by Katy Winter
"Not me, Master. I remember how you taught me and I'll never fall for that again. My lessons are well learned." Bene tilted his goblet, smacked his lips, then chuckled.
"Drink more of your wine, youngster. Do you like it?"
"I haven't drunk any for a very long time, not as good as this either."
Bene rose to pour himself some more, offering more to Autoc who shook his head. Bene settled himself again and began to speak in his slow, melodious voice.
"My mother was from the Shadowlands, Autoc. Her name was Shahdan. She met my father when he horse-traded at the edge of the forest and slept with him. He was a strong-minded man, not averse to taking what he wanted if it wasn't freely offered. My mother was mesmerised by him.
His personality was magnetic, and he had a magnificent singing voice that thrilled all who heard him. He was a gifted musician. For a very long time, I never knew nor sought his origins. He was physically large and unusually dark-eyed and dark-haired for one who came from so far south. He knew horseflesh like the back of his hand. I've had little time to consider things like that, certainly not until the last cycle or so in Floronderiel." He was quietly ruminative and gave Autoc a quick glance. "My father never knew I was born until he came back on the same trading circuit seven cycles later. He took me against both my will and my mother's." Bene was thoughtful, then went on. "I was with him for five cycles before I ran away in an effort to return to my mother. He was a man who drank much. He whored and regularly beat me, night after night, until I was too sore to sleep. I used to love to hear him sing and watch him play the pipes, and, when he was sober, he taught me much and was reasonably kind to me." Bene paused again. "We were well south when I decided I had to go home to the Shadowlands. It was a long journey. Life was hard. I was tall and thin and very nearly starved.
A herbalist healer found me crouched, half-dead, in a ditch. He took me in. He was a Yazd." Bene saw understanding on Autoc's face. "Aye," he nodded. "He recognised talent and fostered and taught me. He even decided to help me find my mother, because he knew he'd be welcome in the Shadowlands as I was." Bene fell silent, engrossed in private reminiscence. Autoc watched him, fascinated. The white hair was longer than the mage remembered it and spikier if that was possible: the long silver beard, though, was soft and silky. The velvet eyes, so like Chlorien and Bethel's, glowed.
"And did you find her, Master?" Bene looked up with a twisted smile.
"Yes, we did. She took us both back to the deepest Shadowlands. She had another child, but to him." Autoc drew in his breath sharply.
"Who is it?" he asked unsteadily.
"Chloronderiel," said Bene gently, his eyes coming to rest on the startled mage.
"The ancestral patriarch whom all Shadowlanders revere today? The man I was taught to respect above all others in the Shadowlands?" Autoc broke off, his voice incredulous. "Master, is this possible? I never knew this. Do others?"
"Aye, young one, Indariol does. So does Istarial and the closest of the line. I cared for Chloronderiel when he was young, because he meant much to me - my little brother always will, though he's well and truly long gone. The Shadowlanders were good to me, even though I'm only half-Shadowlander and bear no physical resemblance to them, other than in my hair that I inherited from my mother. My life is entwined with theirs in a way few can comprehend. The Mishtok informed Yarilo I was in the north and I was sent here to train as a mage. At first I didn't wish to stay."
"Why was that?"
"The time I spent with my father harmed me in ways only my mother and Kedric -." The Archmage broke off at the blank look on Autoc's face.
"Kedric?"
"The healer," explained Bene, drinking thoughtfully. "I was restless, unfulfilled and quite unable to settle. I sought outside for what could only be found through inner enlightenment. I was impatient and headstrong like my father and had to be taught these traits had to be overcome if I wished to be a mage."
"You did, Master."
"After running away twice," agreed Bene wryly, starting to laugh. "Finally, an old mage you'd only have read about, Soryn, took me personally in hand. I learned to respect him. I took his rigid discipline though I resented it for long cycles. He made me face myself and come to terms with what I was. He was a hard teacher, young one, but he was very wise."
"What happened to Kedric?"
"He died long before my mother, but he brought her great happiness and he adored Chloronderiel as much as I did."
"Well," whistled Autoc. "So she's part Shadowlands too."
"She?" asked Bene, an interrogative lift to his eyebrows.
"Chlorien," answered Autoc. "Shall I open to you, Master? Is that your wish?"
Autoc had the oddest sensation when he locked eyes with the Archmage, because Bene's eyes were so like Chlorien's, except in their ageless wisdom. Hers were the orbs still of a child. He was briefly shaken before he felt Bene's power absorb him and relive his Ambrosian experiences.
They stayed mind-linked for an extremely long time. When they disengaged, Autoc looked wearily across at Bene and realised, anew, how frail and pale the old mage was. It was as if Bene's efforts, to try to rectify the harm he'd unwittingly done, had sapped much of the Archmage's vitality and left him almost physically transparent. Autoc suspected it was sheer will-power that drove Bene and wouldn't let him rest. He watched the Archmage upend his goblet with hands that shook.
"You've done so well, my young friend," Bene murmured, before he downed the goblet contents in one gulp. Autoc followed suit, then rose to refill both goblets.
"I hope she can stand for what she believes in," he said quietly. Bene took his goblet with one hand and Autoc's hand with the other.
"I thank you for what you've done," he said softly, the glow back in eyes that blinked with exhaustion only moments before. Autoc looked down at the Archmage with a rueful twinkle in his eyes.
"She didn't always thank me though, did she?" An answering smile met his and Bene released his hold on Autoc's hand.
"You think she's ready, do you, Autoc?"
"Yes, Master, I do. She's as ready as she'll ever be. It's just time she needs to let what she's learned grow and be part of her, helped, of course, by what she'll learn with the Rox and the Shadowlanders. I believe in her - absolutely." Bene's look was penetrating.
"Aye," he said non-commitally, sipping at the wine.
"She'll see and learn much over the next cycles."
"Aye, she will," agreed Bene amiably, glancing quickly sideways at Autoc.
"She liked Jaim," mumbled the mage, changing the subject. Bene followed the lead Autoc gave, chatting affably about Ambros, until a long silence fell on the room. Autoc drained his goblet and set it on the table. Bene's was already there.
"Your caring for the little one is profound, young one," Bene observed in a gentle voice. "I can feel it. You and she are bonded one to the other." Autoc looked up, pain in his eyes.
"Perhaps," he responded, his expression suddenly unreadable. "She'll bond with Nikos now," he added.
"You're tired," said Bene, getting to his feet. "You need rest. Why not lounge on your bed in comfort?"
Autoc was unbearably tired. He hadn't realised how much until the mind-link broke. Wearily, he rose and crossed to the bed, throwing himself onto it with a sigh. Before he was even aware of it, a gentle hand brushed his forehead - despite his remonstrance and the summoning of his skills, he knew Bene was doing to him what he himself had so often done to Chlorien.
His mouth curled in an ironic smile as he let himself go, surrendering to the control that was as familiar to him as breathing. His master was sending him to sleep. Even as he began to drift, Autoc realised he must be deeply exhausted to let himself be so easily manipulated. Bene stood looking down at the gaunt face, his own inscrutable, then he lifted a cover over the very tall figure before he turned to the door, looked back and flicked his fingers to dispel the light. Autoc slept.
~~~
Autoc woke the next day when th
e hour was well advanced. He stretched out long limbs luxuriously, yawned and put hands behind his head so he could more easily contemplate the bundle of fur lounged comfortably on his stomach. His blue eyes lit with pleasure.
"Ah," he murmured out loud, then sent, "My friend, it's been a long time." The catlin continued to stare at him impassively.
"Barely four Yarilan turns have passed," observed the catlin. "You're still thinking in Ambrosian cycles." Autoc closed his eyes.
"Aye, I am," he conceded. The mind-link stayed firmly in place.
"You've been busy, mage." Autoc agreed, yawned widely again and then, easing himself to a sitting position, touched the catlin who moved to curl about his shoulders. "Have you come home for some time, or are you leaving again soon?" Autoc's answer was vague and earned a sharp reproof. "We like to know our mages are safe. You haven't always been so. You've caused me concern." Autoc responded to the rebuke.
"I regret that."
"Amril's registered your imbalance. That's why I came so quickly."
"I'll speak to Amril shortly."
"Yes, mage, you must." There was a long pause, then, "Do you wish me to go to the Shadowlands? The child won't know me - she needn't see me."
"The Rox will," suggested Autoc, his eyes opening.
"They don't bother us," came the casual comment. "We accept the other comes and goes."
"He'll know you're linked to me," demurred Autoc. "It's Nikos who accompanies her."
"That's of no moment," came the reply. "Is there anything else that troubles you, mage?" Autoc deliberately let his mind go blank and felt, at the same moment, the surge of amusement from the catlin. "You think to keep things from me, your catlin?"
"No," responded the mage, his hand massaging a furry ear. "I just need time to myself, Sigh, that's all."
"She's deeply affected you, mage."
"Aye, she has."
"It'll interest me to observe her for that reason alone."
"I thought it might."
"I'll keep you apprised of all that occurs."
"Thank you," sent Autoc courteously.
The catlin left the fondling hand and stalked down to the mage's leg, its tail swishing imperiously.
"Did you know Ot transferred to one of the siblings?" Surprise made the mage jerk his head forward.
"Cynthas' catlin? No, I didn't. Is that usual behaviour for a catlin?" Autoc was sure he heard a faint laugh echo in his mind, but he couldn't be sure. He was being watched intently.
"No," came the reply. "I wouldn't ask to transfer and it hasn't happened in catlin memory. Ot asked it be permitted."
"So is he going to Chlorien?" There was a very definite negative in the mage's mind. He stared at the catlin.
"No, mage, you're wrong. He's gone to a boy." Autoc felt a breathless surge of hope mixed with acute anxiety.
"A boy? Not a boy named Bethel by any chance?" The surprise was now all in the catlin.
"Yes, mage, that's the boy."
The catlin jumped to a chair and curled up, his unblinking stare fixed on the mage who got restlessly to his feet.
"They've met?"
"In a manner of speaking," sent the catlin sleepily. "Ot wasn't overly impressed because he says the boy doesn't use his talent." Autoc was amused.
"He must've done to call for, and meet, his catlin." A snort of disgust came into the mage's mind.
"The boy apparently called, but didn't know he'd done so."
"So the lad's alive and has talent," murmured Autoc, out loud to himself. "Does the Archmage know?"
"Of course he does," scoffed the catlin. "He knew when it happened - we all experienced it together. An odd thing it was, too, to hear a catlin called by a talent that doesn't know that it exists."
"Presumably he does now?" There was a long thoughtful pause.
"He knows, but he's a timid boy. That's another odd thing, mage. Ot spoke to an Adept - a Churchik warrior who befriends the boy." Warmth flowed through Autoc when he heard that. "The boy's a slave who lives in profound fear of his master."
"Am I right when I suspect his master's the warlord?" sent the mage, on a sad sigh.
"It's so."
Autoc mulled things over as he stood there, then asked calmly, "Sigh, may I access your memory and thought patterns so I can hear the conversations you've had?"
The catlin winked solemnly at the mage and promptly curled into a ball. His thoughts flowed into the mage at astonishing speed and then abruptly came to a halt, the pale green eyes lazily opening.
"I'll go to the Shadowlands, mage."
"My friend," sent Autoc, watching the catlin dematerialise on the words.
~~~
Autoc strolled over to the window and stood staring out, aware the day was warm and windless. With a shrug, he changed into a mage robe and decided to go outside to enjoy the day. Bene found him in the gardens, seated pensively on a long seat with scrolled arms. Neither spoke. They just sat companionably, Autoc with a pipe in his mouth. As they contemplated the flowers and the water, Autoc's essence came into balance and he felt more comfortable.
He closed his eyes to let his mind wander where it willed. Inevitably it led him to Chlorien. He expected pain but there was none, just a sense of wellbeing when he thought of her, the ache of loss he felt the night before, absent, but when he thought of Nikos he felt pain surge at the very centre of his being, a physical ache that was intense. He changed his thoughts. A gentle smile came and his eyes opened, calm and reflective as they'd always been. He turned his head, conscious Bene looked at him.
"You're back with us, my friend," the Archmage murmured.
"Aye," agreed Autoc, the smile touching eyes that were sombre.
"It's been a hard road for you, Autoc, especially about Nikos."
Autoc nodded, his eyes wandering to a cluster of wild red sippin flowers. Bene, too, sat staring at nothing in particular, before he spoke quietly.
"I'm piecing much together."
"So, Master, am I," commented the mage, puffing gently on his pipe. Bene gave Autoc a long look, his eyes, as always, deep and penetrating in the way of his eldest greatson Sarehl.
"You began to do so Ambrosian cycles ago, didn't you?" Autoc turned his head to look calmly at the Archmage.
"Yes, Master. Yes, I did." Bene gave a nod of satisfaction.
"So tell me what you don't know."
"The boys, Ancient One. Tell me what happened to them. I know a little but not as much as I'd like, nor could I allow myself the luxury of knowing other than that they lived, though in what way I couldn't know. Ot told me much. They were lovely children."
"There's so much happened," whispered Bene, a flare of distress in his eyes that went as fast as it came. "Lute's a mage's slave, Bethel was taken by the warlord, Sarehl was savagely hurt but didn't die as I believe he was meant to, Daxel escaped, and the little boy's also alive. Do you wish to see or to hear, young one?"
Autoc leaned more comfortably on the seat, saying, "I'd prefer to hear."
Bene took a deep breath and began. As he listened, Autoc knew he often flinched while the tale unfolded. He sensed the Archmage's private agony and respected it, but his heart ached, especially for Bethel and Luton whose trials still went on. Both boys were so tragically abused. When Bene fell silent, Autoc made no effort to speak, because he felt comment was inappropriate and he was also busy sifting this new information in with what he already knew or guessed. If the picture painted was a sad one, it was also compellingly fascinating and thoroughly alarming. Autoc glanced at Bene and saw both the stooped shoulders and the sad curve to the mouth.
"What can be done about Bethel?" he asked quietly. Bene shrugged eloquently.
"He's being slowly trained by this Adept, Sarssen, who's very strongly and unusually talented. It seems the Churchik warrior's had an eye to the boy almost since the warlord took Bethel in Ortok. And I gather, to my surprise, the warlord has the child trained in the most ancient of southern bardic and musical traditions."
<
br /> "It's good the boy has his music. He lived it in Ortok and was considered uniquely gifted and blessed."
"Sarssen seems to believe it's what's kept the boy sane in a harsh environment, where he's subject to his master in the cruellest possible ways."
"That," mumbled Autoc, "and the mind-blocking skills Chlorien taught him. I chastised her for that, you know." Autoc's smile went crooked.
"For teaching her brother to block?" asked Bene amused.
"Aye. She was told not to, but she did."
"It may have saved the boy's life, young one. We can be thankful she disobeyed you."
Autoc hesitated, then asked, "How fares the lad, Master?" Bene stayed silent, so Autoc added, "He was a delightful boy, very gentle and sweet-natured. There was a beauty and innocence about him that was most appealing, something deep within. I cared for the boy as I cared for Chlorien." A faint quiver came to the deep voice. "I cared for them all very deeply. They were an unusual family." He saw Bene run a trembling hand down his beard.
"I think I was shown an image of him once," he said sadly. "Is he a dark-haired boy of exceptional looks with big purple eyes?"
"That's Bethel," confirmed Autoc without hesitation. "What were you shown, Venerable One?" Bene's voice shook as he answered.
"I was shown a boy in insufferable pain, subjected to the physical power of a warrior who laughed down at him. It was, I suspect, the moment the boy was broken to a master's will, physically and mentally." Autoc grimaced and a shadow crossed his face.
"Then you would've seen the lad with his master Lodestok. How old was the boy?"
"Eleven Ambrosian cycles, I guess. Why do you ask?"
"Then you must've seen him very soon after Ortok fell, Master. Much has passed since then. Is there no later news of him?"
"Other than being initiated as a Churchik man, do you mean?"
"Aye. The thought of the lad being a father is difficult to comprehend, but then life has odd turns and twists, Master."
"He was made a Churchik warrior, young one. That's all I know." Autoc's face registered shocked astonishment.
"Bethel?" he exclaimed. "A warrior? I can scarcely credit it. He was much too gentle for that."
"Time changes people," responded Bene wearily.
"And Lute?" asked Autoc gently. "What of that boy?" He thought Bene's eyes looked almost black, the grief was so deeply etched into them.
