by R. M Garino
“Your squad brings honor to our House, Thomlin,” Talon said. “Well done.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Thomlin said, his chest visibly swelling with the compliment.
“You would honor me if you all joined us for the morning meal,” Talon said. “You can give me a firsthand report on your recent progress.”
Thomlin bowed and saluted once more. “It is we who would be honored, Uncle,” he said.
Chrysies flowed into the gap after Talon embraced her son. She touched her fingers on the side of Angus’ cheek and bent her forehead toward him.
It is good to see you well, my son, she sent. We have missed you so.
And I you, mother, Angus sent. He shared with her the depth of his joy at their presence, and she smiled in response.
There is someone you would like me to meet, I believe, she sent.
Angus blushed. Yes, there is. As soon as we’re inside.
Oh, I don’t think I can wait that long, Chrysies said. She walked to where Arielle’s Twelfth waited. Melinah darted in and threw her arms around Angus. He lifted her into the air as he returned the hug. A low murmur slipped between the ranks of ordered Blades as they took in the spectacle of the royal family breaking protocol in such a public fashion.
Chrysies bowed to Gwendolyn, her right fist placed within the palm of her other hand in the style of the Magi. The Twelfth saluted in the style of the Areth’kon in return.
“An impressive beginning for your team,” Chrysies said to her in way of greeting. “Your mother should be proud, Gwendolyn Fel’Mekrin.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Gwendolyn said. “Your kindness is appreciated.”
“Our table is large, and there is room for more than one squad, especially one with such an incredible record,” Chrysies said. “Please join us.”
Gwendolyn and the rest of the Twelfth bowed at the honor. Chrysies focused her attention on Arielle as they straightened.
“And you, Arielle Rhen’val,” she said, “must sit by my side. It has been too long since I have seen you last. You truly have grown to become a beauty. We must become better acquainted.”
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” Arielle said.
Opposite, Angus saw her sudden anxiety flare in her sin’del.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Dance of the Magi
The morning meal was not as raucous as the feast the night before, and many of those present bore the effects of the late night libations. It was, nevertheless, a joyous event, for the royal family was much loved.
As Angus entered the hall, a Magi approached, his hands tucked into the opposite sleeve of his robes in the peculiar manner the Magi had. His fair hair fell loose about his shoulders, the sides tied back from his chiseled face by a gold clasp that blended with his hair. Angus stopped as he approached, and his friends filed past.
“Well met, Angus,” the Magi said.
“Well met, Master De’Larte.”
“Have we become so formal, lad?” the Magi said, spreading his arms. “Surely I warrant more than a ‘Master De’Larte’.”
“That and more, Gavin,” Angus said as he hugged him. “The occasion seemed to warrant formality.”
“Well and good that you remember your manners, but I’ll have none of it,” Gavin said. He studied Angus a moment as he held him at arm’s length, allowing his eyes to dilate. “Military life seems to agree with you. I must say that I’m surprised.”
“It’s in our nature to grow and change, Master,” Angus said.
The Magi chuckled. “None of us change that much, lad,” the Magi said. “You chaffed under our rules. You must be chomping at the bit under military order.”
It was Angus’ turn to laugh, and he spread his arms wide in surrender. “You’re right, some things do not change. But I am learning what I came here to learn.”
“A noble sentiment,” Gavin said. Tucking his hands back into his sleeves, he made his way to the tables. Angus fell into step beside him. “And I still agree with your reasoning. I just hope that you do not lose too much of yourself with this preoccupation.”
“Trying to bring me back to the fold?”
“Always, lad,” Gavin said. “Always.”
“The Areth’kon has been good for me. They have a . . . most peculiar way of enforcing discipline.”
“Do they?” Gavin said in mock surprise. “Maybe we Magi should adopt some of their practices.”
“I said peculiar, not better. I think that what I learned from the Magi has been the only reason I’ve survived as long as I have.”
“That and a stubborn disposition,” Gavin said. He guided Angus toward the table with a light touch on his shoulder. “We’ll talk more later.”
“You mean you’ll test me later,” Angus said.
“Of course,” Gavin said. “That’s what I said.”
“Consistency is a virtue, I guess,” Angus said, allowing himself to be ushered to the table.
Arielle and the Twelfth were already seated by the time Angus arrived. She sat next to Chrysies, and already the two were engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. On closer examination, however, Angus realized that it was Arielle who was doing most of the talking, with Chrysies interjecting an occasional question.
The seating arrangements surprised him. This was how people were seated in Reven Marthal, not in the Areth’kon. The two squads were mixed and interspersed around the table, and were rather tense as a result. The only exception was Demona. She was seated next to Denuelle from the Twelfth, and the two wore large, radiant smiles as they talked to one another. Darien tapped Demona on the shoulder, pointing to the tray of biscuits, but neither she nor Denuelle acknowledged him. Giving up, he stood and reached across them.
Further down the table by Talon, were Thomlin and Gwendolyn. Thomlin was telling a rather animated story, and Gwendolyn’s eyes never strayed far from his cousin. Realization dawned on Angus as he watched. The remainder of the squads spoke to one another only when necessary, and then only with the highest and driest courtesy, but they were talking. It was, at least, a start.
Gavin led him to an empty space next to Arielle. She was glowing as she glanced at him, and returned to her conversation.
“Arielle was catching me up on the news of her family,” Chrysies said to her son and Gavin. “I’ve known her family for years, since we lived at the Vaults. Her mother and I have always been very good friends. I am so glad to hear they are all doing so well.”
“So this is young Arielle Rhen’val,” Gavin said. He bowed from his bench, making the motion seem effortless and elegant. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
“Gavin instructed your brother while he was stationed at Reven Marthal,” Chrysies told Arielle to relieve her evident confusion at the recognition. Something in the way she spoke made Angus take notice of the comment. It was not so much that she was lying, but rather, what she said was a subtle shifting of the truth. He concentrated his study on Gavin, who was preoccupied with arranging the folds of his sleeves. His sin’del retracted, which made Angus even more suspicious.
“Be careful with these two,” Angus said to Arielle, smiling to take the sting from his words, but loud enough to be heard by all. “They’re Occanium to the core, and will try to recruit you to the cause.”
“Would that be so bad?” Arielle said. “I’ve always been fascinated by the Magi.”
“Sure it would,” he said. “The food is good, but the lectures are long. And they always lecture.”
“We do not always lecture,” Gavin said.
“You lecture during meals.”
“We pose a problem during meals for our students to chew on while they masticate,” Gavin said. “Much as the Areth’kon continually trains the physical form with countless tasks and chores, the Occanium continually trains the mind. Meals are a perfect opportunity for reflection and meditation.”
“They just like to hear themselves talk,” Angus said. Arielle tried to stifle a giggle.
“That’s funny,” Chrysies said. “I remember you coming home each evening gushing with some new insight or grain of knowledge you’d learned earlier that day. His mouth would be running before he closed the door.”
“I wouldn’t call it gushing,” Angus muttered, helping himself to one of the platters. “Enthusiastic, maybe. Voluble, definitely. But not gushing.”
“Was he a good student?” Arielle said.
“Exceptional,” Gavin said at once. Now that he was satisfied as to the placement of his sleeves, he lifted slices of meat with a dignified grace. “As gifted a student as I have ever taught. And he decides to waste his talents learning to swing a sword.”
“Gavin does not like losing an argument,” Angus told Arielle.
“I have not lost,” Gavin said, holding up a serving spoon for emphasis. “The conversation is merely suspended. In time, you will return to us. And you, Arielle, will accompany him, I presume.”
The statement caught Arielle by surprise, and she held her spoon aloft, halfway to her mouth. “Me?”
“Of course you,” Gavin said, oblivious to the warning glare Chrysies shot at him. “The majority of your Mala’kar training will be done at Reven Marthal. From what I hear, the notion of such training appeals to you.”
Gavin smiled, more to Chrysies than at Arielle, as if to tell her not to worry.
“Yes, it does, Magi,” Arielle said. Her sin’del sparkled with excitement at the prospect.
“It is settled then,” he said. “You will accompany Angus when he returns to Reven Marthal.”
“See,” Angus said, “I told you they’d try to recruit you.”
“Nonsense,” Arielle said. “I intended to go anyway. You can always stay here as an Elc’atar, and when I come back I can order you around.”
“You already do that,” he said.
“True, but I’ll make it a point to do it more often.”
Behind Arielle Chrysies was smiling, Angus saw. Further down the table, Talon was also watching the exchange, with an intent expression. Angus shifted his gaze to the opposite end of the table where Arielle’s parents sat. They too were watching, Dugal appearing to weigh their actions, and Arrolyn with a bemused expression to match his mother’s. Something was definitely going on.
Why is everyone looking at us? he sent to Arielle.
What do you mean?
Our parents. All four of them are watching us.
Why is that surprising? We haven’t exactly kept our relationship a secret. I’m sure they just want to see for themselves.
It’s more than that, Angus sent. Gavin and my mother are dancing around a topic. Trust me, I know how Magi act. He’s trying to broach a subject, and she’s trying to forestall him.
“I’m sure you will enjoy your stay with us,” Gavin said, disrupting the private conversation. “Your education will cover a wide range of topics, from the mundane and practical to the theoretical and sublime.”
See, Angus sent. He’s going to start steering the conversation toward his true aim soon.
“You will learn all of the subtle ways of your sin’del and how it works,” Gavin said, oblivious to Angus’ commentary. “As well as how it interacts with the world around us. More importantly, we will teach you the more arcane arts and mysteries that come to us from the Aesari. Have you ever wondered what comprises a soul, for instance? As you know, we are each of us comprised of a myriad assemblage of si’ru, all parts of the original Aesari we were before the fall. Upon our death, these fragments disperse and intermingle with others, thereby creating a new soul. But what of those permutations? Are they random, or do they follow a predetermined pattern? If a pattern, what is the overall design and intention? We have Magi devoted to the mapping of si’ru, and cataloguing them against all known Aesari who breached the veil. Some of their findings and predictions are fascinating.”
“How can they possibly map si’ru?” Arielle asked, ignoring Angus’ comment.
“Each of us experience the world through the filter of our senses,” Gavin said, forgetting his food as he spoke. “The information about the world comes to us through our sight, touch, hearing, our taste, and our smell. But is that the only way to know the world? If we think of an infant, newly born, they know nothing but what the filter of their senses tell them. And yet, they know to seek the warmth of their mother, and to suckle at the breast. They learn to exist within the confines of the body as they grow. Eventually they can walk, and talk, run, and make mischief. But how does that explain the talents that each of us engender? You are a painter, if I am not mistaken. Where does that talent originate? Was there something in your early experience that enabled you to see how shapes form in random layers of paint? Or perhaps, there is something within you, your very soul, that induces you to see. Let us assume that there is an understanding that you bring with you into this life, an a priori understanding of things from before you were born. We were all once another being, so such an assumption has credence.
“What we Magi understand is that the senses paint a false picture of the world. What they show is an illusion, a fantasy crafted for the benefit of our understanding. It is a construct, much like our perception of time is a construct to help navigate and function in our corporeal form. We, however, can see the world in a different way.”
“Through reason?” Arielle said.
“No, not entirely,” Gavin said, appearing amused by the question. “But you are close. We will train you to see with your mind, but not just through the paths of logic. Logic is the precursor, the first step, if you will. We will train you to split your mind, to divide it into separate halves that operate on two different planes at the same time. While your lower mind still functions within the body, the higher mind detaches and rises above the world of matter. Over time, and with enough training, you will learn to do this consistently, even when distracted. We do not go as far, say, as the Fiftanu. We have no pretensions of unfolding the mysteries presented by the upper worlds of the Techt, and glimpsing the future. Instead, we see the energies that shape us and surround us, that make us who we are. Each soul has a unique signature, comprised of the various si’ru that form it. I look at you, and I see the young woman seated before me. But my higher mind sees the si’ru that originated from the Aesari you once were. And may I be so bold as to say that it is an impressive sight.”
“I think that will be enough of a lecture for today, Gavin,” Chrysies said. Her expression had darkened with his last comment, and Angus found himself reviewing the lecture for a sign of her unease.
Gavin regarded her a moment, and then bowed his head in acquiescence.
“If you are all satiated,” a voice said from the head of the table, reverberating through the hall. “It is time we adjourned and begin the purpose of this visit.”
All conversation ceased, and everyone directed their attention to the center of the hall. Standing before the main chair was a woman, her golden hair hanging long and loose about her shoulders. Though still flush with the beauty of her youth, she exuded a sense of tremendous age and authority. She wore a single piece of jewelry: a square cut ruby on a fine gold necklace. Her eyes were clouded and white, yet despite her evident blindness, she studied the room about her. A nimbus of light surrounded her, as if her soul sought to escape the narrow confines of her body. About her head a hummingbird flitted, darting toward her and then away.
No one had seen her enter.
As one, everybody in the room bowed low before her.
The Matriarch, Thenaria Tu’renthien, had arrived, and the Conclave had now truly begun.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Conclave
The remains of the meal were cleared, and the room emptied of non-essential personnel with alacrity as Trenton barked a command. The hall served many purposes, and was capable of being transformed to whatever function was required of it in very little time. The Mala’kar and Magi joined the royals at the central table, which was not shifted. At Trenton’s cue, a pair o
f Magi activated the communications gear before they sat, and the soft, undulating green light danced along the floor, recording everything that was said or done. The blades filed out as soon as their assigned tasks were completed. The Elc’atar took positions outside the entrances to the hall, and upon the Ledge to better guard the personages inside, each with a squad of soldiers within easy reach. The Third and Twelfth remained inside the hall, lined against the wall in readiness to respond to any need that may arise for sustenance or message.
Thenaria took her seat as the bustle died down. She moved with deliberate care, brushing her fingertips across the high backed chair. Melinah left her seat at the far end of the table, and stood behind her. A trio of black-clad, hooded figures entered, wrapped in silence, and took seats at the table. Their approach was noted by those present, but no one so much as spoke to them. Trenton stood, though he did not move from in front of his chair. As the host, Thenaria noted, it was his privilege to speak first at the Conclave.
“Welcome to the Gates,” Trenton said, his voice carrying to the far edges of the hall without need for shouting. “Our borders remain secure, and as per your edict, Matriarch, the Gates remain sealed. None shall pass its boundary while we still live.”
Trenton resumed his seat, and Thoreau stood next.
“Thank you for the hospitality of the Gates, Trenton,” he said. “The Areth’kon stands ready to secure and defend our lands. We await your commands, Matriarch.”
Gavin stood next as Thoreau sat.
“The Great Tree Occanum still stands, and flourishes,” he said. “As per your orders, Matriarch, we of the Occanium continue to learn, we continue to watch, and we continue to grow. We stand ready to alert and advise.”
One of the hooded figures stood, even before Gavin had finished. His gaze swiveled from one end of the table to the other. When he spoke, his speech was harsh and low, as if he were unaccustomed to using his voice.