Fate

by Mary Corran

  ‘Ah, I should have known you anywhere!’ It was not entirely true, for this girl with the drawn face and air of taut nervousness did not greatly resemble the child he remembered. Omond had lively memories of that girl, always up to some mischief or other with young Callith; but surely her hair had been fair, not dark? He was about to make the observation, then decided it safer to vouchsafe no remark, in case he had it wrong.

  ‘Master Omond.’ Asher bobbed her head.

  ‘Well, child, it is a pleasure to see you again. Mallory here tells me you are having some trouble with one of my fraternity,’ Omond essayed, noting with dismay the antagonism in her expression.

  ‘I’m hardly a child, Master Omond.’

  ‘To me, anyone under the age of seventy is a mere infant!’ he said grandly, and saw her smile, reluctantly, and knew he had hit the right note. ‘Mallory,’ he went on imperiously, ‘you may leave us. We shall do better alone.’

  The tone of his command seemed to please the girl, and Omond found his curiosity aroused. Why should there be such antagonism between the two? He corrected himself: from the girl to Mallory. Yet he could have sworn Mallory was not only concerned for her, but with her. Intrigued, he moved to seat himself in a high-backed, high-armed chair drawn up to the long table where he conducted most of his experiments. ‘Come, child,’ he instructed. ‘Sit beside me, and tell me about the last occasion on which you felt yourself subject to the sight.’

  She took the proffered seat, sitting on the edge of the chair, as if she wanted to be free to jump up at any moment. ‘A little time ago, as we rode through the village.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Omond reached for her hands. ‘Permit me to hold these a while; sometimes there is a lingering residue of the mind of the observer, which may be traced back or sensed by another of the same kind. In this instance,’ and he bowed ironically, ‘myself!’

  Her hands were slender, with short, thin fingers which felt cold in his own, and had ragged, bitten nails; there was a tension in her which communicated itself in every nerve, and again he wondered at the cause. There was something very wrong. He shook himself mentally and set to concentrating on the purpose in hand, seeking to discover what kind of man kept her under his watchful eye.

  Strong, very strong. And distant, too. He did not speak his thoughts aloud, permitting his will free rein as he felt at once the bond that linked the girl to her unseen observer, concentrating on his sixth sense.

  At last, he let her go, sunk deep in thought. The mind he sensed caused him concern for it was far more powerful than his own, plainly younger and more focused — but then it possessed a talisman which led him directly to the girl, wherever she was; in addition, it was a mind which guarded itself from intrusion.

  ‘Well?’ Asher was regarding him with some suspicion, and he loosed her hands.

  ‘You are thinking this is all a dreadful waste of time,’ Omond observed pleasantly. ‘Perhaps you are correct but it can do no harm to try, I think?’

  She flushed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ah, all you see here is mere paraphernalia, which has nothing to do with my craft. These jars and vials I see you looking at are my hobby, to see how various substances act on one another; but the powers of divination are very different, as is the sight.’

  ‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

  ‘Indeed, no.’ Omond was pleased she possessed sufficient curiosity to ask the question. ‘Although divination is an inner eye, a form of sight, as you seem to know, the gift whereby those of my kind perceive the ebbs and flows of future fortunes. Rather as a water-diviner seeks the tug of water. No, the sight I would describe as a roving eye, one that can be bound to a single person rather than limited in place; it is another sense that sees with the will, not the eyes.’

  The girl looked confused, which was not entirely surprising. Omond knew he had not explained himself very clearly. ‘Then how does divination work?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Is it an active or a passive thing? Can you stop it, if you want to?’

  ‘The powers lie in the mind and the will of those who possess the gift. And now I shall demonstrate to you the sight, and I intend to make use of one of those substances I mentioned earlier. Will you fetch me that copper bowl from the lowest shelf?’

  She did so, handing it to him. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘There are many ways of seeing,’ he explained. ‘Some diviners make use of the smoke, some the cards or even lots to increase their power of focus; some have no need of more than their will alone. Your observer has a talisman belonging to you, once worn by you and thus connected to you, and I wish to discover if I can find it — or him. Help me rise.’ She gave him her arm, and he struggled upright. ‘Thank you. I find the process of standing most awkward. Once on my feet I experience no difficulties.’ He moved to the shelves and selected a vial of dark blue liquid from a rack. ‘Would you be so good as to pour water from that pitcher on the floor into the bowl for me? It saves me having to bend.’

  He returned to the table to find all ready for him and unstoppered the vial, pouring the viscous liquid into the bowl of water, stirring it with a thin metal rod until the substance was dispersed; it was not soluble, and floated on the surface, forming circular patterns which revolved around the bowl.

  ‘Now stand behind me, and be still.’ Asher obeyed. ‘Stay there until I say you may move.’

  Omond stared into the bowl, submerging himself in the forms that met his eyes; this, he had discovered, was the most effective method of increasing his own powers of focus. The blue oil revolved, the patterns reflected in the shining sides and bottom of the copper bowl, forming and reforming images which, as he stared more intently still, opened in his mind his other eye, blotting out what he saw with his eyes and showing him — a chain, a chain which led from the girl behind him north, north, towards Venture. The mind to which it was attached was cool, strong; a man, definitely, by the feel ...

  ‘Why did you move?’ he asked sharply, for something knocked his chair and his inward eye had closed, so that now he saw only the images in the bowl.

  ‘I felt dizzy.’ Asher swayed, a hand on the back of his chair.

  ‘Sit down.’ She complied. ‘Now, tell me, what made you dizzy?’

  She frowned. ‘I was looking into the bowl. I think it was the way the oil moved.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Just movement. But when I shut my eyes I kept seeing patterns coming together and separating, and a thick strand that seemed to go against the rest.’ She stopped, blinking, pressing a hand to her forehead.

  ‘Have you seen such things before?’

  ‘Once when I was in the same room as a diviner using the smoke, I think he called it.’

  Omond gave her a sly smile. ‘Has it never occurred to you, child, that you may have, in small part, a gift for divination?’

  ‘No!’ From her expression, he might have been accusing her of some heinous crime. ‘Never.’

  ‘You sound very sure,’ Omond said mildly. ‘I find it curious you should reject my suggestion so strongly. Have you reasons for your dislike of my profession?’

  ‘It’s only that I never believed in such things, not since I was a child,’ she said stiffly.

  He frowned, uneasy, for what she said was nonsense. ‘But it is not a question of belief, child; that is like saying you do not believe in the wind. I am aware you are the survivor of identical twins, which for some reason we do not fully understand grants you immunity from common acts of Fate, so what to the rest of us are causes and effects are mere superstitions to you. But you are not immune to the Fates. How could you be so? You have your own place in the balance of good and evil in our world. And you have not explained your antipathy to my craft.’ Omond tilted his head, bright eyes meeting hers. ‘Explain to me your reasons, if you will?’

  He thought she was going to refuse, but something stirred to life in her as he watched, perhaps anger, perhaps resentment.

  ‘I never believed there was
a way to divine the future,’ she burst out. ‘All my life I told myself it was a lie, all clever guesswork, or even less than that. Until I went to the Oracle in Venture.’ She stopped to draw in a shaky breath. ‘Then I wasn’t so sure. It knew me. That’s what frightened me most, that it knew what I was; and then Mallory was there, and that seemed impossible, too, so the Oracle had to be real and I’d been wrong all my life.’ There was pain in her voice. ‘What’s the point of anything if our lives are planned for us from the moment of our birth? Why should we bother to strive, to work, to care, if nothing makes any difference to the lines of our lives? If there are no real choices? Why should we want to know what will come when such knowledge means nothing — if you tell me I’m going to die in a year, or a month, why should I want to know? What good does knowing do me if I can’t avoid it?’

  ‘I think ... ’ But she had not finished.

  ‘I hate it. It’s as if whatever I was used to thinking of as myself was just self-deception. How can men and women be so important in the grand design of the Fates that they should write each one of us into their master-plan? What is it they want? What do they gain? I don’t — won’t — believe it!’

  Omond coughed. ‘I think you misunderstand the precise nature of divination, child. That is not what can be seen; the gift is to discover what is most probable, not what must be. Of course there is a choice — ’

  She did not hear him out. ‘Is there? When men can say they thank the Fates they were not born women, and at the same time circumscribe our lives because we are, and justify doing so because that is our fate? If that’s so, then the Fates must hate women, so we are unlucky from the very beginning, and any good fortune they permit us is only a mitigation, not really luck at all.’

  ‘You mistake custom for — ’

  Asher did not hear his interruption. ‘When people are sure the Fates dictate who is fortunate and who is not, who rich and who poor, who live and who die? It seems to me an obscene game played at our expense by those who would pull our strings for their own amusement, and laugh at our misery and happiness, knowing whether it will last or be destroyed at a stroke. Where, then, is the choice you speak of?’

  ‘Yet,’ Omond said calmly, ‘from what you say, you do believe. And wrongly.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘The Fates are not gremlins to blame when matters go awry; fate, chance, fortune — they are all these things, and they exist as in a sea, where the tides may go with us or against us. Our lives are influenced by them and their vagaries, since our health, wealth and happiness are all matters for good or ill fortune, from which foot we use when first we set out upon a journey, to whether we are born to be men or women — yes, that is true, but to be either is neither good nor bad; it is the society we have made which makes the one more highly valued than the other. Be grateful you were born here and not in Javarin or Petormin where they have far less use for those of your sex.’ Omond fixed Asher with a stern eye, but she only shook her head. ‘Nor have the Fates written a future for you that cannot be altered. Only one where their influence may affect the outcome of the choices which are freely yours to make — ’

  ‘No.’ She turned away from him, her face set.

  He could see it was no use arguing with her; she was still too agitated for detailed explanations. Instead, he rose to his feet and fetched from the shelves a mechanical device, a scale model of Tenebran, both moons transfixed by thin metal wires to attach them, one end of each depending from one of two grooved metallic circles ringing the world approximating to the moons’ rotations. Those in turn were themselves secured to the frame built round the model by solid pieces of wire from top to frame, in order not to impede movement.

  ‘Take a look at this apparatus. I am quite proud of it for I made it myself a few years back,’ he observed to Asher. ‘See how I have tried to make it accurate by separating the rotations of our moons, so that Aspire is further away than Abate, and larger, so that it takes longer to go round our world. It resembles an orrery, but uses Tenebran as its focus.’ He took a small handle from his pocket. ‘This is not only a model, but a working model. Come and look closer.’ He inserted the handle into a slot in the base and began to turn it; as he did so, all three globes began to rotate at different speeds, at first slowly, then faster. It was possible to make out the individual lands of the Dominion marked on the main globe, shaded grey to differentiate them from Saffra, marked in white, and the seas in deep blue. There were other landmasses marked far away to the west of Darrian.

  ‘What are those?’ Asher asked, pointing.

  ‘Just a notion of my own.’ Omond was pleased his ploy was proving effective. ‘I have postulated the existence of other lands, beyond the reach of our present knowledge, so I incorporated them into this design. I may be wrong, but westward migrations are commonest. Look at the moons. Just as they affect the tides of the seas, so, too, they affect the tides of our fortunes, for good or ill, Aspire in our favour when waxing, Abate working against us when waning. This is why their positions on the night of your birth are so important.’

  The moons had been marked in divisions, so it was possible to see, if they moved slowly enough, which sections would be visible on any one night throughout the year. Asher was fascinated, especially when the globes began to move faster, moons and world rotating on their separate axes so precisely that the same face of both moons was always presented to the world.

  ‘Watch the globes carefully,’ Omond said softly, glad of her absorption. ‘See how the moons move round the world, and at the same time rotate on their axes; that is known as a captured rotation. Abate moves faster than Aspire. Watch, and see how they turn, faster and faster, until they blur before your eyes.’ Prudently, he looked away, for it was impossible to follow the speed of the spinning globes.

  Asher seemed bemused, unable to turn her head away as she listened to Omond’s soft voice.

  ‘See the oceans, how wide they seem compared with the Dominion; see how small and insignificant Javarin appears,’ he went on, in the same, quiet tones. ‘Strange, to think of our world ruled by that one small piece of ground, that so much of the world’s good fortune should for this time attach itself to that land. Can you make it out? Try. See if you can.’

  Asher strove to comply, but she seemed suddenly too weary to stand; there was a chair immediately behind her and she sank on to it.

  ‘Look,’ Omond’s voice went on. ‘Look, and tell me what you see.’

  Asher’s head fell forwards, and her eyes closed, as if it were too great an effort to keep them open. He put a hand to her shoulder and it felt relaxed, almost boneless, as if she had drifted into sleep.

  Quickly, Omond took a gold chain from one of his pockets and placed it over her head, settling it about her neck. ‘This is yours, your chain; it has always been yours. You wear it even in sleep. It was a gift from your mother who is dead, who gave it to you believing that the eight-petalled flower which hangs from it would keep you safe. You know this and no matter that you do not believe it, you would never loose the chain, nor the charm.’ He paused, and Asher’s left hand came up to touch the chain, then the gilded flower, only briefly, as if she wanted to be sure they were still in place. Satisfied, he continued: ‘This chain, this charm, bind your life to me; if danger threatens, be sure I will know of it. Through my will, I attune it to you, to you at this place and this time when you are safe from all harm. If the pattern changes, then I shall know of it through my sight. Keep this safe; keep it always with you.’

  He felt the subtle pressure on his own mind, a small part of his sixth sense attuned to her present self, the chain a link between them, and knew he had done all he could. He stepped back and touched a hand to the model, slowing the whirling of the globes until they revolved at a more sedate pace, but when he was about to speak the words to awaken Asher, he hesitated. Might it not be wiser to look and see if there were danger threatening her? Awake she would refuse, but entranced, it was possible. He had complied with Mallory�
��s request because of his own concern for the girl, but he felt a twinge of conscience at taking advantage of his gift in a way which she would undoubtedly reject, if he gave her a choice.

  He took her hands again, noticing the difference in tension. With her conscious mind relaxed, the link between them should be sufficient for him to see a short way into the maze of future possibilities. He concentrated his will towards her, seeking the tides of fortune flowing round her, and saw:

  Death. Around, ahead, and at her side. Everywhere I look, there is death. Omond shuddered, the sense of horror reaching out to embrace him as his inner eye watched the patterns merge together. So many choices, and so many deaths. But how — how may this be avoided? Make the right choice — but which was it? He could not see clearly, possibilities merging with probabilities so that there was no clear path through the maze. It frightened him, for he had never seen anything like it in his life; he let go her hands, wondering what to do.

  Perhaps the girl is right. What does it profit me to see this, but to be helpless to save her or those close to her? He felt, suddenly, old and frail and powerless. He would tell Mallory; that was all he could do to help the girl. But first he must rouse her.

  ‘Wake now, and as you do so, remember only the globes.’

  Asher stirred, then blinked, sitting up with a yawn. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized, shaking her head to clear it. ‘Your model seems to have made me sleepy.’

  ‘You have had a long journey. But I have finished my tests now, and you may rest.’ Omond was shocked to see his hands were shaking, and hid them in the long sleeves of his robe.

  ‘Is there someone, then? Watching me?’ She looked wary, as if she were not sure she wanted an answer to her question.

  ‘There is. A diviner of great strength who observes from a distance, from Venture. I fear that is all I can tell you.’

  ‘What does he see? When he looks at me, I mean? Can he see in the dark?’ Her left hand strayed towards her neck, touching the chain he had placed there. For a moment she seemed puzzled, then smiled and let the hand drop back to her side.