Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  “What will happen to him, do you think?” she asked, affecting nonchalance.

  “That is up to the Council. I will make my recommendation.” He started to turn away.

  Orla stepped forward, touched him on the arm. She felt him flinch, draw back from her. But, when he faced her, his expression was pleasant, patient. Perhaps she had just imagined the flinch.

  “Yes, Wife?”

  “He won't be … like the others?” she faltered.

  Samah's eyes narrowed. “That is for the Council to decide.”

  “It wasn't right, Husband, what we did long ago,” Orla said determinedly. “It wasn't right.”

  “Are you suggesting that you would defy me? Defy the decision of the Council? Or, perhaps, you already have?”

  “What do you mean?” Orla asked, staring at him blank-

  “Not all who were sent arrived at their destination. The only way they could have escaped their fate was to have foreknowledge of it. And the only people who had that knowledge were the members of the Council…”

  Orla stiffened. “How dare you suggest—”

  Samah cut her short. “I have no time for this now. The Council will convene in one hour. I suggest you return that beast to its keeper and tell Alfred to prepare his defense. He will, of course, be given a chance to speak.”

  The Councillor walked out of the garden, heading for the Council building. Orla, perplexed, troubled, watched him, saw Ramu join him, saw them put their heads together in serious and earnest conversation.

  “Come,” she said, sighing, and led the dog back to Alfred.

  Orla entered the Council chamber strong with resolve, her attitude defiant. She was prepared to fight now as she should have fought once before. She had nothing to lose. Samah had practically accused her of complicity.

  What stopped me then? she asked herself. But she knew the answer, though it was one she was ashamed to admit.

  Samah's love. A last, desperate attempt to hold onto something I never truly had. I betrayed my trust, betrayed my people, to try to cling with both hands to a love I only truly held with the tips of my fingers.

  Now I will fight. Now I will defy him.

  She was fairly certain she could persuade the others to defy Samah, as well. She had the impression several of them were feeling not quite right about what they'd done in the past. If only she could overcome their fear of the future …

  The Council members took their places at the long marble table. When all were present, Samah entered, sat in his chair at the center.

  Prepared for a stern and judgmental Councillor, Orla was astonished and surprised to see Samah relaxed, cheerful, pleasant. He gave her what might be taken for an apologetic smile, shrugged his shoulders.

  Leaning over to her, he whispered, “I'm sorry for what I said, Wife. I'm not myself. I spoke hastily. Bear with me.”

  He seemed to wait with some anxiety for her reply.

  She smiled at him tentatively. “I accept your apology, Husband.”

  His smile broadened. He patted her hand, as if to say, Don't worry, my dear. Your little friend will be all right.

  Astonished, puzzled, Orla could only sit back in her chair and wonder.

  Alfred entered, the dog trotting along faithfully at his heels. The Sartan took his place—again—before the Council. Orla could not help thinking how shabby Alfred looked— gaunt, stooped-shouldered, poorly made. She regretted she hadn't spent more time with him before the meeting, hadn't urged him to change out of the mensch clothes that were obviously having an irritating effect on the other Council members.

  She'd left him hurriedly after returning the dog, though he'd tried to detain her. Being with him made her uncomfortable. His eyes, clear and penetrating, had a way of breaking down her guard and sneaking inside her in search of the truth, much as he'd sneaked inside the library. And she wasn't ready for him to see the truth inside her. She wasn't prepared to see it herself.

  “Alfred Montbank”—Samah grimaced over the mensch name, but he had apparently given up his attempts to urge Alfred to reveal his Sartan name—“you are brought before this Council to answer two serious charges.

  “The first: You willfully and knowingly entered the library, despite the fact that runes of prohibition had been placed on the door. This offense you committed two times. On the first occasion,” Samah continued, though it seemed Alfred wanted to speak, “you claimed you entered by accident. You stated that you were curious about the building and, on approaching the door, you … um … slipped and fell through it. Once inside, the door shut and you couldn't get out, and you entered the library proper searching for the exit. Is this testimony that I've repeated subtantially true?”

  “Substantially,” Alfred answered.

  His hands were clasped before him. He did not look directly at the Council, but darted swift glances at them from beneath lowered eyes. He was, Orla thought unhappily, the very picture of guilt.

  “And on this occasion, we accepted this explanation. We explained to you why it was that the library was prohibited to our people, and then we left, trusting that we would have no need to say anything further on the subject.

  “Yet, in less than a week, you were again discovered in the library. Which brings us to the second, and more serious, charge facing you: This time, you are accused of entering the library deliberately and in a manner which indicates you feared apprehension. Is this true?”

  “Yes,” said Alfred sadly, “I'm afraid it is. And I'm sorry. Truly very sorry to have caused all this trouble, when you have other, greater worries.”

  Samah leaned back in his chair, sighed, and then rubbed his eyes with his hand. Orla sat regarding him in silent astonishment. He was not the stern, awful judge. He was the weary father, forced to administer punishment to a well-loved, albeit irresponsible, child.

  “Will you tell the Council, Brother, why you defied our prohibition?”

  “Would you mind if I told you something about myself?” Alfred asked. “It would help you understand …”

  “No, please, Brother, go ahead. It is your right to say whatever you like before the Council.”

  “Thank you.” Alfred smiled, faintly. “I was born on Arianus, one of the last Sartan children born on Arianus.

  That was many hundred years after the Sundering, after you went to your Sleep. Things weren't going well for us on Arianus. Our population was decreasing. Children weren't being born, adults were dying untimely, for no apparent reason. We didn't know why then, though, perhaps,” he said softly, almost to himself, “I do now.1 That, however, is not why we're here.

  “Life for the Sartan on Arianus was extremely difficult. There was so much needed to be done, but not enough people to do it. The mensch populations were increasing rapidly. They had gained in magical talent and in mechanical skills. There were far too many of them for us to control. And that, I think, was our mistake. We weren't content to advise or counsel, offer our wisdom. We wanted to control. And since we couldn't, we left them, retreated below ground. We were afraid.

  Our Council decided that since there were so few of us remaining, we should place some of our young people in stasis, to be brought back to life some time in the future when, hopefully, the situation had improved. We were confident, you see, that by then we would establish contact with the other three worlds.

  “There were many of us who volunteered to enter the crystal chambers. I was one of them. It was a world,” Alfred said quietly, “I was glad to leave.

  “Unfortunately, I was the only one to come back.”

  Samah, who had seemed to be only half-listening, a patient, indulgent expression on his face, sat up straight at this and frowned. The other members of the Council murmured among themselves. Orla saw the anguish, the bitter loneliness of that time, reflected on Alfred's face, felt her heart wrung with compassion, pity.

  “When I woke, I discovered that all the others, all my brothers and sisters, were dead. I was alone in a world of mensch. I was afraid, te
rribly afraid. I feared die mensch might find out who and what I was, discover my talent for magic, try to make me use that talent to aid them in their ambitions.

  “At first, I hid from them. I lived… I don't know how many years of my life in the underground world to which the Sartan had retreated long ago. But, during those rare times I visited the mensch in the worlds above, I couldn't help but see what dreadful things were happening. I found myself wanting to help them. I knew I could help them, and it occurred to me that helping them was what we Sartan were supposed to be doing. I began to think that it was selfish of me to hide myself away, when I might, in some small way, try to make things right. But, instead, as usual, I only seemed to have made things all wrong.”2

  Samah stirred, somewhat restlessly. “Truly your story is tragic, Brother, and we are grieved to have lost so many of our people on Arianus, but much of this we knew already and I fail to see—”

  “Please, bear with me, Samah,” Alfred said, wiuVa quiet dignity that was, Orla thought, most becoming to him. “All that time I spent with the mensch, I thought of my people, missed them. And I knew, to my regret, that I'd taken them for granted. I had paid some attention to their stories of the past, but not enough. I had never asked questions, I wasn't interested. I knew, I realized, very little about being a Sartan, very little about the Sundering. I grew hungry for that knowledge. I'm still hungry for it.”

  Alfred gazed at the members in wistful pleading. “Can't you understand? I want to know who I am. Why I'm here. What I'm expected to do.”

  “These are mensch questions,” said Samah, rebuking. “Not worthy of a Sartan. A Sartan knows why he is here. He knows his purpose and he acts upon his knowledge.”

  “Undoubtedly, if I had not been so much on my own, I would have never been forced to ask such questions,”

  Alfred answered. “But I didn't have anyone to turn to.' He stood tall, no longer crushed with awe, no longer meek, apologetic. He was strong with the Tightness of his cause. “And it seems, from what I read in the library, that others asked the same questions before me. And that they found answers.”

  Several Council members glanced uneasily at each other, then all eyes turned to Samah.

  He looked grave and sad, not angry. “I understand you better now, Brother. I wish you had trusted us enough to tell us this before.”

  Alfred flushed, but did not lower his gaze to his shoes, as he was wont, He regarded Samah steadily, intently, with that clear-eyed gaze that had often disturbed Orla.

  “Let me describe our world to you, Brother,” said the Councillor, leaning forward, fingertips together on the top of the table. “Earth, it was called. Once, many thousands of years ago, it was ruled exclusively by humans. Consistent with their warring, destructive nature, they unleashed a dreadful war upon themselves. The war did not destroy the world, as so many had feared and predicted. But it changed the world irretrievably. New races, they say, were born out of the cataclysmic smoke and flame. I doubt the truth of that. I believe these races were always present, but had remained hidden in the shadows, until the light of a new day should dawn.

  “Magic came into the world then, supposedly, though all know that this ancient force has been in existence since the beginning of time. It, too, was waiting for the dawn.

  “There had been many religions in the world over the centuries; the mensch being glad to toss all their problems and frustrations into the lap of some nebulous Supreme Being. Such Beings were numerous and varied. They were never seen, capricious, demanded to be taken on faith and faith alone. No wonder, when we Sartan came to power, the mensch were thankful to switch their allegiance to us, to flesh and blood beings, who laid down strict laws that were fair and just.

  “All would have been well, had it not been that our opposite number, the Patryns, rose to power at the same time.3 The mensch were confused, many began to follow the Patryns, who rewarded their slaves with power and wealth seized at the expense of others.

  “We fought our enemy, but battle proved difficult. The Patryns are subtle, tricky. A Patryn would never be crowned king of a realm, for example. They left that to the mensch. But you would be sure to find one of their number acting in the role of ‘adviser’ or councillor”

  “And yet,” Alfred inserted mildly, “from what I have read, the Sartan were often to be found in such roles themselves.”

  Samah frowned at the implication. “We were true advisers; we offered counsel and wisdom and guidance. We did not use the role to usurp thrones, to reduce the mensch to little more than puppets. We sought to teach, to elevate, to correct.”

  “And if the mensch didn't follow your advice,” Alfred asked in a low voice, clear eyes unwavering, “you punished them, didn't you?”

  “It is the responsibility of the parent to chastise the child who has behaved heedlessly, foolishly. Certainly we made the mensch see the error of their ways. How would they learn otherwise?”

  “But what about freedom of will?” Alfred took several steps toward Samah, passion carrying him forward. “Freedom to learn on their own? To make their own choices? Who gave us the right to determine the fate of others?”

  He was earnest, articulate, confident. He moved with grace, with ease. Orla thrilled to hear him. He was speaking aloud the questions she had asked often in her own heart.

  The Councillor sat silent during the onslaught, cold, unassailable. He let Alfred's words hang in the quiet, tense atmosphere for a moment, then caught and returned them with studied calm.

  “Can a child raise itself, Brother? No, it cannot. It needs parents to feed it, teach it, guide it.”

  “The mensch are not our children,” Alfred returned angrily. “We did not create them! We did not bring them into this world. We have no right to try to rule their lives!”

  “We did not try to rule them!” Samah rose to his feet. His hand flattened on the table, as if he might have struck it, but he controlled himself. “We permitted them to act. Often, we watched their actions with deep sadness and regret. It was the Patryns who sought to rule the mensch. And they would have succeeded, but for us!

  “At the time of the Sundering, the power of our enemy was growing exceedingly strong. More and more governments had fallen under their sway. The world was embroiled in wars, race against race, nation against nation, those who had nothing slitting the throats of those who had everything. No darker time had ever been and it seemed worse must come.

  “And then it was that the Patryns managed to discover our weakness. Through vile trickery and magic, they convinced some of our people that this nebulous Supreme Being, whom even the mensch had now ceased to worship, actually did exist!”

  Alfred started to speak.

  Samah raised his hand. “Please, let me continue.” He paused a moment, put his fingers to his forehead, as if it ached. His face was drawn, fatigued. With a sigh, he resumed his seat, looked back at Alfred. “I do not fault those who fell victim to this subterfuge, Brother. All of us, at one time or another, long to rest our head upon the breast of One stronger, wiser than ourselves; to surrender all responsibility to an All-Knowing, Ail-Powerful Being. Such dreams are pleasant, but then we must wake to reality.”

  “And this was your reality. Tell me if I'm wrong.” Alfred regarded them with pity, his voice soft with sorrow. “The Patryns were growing stronger. The Sartan were splintering into factions. Some of them began denying their godhood. They were prepared to follow this new vision. And they threatened to take the mensch with them. You were on the verge of losing everything.”

  “You are not wrong,” Orla murmured.

  Samah cast her an angry glance that she felt but did nut see. She was looking at Alfred.

  “I make allowances for you, Brother,” the Councillor said. “You were not there. You cannot possibly understand.”

  “I understand,” said Alfred clearly, firmly. He stood straight and tall. He was, Orla thought, almost handsome. “At last, after all these years, I finally understand. Who did you truly fe
ar?”

  His gaze swept over the Council. “Was it the Patryns? Or did you fear the truth: the knowledge that you aren't the moving force in the universe, that you are, in fact, no better than the mensch you've always despised? Isn't that what you truly feared? Isn't that why you destroyed the world, hoping to destroy truth as well?”

  Alfred's words echoed throughout the silent hall.

  Orla caught her breath. Ramu, face dark with suppressed fury, cast a questioning glance at his father, as if seeking permission to do or say something. The dog, who had flopped down at the Sartan's feet to doze through the boring parts, sat up suddenly and glared around, feeling threatened.

  Samah made a slight, negating gesture with his hand, and his son reluctantly settled back in his chair. The other Council members looked from Samah to Alfred and back to their Councillor again, more than a few shaking their heads.

  Samah stared at Alfred, said nothing.

  The tension in the room grew.

  Alfred blinked, seemed suddenly to realize what he'd been saying. He began to droop, his newfound strength seeping from him.

  “I'm sorry, Samah. I never meant—” Alfred shrank backward, stumbled over the dog.

  The Councillor rose abruptly to his feet, left his chair, walked around the table and came to stand beside Alfred. The dog growled, ears flattened, teeth barred, tail swishing slowly side to side.

  “Shush!” said Alfred unhappily.

  The Councillor reached out his hand. Alfred cringed, expecting a blow. Samah put his arm around Alfred's shoulders.

  “There, Brother,” he said kindly, “don't you feel better now? Finally, you have opened up to us. Finally, you trust us. Think how much better it would have been for you if you had come to me or to Ramu or Orla or any of the Council members with these doubts and problems! Now, at last, we can help you.”

  “You can?” Alfred stared at him.

  “Yes, Brother. You are, after all, Sartan. You are one of us.”

  “I'm s-sorry I broke into the library,” Alfred stammered. “That was wrong. I know. I came here to apologize. I don't… don't know what got into me to say all those other things—”