror. Thoughts, feelings, words flashed across his face and vanished. Then abruptly, the light on him died.
Wilf had been chosen. The Key resumed the shape of the bell and the ceremony was over. Almost as one, the crowd rushed forward to congratulate Wilf. Robert ignored them, unable to take his eyes from Finnlay. His brother had not moved. Robert stepped forward, but before he could get closer, Finnlay turned, pushed through the crowd and ran out.
Music filled the great cavern as a dozen dancers cavorted across the floor, both tired and a little drunk. They were the last of the revellers. The remainder had either retired to their beds or sat slumped in quiet groups around the perimeter quietly talking.
Not yet sleepy, Ayn placed her elbows on the table and gave Henry a smile.
“It’s been an interesting couple of days,” he said in sympathy. “I hope things quieten down for a while after all this.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you’ve actually enjoyed all the fuss Robert and his friends have made.”
Henry shrugged but didn’t deny it. “There’ve been a few questions raised, I’ll admit, and the answers may take some time to find. But that’s all the fun of it, isn’t it?”
Ayn shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I’m getting too old for all this. I even did something today I promised myself I’d never do. I asked Robert to Stand. I betrayed his trust.”
Henry raised his eyebrows in a neat white arc. “Are you sure he trusted you to begin with? From what I can see, apart from his man, Micah, I don’t think the Earl of Dunlorn trusts anybody but himself.”
Ayn twisted her hands together, not wanting to agree, but finding it hard not to. She was still raw from her encounter with Robert and her mind simply refused to clear. “I used to think he did—hoped he did. Oh, I don’t know what to think any more.”
“Perhaps,” Henry mused, “the unexpected death of his wife troubled him more than he showed. After all, Berenice was young and healthy. The shock of that alone would have been enough to change him.”
“You’re making the assumption that he has changed.”
“You disagree? Have you spoken to Finnlay? Alone? Robert’s not the same man who left Lusara three years ago. That amount of time can change anyone—but Robert more so.”
“Why?” Ayn queried, more curious that she would like to admit.
“Because he’s sensitive—to everything that goes on around him. That’s part of what makes him a good leader, why he was so effective on Selar’s council. Oh, he hides it well but he cannot avoid it. I don’t think that’s good.”
Ayn paused and looked Henry in the eye. “I know how I feel about that, but why are you saying it? To me?”
He
nry met her gaze without blinking. “I don’t necessarily think we should count on Robert as our friend.”
“Of course he’s our friend. Just because he insists on keeping his independence of us doesn’t make him an enemy.”
“Not that alone, no.” Henry spread his hands. “He’s never made any secret of his criticism of the Enclave, of our goals and principles. He wanders in here from time to time, talks to some of our finest minds—then goes away contributing nothing more than a few historical theories and the odd refinement to some arcane procedure.”
“You know we can’t keep people here against their will. If they feel they really want to live out there, then it’s entirely their decision. After all, that’s why the Sealing process was developed in the first place. And even if we wanted to, I doubt any of us would be powerful enough to keep Robert here a day longer than he wanted.”
“I appreciate that. It’s just that sometimes I think Robert is not so much working to our plan as to one of his own.”
Ayn couldn’t help smiling. “That’s funny. Only yesterday I was accusing him of having no plan at all.”
Henry’s face showed his surprise. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“But see, that’s my point. He never really says anything to illuminate us on exactly what he’s doing—or why. He goes away for three years and hardly says a word about it. Then, of course, he never has told us what the Key said to him when he was what, seven—eight years old?”
“Nine—and don’t expect him to tell you now. I don’t think he ever will.”
Henry looked away for a moment, then murmured idly, “Come to think of it, how do we even know the Key really spoke to him at all? Did you hear what it said? Do you have any idea what it was about?”
