by DAVID B. COE
“What can be done now?” Jaryd asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice steady.
Neither mage responded, and their silence scared Jaryd more than anything either of them had said. Finally, Trahn spoke. “I believe we must go to Theron’s Grove and attempt to prevail upon Theron to end his attacks.”
“I agree,” Baden stated, “but you understand what it is we’re advocating.”
“I do,” Trahn replied.
Again the two mages shared a look, and, this time, Jaryd’s blood froze at what he saw pass between them. “I don’t,” he blurted out. “I don’t understand at all.”
After a long pause, Trahn glanced at Baden, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “This is yours to tell.”
Baden held the Hawk-Mage’s gaze for a moment longer before nodding and turning to Jaryd. “That last night in the Seaside Mountains,” he began in a quiet voice, “when I told you the story of Theron and Amarid, I left out a few things. I said that Theron’s spirit appears without a ceryll, but I base this only on what I know of his last living night. We don’t really know what Theron’s spirit looks like, because in the thousand years since his death, no one who has entered Theron’s Grove has returned.”
Jaryd’s mouth went dry, and he felt as if Theron himself had reached out from the grave to place an icy finger on his heart. “How?” he managed to say in a voice that sounded more like a croak.
“Do you mean how did they die? That I don’t know. As I told you that night, Theron’s power was wild and vast. We know little about it. And, as you might expect, no one has dared enter the grove in hundreds of years. But soon after Theron’s trial, the people of Rholde, Theron’s home village, petitioned the Order to protect them from the Owl-Master’s spirit, who had been terrorizing them continuously since his death. Amarid sent a party of mages to the grove, hoping that they would find some way to appease or subdue the spirit. Some of the villagers followed the mages to the grove and saw them enter. In the hours that followed, they heard wails of horror and despair and saw bright flashes of green light emanating from within the grove. But they never saw any of the mages again.
“Theron continued to torment Rholde, and again the villagers called upon the Order to protect them, but Amarid refused to risk the lives of any other mages. Some in Rholde demanded that the First Mage himself do battle with Theron. Amarid refused to do this as well. Soon the people of Rholde chose to abandon their village rather than endure any more of Theron’s cruelty.
“In the years that followed, other mages did enter the grove, some hoping to make peace with Theron, others, perhaps, seeking glory. But none was ever heard from again. Eventually, all the people of Duclea’s Wood, as the Shadow Forest was once known, abandoned their homes and villages, believing that Theron would never leave them alone. To this day, that part of the land remains deserted.” Baden paused, sipping his ale thoughtfully. “So you see, Jaryd,” he concluded after a moment, “confronting Theron carries tremendous risks.”
“Then what’s to be gained by trying to speak with him?” Jaryd asked, his composure beginning to return.
“This time, I think I’ll defer to you,” Baden remarked to Trahn. “It was, after all, your idea.”
Trahn smiled and inclined his head in acceptance. “What’s to be gained?” he repeated. “Much, if we can manage to survive the night. Theron may be using the attacks to get our attention, and, once he knows that we’re listening, he may stop. Or he may want something that we can give him and thus appease him. It’s also possible that we could learn something during our discussion with him that will allow us to neutralize the power of the Unsettled or control their actions. And, if by some chance Theron is not responsible, he may know who is. The Unsettled have wisdom and vision that goes well beyond ours. Again, provided that we get out of the grove alive.”
The openness of Trahn’s expression, the simplicity of his tone almost made it possible to forget that he was talking about confronting the unsettled spirit of Theron. Almost. And yet, in that moment, taken into their confidence as if he were already a mage, privy to their fears as well as their resolve, Jaryd felt that he would have followed Baden and Trahn anywhere in Tobyn-Ser. Even Theron’s Grove. At the same time, another question came to him, one that frightened him deeply. Thrusting it away, he grinned and looked from one mage to the other. “So,” he asked buoyantly, “when do we leave for the grove?”
Trahn gave a small laugh. “I’m not surewe will be going anywhere. I can’t imagine the other mages including you in such a journey when you don’t even have your cloak.”
“They should,” Baden asserted. “He’s seen the mage who committed the attack on Taima.”
“What!” Trahn exploded.
“The night before we reached Taima, Jaryd had a vision.”
From the moment he had met Trahn, Jaryd had noticed that the Hawk-Mage treated him with respect, as if they were peers. It was one of the reasons Jaryd had come to like the dark mage so much, so quickly. But now Trahn regarded him with a look of awe and wonder in his green eyes that made Jaryd feel self-conscious. “Please,” the Hawk-Mage requested in a soft voice, “tell me about this vision.”
“There really isn’t much to tell,” Jaryd said awkwardly. “Baden tried to induce a return of my dream the next night, and even that didn’t reveal much.” He glanced at Baden, who nodded with encouragement. “I saw a man in a mage’s cloak who carried a large, black bird and a staff with a glowing red stone. He had his hood drawn up over his head, so I couldn’t see his face. But he handed me a black feather, and, when I took it in my hand, it burst into flame.” Jaryd shrugged. “The next morning we found out that Taima had been burned, and whoever lit the fire left a black feather.”
Trahn looked from Jaryd to Baden, his expression grim. “There has been a black feather left at the site of every one of the attacks.”
“Jaryd,” Baden said gently, “I may ask you to describe your vision again at some point during the Gathering.”
Still feeling self-conscious, Jaryd recoiled from the idea. “But I thought Mage-Attends were prohibited from speaking during formal deliberations.”
“Usually they are. But in this case, I’m sure Jessamyn will allow it. I simply want you to be prepared to describe your dream, exactly as you just did for Trahn. All right?”
Jaryd nodded reluctantly.
“Do you think Jessamyn would risk sending a delegation to Theron’s Grove?” Trahn inquired of Baden.
“I hope so,” the Owl-Master breathed. “In Arick’s name, I hope so.”
The three of them ordered another round of the rich ale, and two more after that one, and they continued talking well into the night. Their conversation soon shifted from the grave subject of Theron to more entertaining stories of past Gatherings and the adventures Baden and Trahn had shared. As the night wore on, and Jaryd felt the alcohol haze enveloping him like a warm blanket, the names and images conjured by his companions’ tales began to blur and fade, leaving him with his own meandering thoughts. At one point, he scanned the tavern for Kayle and, with a small pang of regret, spotted her laughing quietly at another table, with another patron. He thought of Gissa, one of his closest friends in Accalia, and the only girl with whom he had made love. And he realized with an inward smile, he had been right: Kayle was not his type.
Baden and Jaryd did not stumble upstairs to their small, dark room until well past midnight. When he awoke the next morning to find the Owl-Master not only awake, but ready to assume his place in the opening procession of the Gathering, Jaryd could not even recall how he had managed to remove his own boots and climb into the bed in which he now lay. Only by the sheer force of the Owl-Master’s will did Jaryd get out of bed, wash, and dress. Trahn met them in the courtyard outside the Aerie, and together the three of them started through the alleys and streets of Amarid toward the First Mage’s home, where the procession was to begin. Jaryd’s head spun dizzyingly as they hurried through the city, and when Baden asked
if he wanted to stop for breakfast, Jaryd actually felt himself turn green. The sound of Baden and Trahn’s laughter at the sight of this scythed painfully through Jaryd’s head, and he swore at that moment that he would never drink Amari Ale again.
By the time they reached the First Mage’s home, it appeared that most of the other mages had already assumed their positions in the procession. The column created by the cloaked mages stretched like a river of forest green along the side of the old house and into the scattered pines and cedars that surrounded it. As Jaryd and his companions walked by the older Owl-Masters and Hawk-Mages toward their positions, Baden and Trahn nodded and smiled at their colleagues, stopping occasionally to embrace old friends or exchange greetings. Jaryd remained silent, but looked with admiration at the myriad of different birds, mostly owls, that he was seeing for the first time. Some were so small that they were able to hide within the folds of a cloak or a hood, and at first, Jaryd had trouble spotting them. Others were larger than Anla, and one in particular, a tremendous grey, round-headed bird with closely spaced yellow eyes, dwarfed even the great owl Jaryd had seen yesterday on Sartol’s shoulder. Most of the Hawk-Mages, he knew, were younger and farther back in the line. But he hoped that he would have an opportunity to see their birds up close as well.
Amarid’s home, the house along which the line had formed, was, like the buildings in the old town commons, crudely constructed of logs and heavily worn by a thousand years of exposure to the elements. As Jaryd looked at it, he thought to himself that it could have been the home of any citizen of Tobyn-Ser, and he realized that this only served to heighten the power of this monument to the Order’s founder. Despite the crystal statues and the grand murals, Amarid had been the son of common, hardworking people, a fact that, in happier times, had served to strengthen the bond between the Order and the rest of Tobyn-Ser.
Jaryd and Baden took their place in the line and, as Trahn left them to find his position, they stood waiting with the other mages for their march through the city to begin. The procession was arranged from front to rear by length of service within the Order. Of the nearly sixty mages currently in the Order, Baden ranked approximately twentieth in seniority, and he and Jaryd stood several places in back of Sartol, and two places ahead of Radomil. As his Mage-Attend, Baden had explained, Jaryd was allowed to join the Owl-Master at his place near the front of the procession. When he became a mage, however, Jaryd would walk at the end, with the other young mages. Looking back there now, Jaryd saw at the end of the line a woman who looked to be about his age. She had long, luxuriant dark hair and, despite her loose tunic and breeches, Jaryd could see that she was lithe and athletic.
“Who is that?” he uttered reflexively, having not intended to speak aloud.
Baden followed his glance. “At the end of the procession? That’s Alayna, the newest member of the Order. I take it she is your type?” the mage ventured. Jaryd’s face reddened in response. “She must be,” Baden said with a smirk, answering his own question. “That’s the first color other than green I’ve seen in your face today. She would be mine as well,” he added without irony, “were I a few years younger. She’s not only beautiful and intelligent, she also has vast potential as a mage; indeed, many believe that, someday, she’ll lead the Order.”
“How can you know that already?” Jaryd asked, still gazing in her direction.
“Well, we can’t for certain. But even with the newest of mages, there are indications of such things. In Alayna’s case, the most important evidence of her potential is her first binding. Do you recognize the bird on her shoulder?”
Jaryd had not noticed the majestic grey bird until Baden asked the question. “Amarid’s Hawk.”
“Yes. Binding to Amarid’s Hawk usually portends exceptional power, particularly when it’s the first binding.”
Jaryd did not respond, but continued to look at Alayna. Then, suddenly, she met his gaze and their eyes locked. Jaryd felt his heart skip a beat, and he saw her eyes widen slightly as she stared back at him. It lasted but a moment; as abruptly as it had begun, she turned away, leaving Jaryd to wonder what had gone through her mind in that brief exchange. A few moments later, as the bells of the Great Hall began to toll in the distance, Jessamyn and a white-haired mage with a small, reddish owl took their places at the head of the procession, and the Order began its march toward the Gathering Chamber. But, for a long time, Jaryd said nothing, as his mind replayed again and again his silent encounter with Alayna.
After emerging from the forest surrounding Amarid’s home, the procession circled the city block taken up by the house and woodland and then continued onto one of the main thoroughfares toward the Great Hall. Along the way, they passed thousands of people who waved to the mages and cheered. Pulled out of his musings by the sight, Jaryd soon joined Baden and the other mages in returning the waves and the smiles that accompanied them.
“A nicer reception than we received in Taima, wouldn’t you say?” Baden said over the sounds of the crowd.
Jaryd nodded and then remembered a question he had thought to pose earlier. “Who is the older mage walking with Jessamyn?”
“That’s Peredur, Jessamyn’s first.”
“I’ve heard you speak of the First of the Owl-Sage before, but it’s never really been clear to me what he does.”
Baden gave a small laugh. “It’s a strange position,” he commented. “Different firsts serve their sages in different ways. Some are advisors on matters of policy and leadership. Others spend much of their time taking care of the everyday needs of the sage, thus freeing him or her to lead the Order without those mundane concerns.” The Owl-Master paused. “I guess I’d say that Peredur falls somewhere in between. He was never a particularly powerful mage, nor was he especially vocal during Gatherings. But he and Jessamyn received their cloaks at about the same time, and they’ve been friends since childhood. I’ve known him to offer advice on some matters, but for the most part he takes care of her and sees to it that she doesn’t push herself too hard, which Jessamyn is inclined to do.”
The procession reached the Great Hall and began to circle the structure as it had Amarid’s home. The bells in the twin spires of the structure continued to peal loudly, the sound echoing through the streets and alleyways of the city.
“So, what happens after the procession ends?” Jaryd asked.
“We’ll enter the Gathering Chamber, where we’ll sit at the table you saw yesterday,” Baden replied. “Jessamyn will welcome us and all those who have journeyed to Amarid, and she’ll formally open the Gathering. This morning’s session will be open to the public, and will tend to some ceremonial and procedural matters. It could last for several hours.” Baden made a sour face. “That’s the one part of the Gatherings that I hate. I really don’t know how Jessamyn does it every year.” He paused and shook his head before continuing. “In any case, the first closed session takes place this afternoon; that’s when discussions of the attacks on Tobyn-Ser are likely to begin.”
They walked for some time in silence. But just as they reached the entrance to the hall, Jaryd remembered the question that had come to him the night before as Baden, Trahn, and he sat in the Aerie. And, moved by an impulse he did not fully understand, Jaryd blurted out, “Baden, what if you and Trahn are wrong?”
The Owl-Master looked around him, but no one in the procession appeared to have heard Jaryd’s question. “Wrong?” he repeated in a soft voice. “You mean about . . . about who we think is committing the attacks?”
“Yes,” Jaryd said, also lowering his voice. “What if someone else is responsible?”
The Owl-Master took a deep breath and said nothing for what seemed a very long time. His answer, when it finally came, frightened Jaryd every bit as much as the thought of confronting Theron. “If we’re wrong, then there’s a conspiracy within the Order, and there are traitors in this procession.”
6
Still reeling inwardly from the impact of Baden’s words, Jaryd ascended the
marble steps and crossed the threshold into the Gathering Chamber. Some of the older members of the Order, including Jessamyn and Peredur, had already moved to stand behind their seats at the far end of the enormous oval table, indicating to Jaryd that the strict ordering of the procession carried over to the seating arrangement within the hall. Indeed, Baden moved quickly to a chair on the right side of the table, and, next to it, Jaryd found a seat, obviously intended for him, which lacked the curving perch attached to the other chairs. Following Baden’s example, Jaryd stood by his chair in silence, watching the other members of the Order file into the chamber and wishing that his head would stop spinning. When all the mages had taken their places around the table, observers from the crowd that had lined the thoroughfare began to enter the chamber and fill in the open area near the magnificent wooden doors. This took several minutes, during which the mages remained still and silent.
When, finally, all those who could be squeezed into the allotted space had entered the hall, the bells ceased tolling—a small blessing, given the pounding in Jaryd’s head—and the silence of the mages spread to the observers. Slowly, Jessamyn raised her staff, with its glowing aqua ceryll, over her head.
“In the name of Amarid, First Mage and founder of this Order,” she declared in a clear, ringing voice, “I bid you all welcome and proclaim this Gathering open!”
As if on cue, all the other mages at the table raised their cerylls. Light burst from each one, creating a virtual rainbow of color that converged on the Owl-Sage’s ceryll, only to be channeled into a brilliant blaze of white light that burst from her stone. A thunderous cheer went up from the crowd at the far end of the chamber, and, when it subsided, Jessamyn said, in a quieter voice, but one that still carried, “Please be seated.” With a rustling of cloth and feathers, the mages allowed their familiars to hop to the perches attached to their chairs, and then sat down.