Darkspell

by Katharine Kerr

  With a sigh that was close to a growl, he heaved his bulk out of his chair and waddled to the window. Outside, trembling in the coolish winter wind, flowering vines splashed scarlet over the garden wall. Two slaves moved across the square of lawn, raking fallen leaves. He barely saw them, his mind ranging far to Deverry. If only he could have traveled there! Impossible, of course; not only was his health so poor that the sea journey would have killed him, but also he was too well-known to the Master of the Aethyr. For a moment he was close to panic. His delicate position in the Brotherhood depended on successful predictions, not advice that led to disaster. What if the other members of the ruling council decided that he’d outlived his usefulness? Then he steadied himself, recalling that he still had power beyond most, that he was far from defeated yet.

  He went to the door, rang the gong for his majordomo, and told the slave that he was not to be disturbed for anything short of the house being on fire. Then he settled himself in his chair and let his breathing slow while he prepared for the working. The Old One had discovered and elaborated a most curious form of meditation over his long years that was the source for many of his most accurate predictions. In Bardek at that time, when parchment and writing materials were extremely expensive, learned men had developed a clever system of training their memories to store information. First the subject learned to visualize clear mental images of ordinary objects, say a silver wine flagon. Once he could hold this image in his mind for a moment or two as clearly as if it sat before him, he went on to doing the same thing with more and more elaborate objects, until at last he could hold an entire room, filled with furniture, in his mind and have that room return, exactly the same, every time he recalled it.

  At this point he began to build a memory house, imagining and visualizing it one room at a time. Into each room he placed objects symbolic of things he wanted to remember, and these images were usually amusing or grotesque the better to stimulate the memory. For instance, a spice merchant would have a room in his house where he stored information about certain important customers. If a rich woman detested black pepper, say, he would put in a statue of her sneezing violently. If at a certain point he remembered that she had a special quirk, he would mentally walk into the room, look round, and see the picture, which would remind him to bring her a present of some other spice.

  Now, it’s obvious that this method of memory training has a great deal in common with the beginning steps of a dweomer-apprenticeship, and the Old One had realized it as soon as he began his dweomer-studies. As a young man he’d been trained as a government clerk, a job that required the memory method above all else, because in those days the very simple idea of filing papers and information in alphabetical order had yet to be invented. In his mind the young slave eunuch who was still known as Tondalo had built a vast archive, into which he could walk and find the location of every important document in his care. Once he had bought his freedom—and made himself a rich man by squeezing every drop of the rich juices of a civil service run mostly by bribes—he had spent an intensely pleasurable afternoon burning that archive down to the precisely imagined ground.

  The technique, however, had remained extremely valuable, especially once he’d chanced upon a way to expand it. It had happened, some hundred years earlier, that he’d been working on a particularly difficult problem for the dark guild, a question of whether or not to assassinate a certain archon. As spies brought him information about the archon and the political situation in his city-state, Tondalo had stored them in a memory room, because they were far too scandalous to write down. At one point he returned to that room to find that certain of the objects had changed. A statue of a naked young boy (representing the archon’s true love in life) was holding a bowl that the Old One hadn’t placed there, and next to the boy stood a weeping woman. Spurred by the change, Tondalo saw the solution to their problem: the boy was holding poison in a bowl; the woman was his mother. One of the dark guild’s more presentable members had worked on the mother’s mind until she was furious enough to denounce the archon publicly for his vices. After the mob got through with him, the dark guild had no need to send an assassin to the archon’s door.

  That particular set of symbols had changed only out of intuition; the Old One had seen that clearly, that, just as in a dream, one part of his mind had solved a problem while his consciousness was looking another way. But it had given him an idea. What if he made a special room—a temple, even—and filled it with dweomer-charged symbols? Would they perhaps change as tides from the future touched them and tell the secrets of time to come? Although it had taken him years, in the end the Old One had made the idea work.

  That afternoon he sat in his chair and called up his temple of Time. Since this working was a purely mental one, he was fully awake, merely concentrating with an intensity beyond the reach of an untrained mind. The first building was a tall, square tower, made of white stone, that stood on a hill; one side of the hill was in full sunlight, the other, in moonlight. He walked round to the moonlit side and went in one of the four doors that opened into the first of twelve stories. Each wall had seven windows, and in the center was a circular staircase of fifty-two steps. He went up, barely glancing at the collection of objects that filled each room, until he reached the twelfth floor.

  Standing where he’d placed them round the staircase were the statues of four elves, two male, two female, all with their backs to the stairs as if they were staring out the windows. Beyond them was a statue of Rhodry, as close to the descriptions he’d heard as the Old One could make it, except that he’d dressed the statue all in red. At Rhodry’s feet lay the silver-and-blue dragon of Aberwyn. Nearby was a stylized statue meant to represent Jill, a pretty blond with a sword in her hand. Just beyond her was—nothing. The Old One felt a shudder run down his back when he realized that Alastyr’s image had utterly vanished. He should have expected that, he supposed; it showed that the temple was firmly linked to higher forces. All around were various other symbols and objects, a statue of Nevyn, a broken elven longbow, various Wildfolk holding things that had associations in the Old One’s mind, but he ignored them at first and crossed to one of the windows.

  Outside a mist swirled, and he steadied his nerves before he peered into it. Strange creatures sometimes came there, because even though the temple had started out as a mental construct only, over the many years he’d worked in it, it had started to acquire an astral reality as well, as any image will if ensouled with enough force. Yet that particular day he saw only moonlight swirling through the mist rather than cryptic images of future events. He went round to all the moon-side windows, but always he was disappointed. As he turned back to the stairs, something caught his eye, and he stopped to examine the statue of Rhodry. There was a difference, some tiny thing—he looked it over until at last he found the change. There were tiny roses growing around the index finger of Rhodry’s left hand, dead-white roses so perfectly formed that their thorns had raised a drop of blood on the statue’s finger. Puzzled he turned away, only to stop and stare again: the statues of the elves were laughing at him.

  All at once he was terrified. He heard small noises, a rustling at the windows as if something were trying to get in. As he started down the steps he heard the distant laughter, heard music playing like a whisper on the wind that suddenly blew around his tower. In panic he ran, clattering down the steps, leaping from floor to floor, till at last he reached the safe silence of the bottom story, where the statues of long-dead archons stared at him as if disapproving of his unseemly haste.

  There he calmed himself. The tower was only a mental image, his construct, quite unreal, and he’d been a stupid fool to give in to that inexplicable fear. All that he had to do was open his eyes and the temple would disappear back into his memory. Yet he wondered then just how real the temple might have become, if perhaps he might find it—or some strange, distorted version of it—waiting for him on the astral plane if he traveled there to look. For a moment he was afraid to
attempt opening his eyes in case he found himself trapped in the vision. Then he forced himself to walk out one of the sunlit doors, to look at the mental hillside—and to open his eyes.

  His familiar room appeared to him, his desk, the litter of scrolls, the tiled floor, the open window. With a sight that was closer to a gasp of relief, he got up and went on trembling legs to ring the gong for a servant. One of his well-trained young men appeared almost immediately.

  “Bring chilled wine—white, but not one of the best vintages.”

  The slave bobbed his head, then ducked out of the room. The Old One waddled back to his chair and sat down heavily, cursing in his mind Rhodry Maelwaedd and his entire clan. Then he reminded himself that Rhodry was only a minor irritant compared to the Master of the Aethyr. It was Nevyn who had destroyed Alastyr, Nevyn who had trapped his apprentice, Nevyn who stood like a dun wall between the Old One and his ultimate goal, that of exciting such hatred and suspicion between Deverry men and the Westfolk that open war would rage between them. In the end the men of Deverry would win. The elven race were few in number; they had few children, too, while human beings bred like rats. If things came to a long war, then the world would be rid of the elves.

  It was not, mind, that the Old One hated the elves in any emotional sense. They were, quite simply, in his way with their instinctive honor and their affinity for the dweomer of Light. He didn’t need their obscure predictions and image-workings to tell him that if ever their dweomer joined forces with the dweomer of Deverry on any wide front, then his Dark Brotherhood was doomed. He had no intention of letting such a thing happen. The Maelwaedd clan, and especially Rhodry, were marked by the omens to be the reconcilers between elf and man in some convoluted way that the Old One couldn’t fathom, and thus, they too must die. Yet as he brooded over his wine that afternoon, his simple irritation that Rhodry had ruined his plans grew into something close to a hatred, and that rage grew until it spilled over onto Rhodry’s clan and, most of all, Rhodry’s protector, Nevyn himself.

  Long did he consider, until at last he found the seed of a plan. Every man in the Dark Brotherhood was threatened by this summer’s turn of events. No doubt he could call a meeting of the council and convince them to join forces to wipe the threat away. They would have to plan carefully, work slowly, and hide their actual dweomer until the end, but if all went well, they would win.

  “Oh, yes,” he said aloud. “The Master of the Aethyr must die.”

  APPENDIX B — GLOSSARY

  Aber (Deverrian) A river mouth, an estuary.

  Alar (Elvish) A group of elves, who may or may not be bloodkin, who choose to travel together for some indefinite period of time.

  Alardan (Elv.) The meeting of several alarli, usually the occasion for a drunken party.

  Angwidd (Dev.) Unexplored, unknown.

  Annwn (Welsh, literally “no place”) The name of the world to which the Deverrians emigrated.

  Archon (translation of the Bardekian “atzenarlen”) The elected head of a city-state (Bardekian “at”).

  Astral The plane of existence directly “above” or “within” the etheric (qv). In other systems of magic, often referred to as the Akashic Record or the Treasure House of Images.

  Aura The field of electromagnetic energy that permeates and emanates from every living being.

  Aver (Dev.) A river.

  Bara (Elv.) An enclitic that indicates that the preceding adjective in an Elvish agglutinated word is the name of the element following the enclitic, as can+bara+melim = Rough River (rough+name marker+river).

  Bel (Dev.) The chief god of the Deverry pantheon.

  Bel (Elv.) An enclitic, similar in function to “bara,” except that it indicates that a preceding verb is the name of the following element in the agglutinated term, as in Darabeldal, Flowing Lake.

  Blue Light Another name for the etheric plane (qv).

  Body of Light An artificial thought-form (qv) constructed by a dweomer-master to allow him or her to travel through the inner planes of existence.

  Brigga (Dev.) Loose wool trousers worn by men and boys.

  Broch (Dev.) A squat tower in which people live. Originally, in the Homeland, these towers had one big fireplace in the center of the ground floor and a number of booths or tiny roomlets up the sides, but by the time of our narrative, this ancient style has given way to regular floors with hearths and chimneys on either side the structure.

  Cadvridoc (Dev.) A warleader. Not a general in the modern sense, the cadvridoc is supposed to take the advice and counsel of the noble-born lords under him, but his is the right of final decision.

  Captain (trans, of the Dev. “pendaely”) The second in command, after the lord himself, of a noble’s warband. An interesting point is that the word “taely” (which is the root or unmutated form of “-daely”) can mean either a warband or a family, depending on context.

  Conaher (Elv.) A musical instrument similar to the panpipe but of even more limited range.

  Cwm (Dev.) A valley.

  Dal (Elv.) A lake.

  Dun (Dev.) A fort.

  Dweomer (trans, of Dev. “dwunddaevad”) In its strict sense, a system of magic aimed at personal enlightment through harmony with the natural universe in all its planes and manifestations; in the popular sense, magic, sorcery.

  Elcyion Lacar (Dev.) The elves; literally, the “bright spirits,” or “Bright Fey.”

  Ensorcell To produce an effect similar to hypnosis by direct manipulation of a person’s aura. (Ordinary hypnosis manipulates the victim’s consciousness only and thus is more easily resisted.)

  Etheric The plane of existence directly “above” the physical. With its magnetic substance and currents, it holds physical matter in an invisible matrix and is the true source of what we call “life.”

  Etheric Double The true being of a person, the electromagnetic structure that holds body together and that is the actual seat of consciousness.

  Fola (Elv.) An enclitic that shows the noun preceding it in an agglutinated Elvish word is the name of the element following the enclitic, as in Corafolamelim, Owl River.

  Geis A taboo, usually a prohibition against doing something. Breaking geis results in ritual pollution and the disfavor if not active enmity of the gods. In societies that truly believe in geis, a person who breaks it usually dies fairly quickly, either of morbid depression or some unconsciously self-inflicted “accident,” unless he or she makes ritual amends.

  Gerthddyn (Dev.) Literally, a “music man,” a wandering minstrel and entertainer of much lower status than a true bard.

  Great Ones Spirits, once human but now disincarnate, who exist on an unknowably high plane of existence and who have dedicated themselves to the eventual enlightenment of all sentient beings. They are also known to the Buddhists, as Boddhisattvas.

  Gwerbret (Dev.) The highest rank of nobility below the royal family itself. Gwerbrets (Dev. “gwerbretion”) function as the chief magistrates of their regions, and even kings hesitate to override their decisions because of their many ancient prerogatives.

  Hiraedd (Dev.) A peculiarly Celtic form of depression, marked by a deep, tormented longing for some unobtainable thing; also and in particular, homesickness to the third power.

  Javelin Since the weapon in question is only about three feet long, another possible translation would be “war dart.” The reader should not think of it as a proper spear or as one of those enormous javelins used in the modern Olympic Games.

  Lwdd (Dev.) A blood-price; differs from wergild in that the amount of lwdd is negotiable in some circumstances, rather than irrevocably set by law.

  Malover (Dev.) A full, formal court of law with both a priest of Bel and either a gwerbret or a tieryn in attendance.

  Melim (Elv.) A river.

  Mor (Dev.) A sea, ocean.

  Pan (Elv.) An enclitic, similar to “-fola-” denned earlier, except that it indicates that the preceding noun is plural as well as the name of the following word, as in Corapanmelim, River of
the Many Owls. Remember that Elvish always indicates pluralization by adding a semiindependent morpheme, and that this semiindependence is reflected in the various syntax-bearing enclitics.

  Pecl (Dev.) Far, distant.

  Rhan (Dev.) A political unit of land; thus, gwerbretrhyn, tierynrhyn, the area under the control of a given gwerbret or tieryn. The size of the various rhans (Dev. “rhannau”) varies widely, depending on the vagaries of inheritance and the fortunes of war rather than some legal definition.

  Scrying The art of seeing distant people and places by magic.

  Sigil An abstract magical figure, usually representing either a particular spirit or a particular kind of energy or power. These figures, which look a lot like geometrical scribbles, are derived by various rules from secret magical diagrams.

  Spirits Living though incorporeal beings proper to the various nonphysical planes of the universe. Only the elemental spirits, such as the Wildfolk (trans, of Dev. “elcyion goecl”), can manifest directly in the physical plane. All others need some vehicle, such as a gem, incense smoke, or the magnetism given off by freshly cut plants or spilled blood.

  Taer (Dev.) Land, country.