Ascension of the Whyte

by Karen Wrighton

  The girl looked out from the glass of the cubicula and into the eyes of a group of strangers, regarding her with expressions of astonishment and awe. She did not know who they were. She did not recognise them or the room, with its high domed white stone ceiling and elaborately carved gold and red hawks. She did not recognise any of it. In fact, she had no memory of anything.  She had no memory of her name or where she was from, no memory of family, friends or of ever being Sara, a young girl out shopping for a gift for her friend’s birthday. Her past was an empty landscape, containing nothing but faint outlines, ghosts within the mist.

  As she felt herself tipping upward, she became suddenly afraid. In an attempt to regain her calm, she focussed her concentration on the cubicula’s glass doors. They were misting up as she breathed on them; their gilded lights worn and covered in a mass of tiny scratches from centuries of devoted polishing. She jumped, startled, as the glass doors of the cubicula swung open and her silence was violated by a cacophony of sounds. Her head rattled with the gasps and cries of the flamboyantly dressed, observers though she caught only snatches of their rapidly spoken, muddled words and phrases.

  “...a Whyte,” “... does this mean?” “Prophecy...” 

  Realising that she seemed to be the focus of all this excitement, she felt the back of her neck prickle. A wave of anxious panic engulfed her. Her heart pounded in her chest and then, from somewhere deep within, a voice reassured her that all would be well. Calm washed over her. She felt bewildered, she felt afraid, but something felt right.

  Marcus approached Baroque “We have no robes for a Whyte ascendant.” He said nervously “The only Whyte robes we have are in the vitrine.”

  Baroque took an ornate golden key from the key chain on his girdle and handed it to Marcus.

  “So bring them to her,” he said.

  Marcus hurried to the vitrine, a large glass and gold display case mounted at the entrance of the basilica. For over a thousand years, it had housed the silver white robe, silver slippers and a girdle strung with silver, five petal Rhodium roses. Until today, they had been a mere tourist attraction. Visitors had travelled from all over the Afterlands to get a glimpse of the robes that, to them, were the last remaining vestige of Eldwyn the Whyte and the ancient Rhodium cast.

  Marcus put the key into the lock. Turning it, he glanced down at the inscription on the ornate gold plate on the base of the vitrine:

  'This robe was created from remnants of the robes of Eldwyn the Whyte, the last Master Wizard of Rhodium. Lord Eldwyn cast the mighty petrification spell, binding the Blood Alchemist, Lord Ka-ek-tal, into stone. By this act, Eldwyn prevented Lord Ka and his Ophites from breaking the seal on Tollen's Gate and unleashing the Djinn of Erebus. If it were not for the actions of Eldwyn the Whyte, the Afterlands would have fallen on that day, as did the Rhodium people.

  Lord Eldwyn, struck down by fractionation venom, laid down his prophecy and constructed a potent incantatio spell. However, he did not survive this final battle. Eldwyn’s prophecy foretells of a day when the Afterlands will again be threatened and when a Whyte will, once more, ascend to these lands.'

  With some reverence, Marcus lifted the beautiful white silk robe and accompanying garments from the display. Then from the store cupboard, he collected the appropriate clothes for the other three ascendants of the Whyte quarter, one for the Blood, one for the Mud, and one for the Gold.

  When he returned, the atmosphere in the chamber was tense with excitement. The new ascendants, appearing to have forgotten their earlier trepidation, had congregated around the central plinth to get a better view of what, evidently was an immensely important occasion.  However, they were unaware of how important.  Never before had an ascension quarter held ascendants of more than one cast, there was no precedent for it. Never had a mixed cast cell ascended, let alone one comprised of all four casts.

  As they stepped out of their cubicula, Marcus assisted them into their robes. Not only was there a general excited hum in the chamber, but the news of the Whyte ascension had spread. The fourth sounding of the ascension bell had generated curiosity in many inhabitants of the surrounding areas of the city.  Students from the adjoining Oratory jostled and chattered excitedly as they began to arrive and congregate with the new ascendants.  It was not long before a crowd had also gathered outside, in the basilica’s courtyard, between the two buildings.

  Dux stepped up onto the central plinth.  The room fell silent almost instantly.

  “Welcome to you all. We are honoured today to bear witnesses to a unique and historic event. Many of you will know of the prophecy of Eldwyn the Whyte and be aware of the implications of its fulfilment. However, this is not the hour for speculation. We must continue with the initiation of the new ascendants as usual for the prophecy speaks of the naming ceremony and this may shed further light on the situation.  Therefore, I will ask you all to proceed through to the Atrium, where we can begin the induction of the new novices ascended this day.  Lord Baroque, will you lead the way?”

  Baroque bowed respectfully and then turned to address the assembly. 

  “Ascendants you will follow me to the Atrium.  Please stay with those in whose quarter you ascended.”  He turned to the onlookers, “Make way for the new ascendants.”

  The spectators dutifully parted and the ascendants made their way to the doorway. All eyes remained fixed on the young Whyte ascendant, as she followed Baroque and the others out of the ascension chamber and into the courtyard, now teaming with people. The noise of the crowd was deafening after the relative quiet of the basilica. As the small procession entered the courtyard, the crowd quietened almost in unison, giving a muffled gasp as they saw the young Whyte. As she passed in front of them, questioning voices rapidly grew to a crescendo.

   “Is she the Whyte foretold in the prophecy?”

   “Lord Dux, does this mean war?”

   Dux, ignoring their questions, continued to lead the procession of novice ascendants, High Councillors and Oratory students across the courtyard. Eventually, they disappeared through two majestic golden gates held in place by giant golden fyre hawk statues.

  The Aurum Oratory, where the novice ascendants were schooled, was an ancient, ornate building constructed from polished goldstone and marble. Inside the building was the Atrium; a large oblong chamber with pillars and walls of stone and golden veined marble. At its centre was an opening in the roof, situated above the impluvium, a sunken pool filled with golden coloured liquid and surrounded by four large marble columns. There were steps down into the pool on one side and a large oval golden mirror towered above. The mirror slanted downwards at an angle, which enabled it to reflect the image of the rippling liquid, towards the people seated on the surrounding marble benches.

  The room was humid and warm and the air hung heavy with a dissonance of strong scents. It was as if they had entered a walled garden filled with tropical flowers and herbs... lilies, roses, lemon balm, sandalwood and bergamot. It was a heady aroma. Baroque made a motion towards the novices to indicate that they should sit.

  “You are required to be seated for the soothing.” He said, adding, “Please sit with the rest of your cell.”

  There was a murmur from the new ascendants as they began, tentatively, to converse with one another.  The young Whyte regarded her ‘cell’ with curiosity. They appeared to be an extremely eclectic collection of individuals. There was a tall, scarlet haired boy, with skin so pale and grey that he looked like death. Next to him sat a shy looking girl with long golden hair, who seemed so delicate that she might break apart in the slightest breeze. Then there was the tanned, muscular framed young man to her left. With his thick nut-brown hair, broad shoulders and angular features he looked strong enough to lift the bulky marble benches on which the four of them sat.

  “What’s so special about you then?” The boy asked. He eyed her curiously, but his voice held no malice, and his lopsided smile was warm and droll.

  “I don’t kn
ow, I don’t remember anything, not even my name, do you?”

  “Not a thing,” he said, still smiling as he unconsciously rubbed at his temple “It’s really weird, the weirdest thing ever. It’s like we just got born, only not in the maternal, screaming infant way obviously!”

  The golden-haired girl sitting on her right joined their tentative conversation.

  “Yes, I feel that way too,” she said. Her voice had a soft melodic lilt. “I keep having this strange feeling like I should be somewhere else, but I can’t remember where, I can’t remember a thing. I keep thinking that this must be some crazy dream.”

  The pale boy with the scarlet hair sitting at the far end of their bench spoke without turning to look at them, his eyes fixed on Lord Dux and his tone flat. 

  “Well, if it is,” he said, “then we are all having the same one, which is extremely unlikely.”

  He stopped talking when Dux stepped up onto a small podium in front of the impluvium and it became obvious that Dux was about to speak.

  The second and third years assembled directly behind the novice ascendants. Behind them was a raised platform supporting five large chairs carved from marble, in which the high council were seated. The central chair, evidently reserved for High Councillor, Lord Dux, remained empty.

  “New ascendants of the Afterlands,” said Dux, who had a distinctively soft, hoarse voice, which was surprisingly captivating and almost impossible to ignore. “Now begins your induction into the Oratory of Aurum.  This will include your soothing, in which your names will be bestowed upon you. This will be followed by the ascension feast, and then finally you will be shown to the dormitory of your cast where you will be housed for the next three years.”

  Pausing, Dux shot a stony glare towards the cell of new Muds who were intent on chattering to each other as he was speaking. Sensing his silent chastisement, they quickly quietened, bowing their heads and flushing in embarrassment as they glanced around self-consciously.

  Dux proceeded with the induction. The speech was one that he had made many times before, but this year was to be different. This year, he would have to take great care what he revealed, to these unique and very vulnerable, young novices.

  “I am Lord Bertram Dux, the leader of the high council of Aurum and Prima Magister of the Oratory in which you are to study your potentia. You have, I am sure, many questions and I will endeavour to answer as many of them as I can during this induction oratio.”

  He turned and waved his hand towards the large oval gold framed mirror. On the index finger of his right hand, he wore a gold ring. It had been forged into the shape of a hawk’s talon that grasped a large yellow stone. With his arm outstretched, Dux pointed this ringed finger at the mirror.

  “praeteritum prodere” he said, casting an incantation.

  The yellow stone on the ring glowed. A shaft of fiery light shot out from it, striking the mirror and bringing it instantly to life. The mirror became almost fluid, transforming into a giant shimmering map. Dux turned back to the ascendants, their eyes wide and unblinking, and he smiled; now he had their full attention.

  “What you see before you in the Eye of the Sooth is a map of Afterlands. This world you now inhabit. You can see here the four Afterlands; Ferrum in the West, Aurum to the East where you are now, Hydrargyrum to the south and Rhodium in the north.” 

  As he spoke, the image in the mirror rippled and transformed, zooming in on each area in turn, showing landmarks, rivers, mountains, cities and woodland.

  “The ancients named each land after the primary metal ore within their rocks and on which they built their economies. The land of Ferrum is, therefore, named for its iron and steel, but it is also known for its abundant forests, wildlife and agriculture.”

  Images of a fertile green land, rivers, forests, birds and fields filled with herds of animals swam into the mirror. Then the picture changed to one showing a land of golden fields and mountains, with hawks flying high above cities built from marble and gold.

  “Here you see Aurum, rich in gold and marble and whose people are renowned for their wisdom and intellect.  To the South is Hydrargyrum”

  The mirror instantly filled with flames and yellow smoke. Views of cavernous volcanoes soared into focus, showing lava scarred mountainous landscapes, pitted with mines and pools of dark water lit with wisps of blue fyre.

  “This land, although relatively inhospitable, is rich in mercury and other rare metals and minerals. Hydrargyrum is also home to the rarest creatures of the Afterlands; which includes, of course, our dragons.”

  “Awesome!” said the Whyte cell’s young Mud, as he watched the image of a red-winged dragon fly into view in the mirror, rising at speed, its red eyes glaring menacingly.

  The dragon was heading straight towards them and appeared to be about to fly straight out of the mirror.  The front row of ascendants shrieked and ducked, lifting their arms as the monster leapt out of the mirror, exploded into a mass of flames and showered them with sparks.  Nervous, embarrassed laughter followed as the novices brushed away the tiny golden droplets of fyre that settled on their robes like beads of water on wax.

  The scene in the mirror transformed once again, now they could see a vast landscape of snow and ice, with a beautiful castle crowning the skyline. Its magnificent white and silver turrets reached high into a cloudless sky, but as the scene came into closer focus, they saw that although it remained hauntingly beautiful, the castle was in ruins. A collection of deserted, ice covered, ruined buildings were all that remained of the city. Its gatehouse and barbican walls swam into view and miraculously, these were intact and smothered with the brambles and blooms of thousands of large white snow roses.

  “Finally, we see the land of Rhodium,” Dux said.

  He paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips as his eyes met those of the young Whyte.

  “Rhodium is a land rich in one of the rarest of ores, but it is known most for its people. The Whyte ascendants of Rhodium were endowed with the strongest and most powerful magical potens of all of the Afterlanders. All of the great wizards of the Afterlands were Whytes, the last, and most famous, of these being Eldwyn the Whyte, the wizard whose magic brought an end to the great Dragon War. Unfortunately though, in the end, even his power was not enough to save Rhodium or its people. Until today, Eldwyn was thought to be the last of the Whytes of Rhodium.”

  The young Whyte flushed as she realised that he was speaking about her. Breaking her gaze away from his she shuffled self-consciously in her seat as she realised that all of the eyes in the chamber were now upon her. She felt like an oddity, a freak. Everyone looked so different from her and she felt utterly alone.

  Dux turned back to the rest of the ascendants and continued his Oratio.

   “I am certain you are all aware, that you have ascended to these lands, with no memories of your previous lives in Terra Coram, from whence you came. It has always been this way and prevents you from mourning for your earthly lives. However, you will be curious about your ascendance. Therefore, I shall tell you a little more about this and about these lands and their people, the people to whom you are and will forever be kith and kin. Here in the Afterlands our peoples are comprised of mortal and immortal souls.  The majority of the population are native mortals, however each year four immortal souls are ascended from Terra Coram for each of the Afterlands.”

  He waited for the hubbub of excited whispers to abate before he continued. 

  “Each of you will have ascended with one of four natural potentia; magical skills or talents, which will be developed here at the Oratory, through the teachings of the Magisters. After three years, you will graduate and travel to your lands, where you will take up the positions for which you will have trained.”

  A hand shot up from one of the Muds in the front row. Dux lifted his brows and nodded his permission for the boy to continue.

  “Sir, err... My Lord... if we are immortal, does that mean that we cannot die?” He asked. />
  Dux seemed to relish this interaction; his eyes sparkled, crinkling at their edges as he smiled.

  “Ah,” he said “A good question young Mud, which I am happy to answer. As Immortals, we do not die, in the same way, as mortals. When our physical bodies are spent, we transform once more into vapour and descend to Terra Coram where our vapours are absorbed into a new human life. This human form envelops us, and there we remain, protected, until it is time for us to return. When this time comes, our vapour arises from its earthly form, like a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, ascending once again to this land, and so the ascension cycle repeats.”

  The hubbub restarted and Dux waited again for their excitement to settle before continuing.

  “Each one of you, therefore, is born of an ancient soul, an embodiment of the essence of an immortal who has returned to us in a new form. Presently the Sooth will reveal your ancestral name, together with your potentia. It is then that you will discover the path that has been chosen for you and officially become a novice of the Oratory of Aurum.  This is all a great deal for you to take in at one time, but you will learn much more tomorrow when you begin your classes. Does anyone have any questions that cannot wait until then?”

  A sole hand lifted above the heads of his audience. It was a young male gold, the first to ascend. He was sitting on the second bench in front of Dux.

  “Excuse me, my Lord,” he said, “I was just wondering if you could tell us a bit about the magic skills you speak of, oh and what is the Sooth?”

  There were murmurs and nods of accord from the audience.

  “Of the Sooth, you will soon be intimately reacquainted,” Dux said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.  “The impluvium that you see here before you,” he waved a hand casually at the pool in front of them. “This is what accommodates our Sooth, our most infinitely wise seer, and the prime oracle of the Afterlands. The Sooth has the ability to see through the eyes of others, both humans and animals, over vast distances and occasionally through time itself. The mirror above the impluvium enables us to see what he sees; past events, present happenings and at times, visions of events that are yet to be.”

  Dux warmed to enthusiasm of his captivated audience.

  “During the soothing,” he went on, “the Sooth will enter your spirit vapour. Then, from its aura he is able to reveal your ancestral name and tell us which of the four potentia you are gifted.”

  He looked down at the boy who had asked the question and whimsically raised an eyebrow.

  “As for magic young man,” he said, “well of course, magic does seem rather fun doesn’t it? There