by David Hair
As well as the morning exercise regime with the novices and trying to unpick the Scytale in the afternoons, he decided it was time he took his gnostic practise seriously too. Late most afternoons, around nine bells, when his concentration on the Scytale research started to waver, he headed for an alcove behind the terraced gardens where he could practise unobserved. He’d thought his activity had gone completely unnoticed, so he was surprised to be met one afternoon by Master Puravai, with Ramita behind him. She was clad in a simple cream-coloured tunic and leggings, her long hair was tied up, and she had a serious, nervous look on her face.
‘Brother Longlegs,’ Puravai greeted him with twinkling eyes, ‘may we join you?’
Alaron stopped in his tracks, feeling self-conscious. He didn’t want company – the gnosis was a personal thing and the Arcanum had been bad enough, where his every spell was analysed and criticised by the tutors, then sneered at by the other students. He really didn’t want an audience. But it would be churlish to say no – and Ramita was here, and he liked spending time with her.
‘The twins are asleep,’ she said, when he looked at her questioningly. ‘I’ve been trying to practise the gnosis like Justina showed me, but Master Puravai suggested that we should work together.’ The old monk backed her up by nodding at Alaron expectantly.
‘I – er, well, I guess so.’ Alaron had begun to trust in Master Puravai and his weird methods. One morning, all of the novices had been told to bind each other’s favoured hand behind their backs and do everything with their wrong hand. At first it had driven Alaron mad, but faster than he would have believed, his left hand had become more dextrous, and when they had been unbound, much to his surprise, Alaron found he was operating with both far more surely. Sometimes they had to do their exercises one-legged, or spend time sitting on their heads, or perform strange balancing exercises, but he was beginning to see that each came with some unexpected benefit, aiding coordination, control or dexterity.
So he made room for Ramita in the small garden, then turned to Puravai. ‘How should we do this?’
‘Firstly, what type of mage are you, Alaron?’ he asked.
‘Fire, with a little Earth; and Sorcery.’
Puravai studied Alaron’s periapt, a piece of amber Cym had given him which he had attuned to his gnosis. Then he pocketed it. ‘I will look after this, yes.’
‘Hey! I need that—!’ Alaron reached out, then glanced at Ramita and realised that she wasn’t wearing her periapt either. He paused. ‘What’s happening?’
The Lakh girl gave him a reassuring if tentative smile.
Puravai handed Alaron a bowl of water from the garden fountain. ‘Instead, use this.’
‘But … I can’t. It’s water! Only a gem can be used as a focus …’
Puravai’s eyes narrowed. ‘What have I told you novices about the word “can’t”?’
‘You don’t know what you are asking.’
‘Do I not? I, who worked with Antonin Meiros himself twelve years ago, opening up gnosis to him that he had never previously used?’
He taught Meiros?
He looked again at Ramita, who was nodding meekly.
Any minute now she’s going to say something about Destiny.
‘Think of it this way,’ Puravai told them. He produced a parchment and crudely sketched a man with two cross-shapes on either side of him, one arm of each cross touching him. ‘See, here is a typical mage. His primary gnosis, both elemental and conceptual, define him. For you, Longlegs, it is Fire and Sorcery – these two gnostic abilities are fused inside your gnosis, yes? For you, Ramita, it is Earth and Hermetic gnosis. These things are buried in you – deeper for Alaron, because of his training. You understand?’
Both nodded. Alaron had seen similar drawings before. The first thing every young mage did when they gained the gnosis was to undergo a test to determine their affinities: the elements and modes of operating that revealed their strengths and weaknesses. In the Arcanum the Magisters had used sketches like this to show them what their affinities were and weren’t. Thereafter, all their training was devoted to their strengths: developing and exploring the magic that came to them naturally. Strong affinities were admired, as that meant feats beyond what most magi could manage. Some – a few – had only mild affinities, like his Aunt Elena. That made them more versatile, but it also meant such magi were thought to be inhibited in their powers as they lacked what the Arcanum tutors called ‘clear affinity’.
‘Now,’ Puravai went on, ‘both of you are a little capable of reaching one other point of each cross. Alaron, for you that is Earth; Ramita, it’s Fire. Neither of you can reach Water or Air easily, if at all. Similarly, on the other cross – Alaron can reach a little Theurgy, Ramita a little Thaumaturgy. Other things elude you.’
‘That’s just normal,’ Alaron told him tersely.
‘Why should it be?’ Puravai asked with disarming simplicity. ‘What if, instead of a cross, that shape was an arc, with each aspect of the gnosis in equal reach? What if you could access every spell with equal facility? Would you not have a tremendous advantage?’
Alaron stared, while Ramita just looked perplexed. ‘Yes, I suppose – but it’s impossible.’
‘You are quick to say so, but Lord Meiros understood. He agreed that ideally a mage should be in balance, without preference or aversion to any aspect of their gnosis.’
‘But we link to our affinities from the moment we gain the gnosis.’
‘Because you are conditioned to do so. But what if that is the wrong approach? What if, instead of specialising immediately, you chose to be as diverse in your approach as possible?’
Alaron was just confused. ‘We can’t help our affinities. The gnosis is an extension of who we are.’
‘Is it?’
Alaron had to fight not to shout at the old man. ‘Yes! Everyone knows this!’
‘Then everyone is wrong. Think on this: people change. We form and reform ourselves all the time. But from an early age a mage is forced by your Arcanum system to anchor his …’ He smiled at Ramita and added, ‘Or her gender, makes no difference. So you are forced to anchor your gnosis in a certain way. From there on, that binding is made tighter and stronger, for as you have said, the affinities do reflect personality – but it is not in the way you mean. Let us imagine a hot-tempered young mage anchors his gnosis in Fire. But as he matures and becomes more reflective – more an Air-type, say – does he become an Air-mage? No, because his gnosis is firmly linked to Fire by now.’
Alaron considered this helplessly, but Ramita was head-wagging reflectively; of course, she’d not had a lot of training so far so he didn’t think her opinion mattered on this. I know better.
‘The good thing,’ Master Puravai went on, ‘is that both of you are ideal candidates for this training. Lord Meiros agreed that most mature magi would be too set in their ways: he believed this requires someone young enough that their affinities were not fully imbedded, old enough to grasp the possibilities and open-minded enough to try. I believe that you both are highly suitable.’
‘I don’t know about this,’ Alaron said doubtfully. ‘It contradicts centuries of Arcanum teaching.’
‘Brother Longlegs, I travelled widely when I was younger. I have seen idiocy enshrined as wisdom in all corners of the world: mistaken knowledge taught as facts, remedies that are deadlier than the sickness, destructive traditions preserved and sensible ones lost, fools and charlatans revered as gurus and proven scholars ignored. There is always a better way of doing things, if we are prepared to seek it.’
Alaron glanced at Ramita, who met his gaze and said, ‘This is destiny, Al’Rhon.’
Arghhh!
Puravai saw the look on his face and smiled faintly. ‘Remember, Antonin Meiros unlocked his own gnosis from its Earth and wizardry foundations, after just two months of using the methods he and I devised. He did this after centuries of specialisation. I believe he was going to reveal our discoveries to his Order this year, had no
t death taken him.’ The old monk patted Alaron’s forearm. ‘Will you at least try?’
He gritted his teeth. ‘Okay, fine. Let’s do it.’
It won’t work.
Puravai and Ramita shared a look, which irritated him more.
*
The first thing Puravai made Alaron attempt was a simple light spell, channelling through water instead of using his periapt. He’d never tried anything like that before. In the opposite corner of the garden, he set Ramita, primarily an Earth mage, a similar task: to channel using nothing but the air around her.
Neither could do it.
After three straight hours he was resenting the lost time and ready to give up; he could have been working on the Scytale or trimming his nails, or doing anything at all and it would have been more valuable than this utter waste of time. Even Ramita was frustrated, which was a mild comfort.
‘This isn’t working,’ he told Puravai eventually. ‘A mage is born with their affinities. You can’t change them.’
‘Lord Meiros did,’ the old monk replied, the hint of challenge in his voice.
Alaron bit his lip. Sure: because he was Lord rukking Meiros! He could do anything!
But that made it a point of pride: he would show them both that he, Alaron Mercer, could turn his hand to anything. He would show Ramita that he could do what her husband could. And he’d do it before Ramita did, because he was Arcanum-trained and she wasn’t, and that had to have meant something. His father had sacrificed and scrimped for years to get him into Turm Zauberin. It had to have been worth it.
But his misery was compounded after days of continued failure when Ramita, with a squeal of delight, produced a faint glow on her fingertip. I managed more on my first day at the Arcanum, he thought sulkily. She danced around the garden so gleefully he almost stormed off. In desperation he took to immersing himself in the stream below the monastery, using the gnosis to keep his body temperature up until it felt like he was on the verge of dissolving into liquid himself. The only thing he achieved was a cold.
He didn’t give up though. Puravai made suggestions: like trying to visualise an invisible arm holding a tongue of flame, while the core of his gnosis was reserved for pure energy. Then he had to envisage another arm, holding the Water-gnosis. It sounded simple enough when Puravai described it, but of course it wasn’t – and he just couldn’t do it. Trying to follow Puravai’s instructions was akin to being taught to paint by a blind man, in his view.
Am I going to become the first known mage to ever lose the gnosis? he wondered after waking one night unable even to conjure light. The Fire-gnosis had been so central to his being that stripping it out of his core energies left him enfeebled. He panicked, lying there in bed feeling like he’d lost all his senses.
After a moment or two, he managed to attain gnostic sight, which had never been linked to Fire-gnosis, and that settled his dread. Seeking calm, he slowly re-found those gnosis skills that were based upon pure energy rather than an element or Study. Then he lifted a hand and, trembling, conjured light without his periapt.
A glowing sliver of energy coalesced in his palm and he screamed silently in joyous relief. I did it!
He turned the light into a glowing ball, grew it, shrank it, threw it and drew it back, shaking with relief.
I really did it.
That afternoon he couldn’t wait to get to the garden – where he found Ramita juggling globes of light so happily it almost crushed him.
How can a mere Lakh market-girl be so much better than me?
Then he mentally slapped himself. That thought had been so ugly he could have borrowed it whole from Malevorn Andevarion or Francis Dorobon. It certainly wasn’t worthy of someone raised by Vann and Tesla Mercer.
Who do I think I am? he told himself, bitterly ashamed that such a notion had ever crossed his mind. She’s got a brain as good as anyone’s. She’s had different opportunities to me – most would say a harder path – and yet she’s more open-minded and adaptable and willing to explore than I am. Why should I expect that a path created by a Rondian mage must be best? Why shouldn’t this be better? It was good enough for the greatest mage in history.
He walked quietly into the garden, sat cross-legged before her, conjured a globe of light – not as bright as hers – and tossed it into her ring of whirling light.
She laughed aloud, caught it, and sent half of her balls of light cascading towards him. He dropped all but one, and they tossed it back and forth, then she mischievously pulled a trowel from the garden with telekinesis and threw it at him. He caught it instinctively using kinetic gnosis before he’d realised what he was doing, and a wide grin split his face.
They spent the next hour playing, and if Puravai came past, neither saw him, so wrapped up were they in what they were doing.
Alaron’s eyes met Ramita’s as they faced each other and let the various garden implements clatter to the ground before sitting back, laughing. He suddenly realised that he’d not been this relaxed for two years, not since the befuddled General Langstrit had appeared at Anborn Manor. But this was better, because there was someone to share the feeling of peace.
‘That was fun, Brother Longlegs,’ Ramita said.
‘Please! I’d rather you called me Al’Rhon the Goat than Brother Longlegs,’ he chuckled. She giggled, then looked away shyly.
After that breakthrough, he caught up rapidly, his six years of training finally paying off. He knew the basic gnostic skills intimately: wards, shields, binding, enchanting and the rest were all second nature to him, but new ground for Ramita. But he was fascinated to find that all of these basic skills worked much better once he’d taken the Fire ‘taint’ from his core gnosis: his shields and wards were stronger, his mage-bolts more powerful and precise.
When he examined his own aura, he could see the change, and in Ramita’s too. Where both auras had been crimson or earthen, they now burned pure white. The deep blue patina of his Sorcery affinities were also gone: so he had apparently purged his gnosis, but at the price of losing touch with his elemental and arcane affinities. When he tried to conjure fire, he couldn’t.
Instead of panicking, he and Ramita went to see Puravai.
‘So, you are now ready for the next step.’ The old monk beamed at them both. ‘You have cleansed your canvas and now it is time to paint. Let me show you both something.’
They followed him to a small room that contained a very strange statue of a man – or a god, Alaron supposed – with blue skin and a lot of arms. The three-foot-high marble sculpture was finely carved and highly polished. It portrayed a muscular, clean-shaven man with long hair in a topknot, sitting cross-legged. He’d never seen such a bizarre thing, but Ramita gave a squeal of recognition. She fell to her knees before it and immediately began to pray.
Alaron looked at Puravai, puzzled. ‘I thought you Zains don’t believe in gods?’
‘We don’t. But we understand that the concept of godhood has been important to man since time began, and it is instructive to look at how men conceive their gods to be. This is a representation of the Lakh god Sivraman, made more than a thousand years ago. It comes from Teshwallabad. I keep it to remind me of my discussions with Lord Meiros.’
He bent and touched Ramita’s shoulder. ‘My dear, there will be opportunity for prayer later. Please listen now.’
She stood obediently and inclined her head towards the old monk. Puravai turned to Alaron. ‘Please, describe what you see.’
‘Uh … the god has four arms … one’s held up as if in greeting with a lightning bolt etched onto the palm; one is holding a bowl; another a lamp. The fourth is holding a staff with a snake coiled around it.’
‘Correct. What do you think they mean?’
Alaron frowned. ‘That the sculptor doesn’t know anything about anatomy?’
Ramita threw him a peeved look, but Puravai just smiled faintly. ‘What else do you see?’
‘Umm … he’s sitting on a lion pelt. He’s got an eye symbol
in the middle of his forehead. And …’ He peered closer, then frowned. ‘He’s got a woman’s breast, on his right side … in fact, his face is half-male and half-female too!’ He pulled a face. ‘That’s really weird.’
Puravai turned to Ramita. ‘Can you clarify for Master Alaron?’
The little market-girl tossed her head defiantly and glared at Alaron. ‘This is an Ardhanari statue, showing the union of Sivraman and Darikha as one being. All gods are one god who is many gods. My guru says this. It is known.’
Yes, but what does it actually mean? Alaron looked at Puravai impatiently. He had quite enough trouble following all the contradictions of the Kore, and he’d had that thrown in his face his whole life. Omali theology was utterly alien to him.
Puravai indicated the statue. ‘Let me interpret. This highly symbolic statue is meant to represent the many powers and aspects of the god. There are variants, but this one is a common representation, and it is relevant to your gnostic study. Note his four arms and what they hold: a lamp, a bowl, a snake-staff and a lightning mark. Do you know that in many cultures, the snake is regarded as spiritually linked to the earth?’
Alaron’s eyes widened. ‘A snake for Earth … A lamp for Fire … A bowl for Water. And a lightning bolt – that’s Air.’
‘So perhaps the sculptor is telling us that Sivraman is a master of the elements. What else?’
‘The eye in his forehead … that could be for Sorcery. And the lionskin for mastery over living things … Hermetic gnosis. And Theurgy … um … the half-female, maybe? I’m not sure I understand that.’
‘Well, as Ramita says this is not purely a statue of Sivraman: it is also partly a representation of his wife, Darikha. Often the Omali make such statues to remind worshippers that the god and goddess are one union, as men and women should be. It is also a reminder that the Lakh believe the soul has no gender and that the flesh is only a vehicle for the soul.’
That rang bells for Alaron. ‘The definition of Theurgy is use of the spiritus – the soul, I guess – to perform gnosis that affects other souls, bypassing the flesh …’
