by DAVID B. COE
“Peredur and I are so glad to see all of you here again,” the Owl-Sage continued. “As always, many of you have traveled great distances to attend these deliberations and we all appreciate that effort. We gather this year in difficult times,” she said, her voice growing stronger and more serious. “We face a challenge that none of us fully understands. The people in the back of this chamber, in the streets of this city, and in all the villages and towns of this land look to this Gathering for answers and protection. Let us resolve that when we leave this chamber two days hence, we will be united in support of a course of action and in our determination to see it through.” Her words were met by a murmur of assent from those seated around the table, and several mages nodded their heads in agreement.
“Before we turn to such things, however,” Jessamyn resumed, “there are a few matters to address. First, I believe that Owl-Master Sartol has something to say. Sartol?”
The tall mage stood and inclined his head toward Jessamyn. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaryd noticed that Alayna stood as well. “Thank you, Owl-Sage,” Sartol said in a smooth voice. “Masters, Mages, I am honored to present to you, and to this Order, a new mage.”
“Tell us of this new mage, Owl-Master Sartol,” Jessamyn replied.
“She is Alayna of Brisalli,” Sartol responded, indicating the young mage with his hand. “Daughter of Gareth and Idalia. She has been deemed worthy by Fylimar, and is doubly honored, for Fylimar is one of Amarid’s Hawks.”
The white-haired sage nodded and raised both her arms as she looked around the table. “Mages and Masters of the Order, Sartol has brought to us a new mage, Hawk-Mage Alayna. Shall we make her welcome?”
In answer, the rest of the mages stood again, as did Jaryd at Baden’s prodding, and raised their staffs in salute.
Alayna stood at her place, with her hawk on her shoulder, and passed a hand awkwardly through her long hair. Her dark eyes flicked nervously around the table.
Jessamyn smiled at her. “Be welcomed, Alayna. You may be seated,” she added, raising her voice so that all would hear her. As the rest of the Order sat back down, the Owl-Sage paused, letting Alayna’s moment pass, before continuing in a more somber tone. “Sadly, two of our friends come to this Gathering unbound. Hawk-Mage Laresa recently lost Kortha, and Hawk-Mage Mered lost Elhir late in the winter. We extend to them our sympathies, as well as our wishes for auspicious and long-lasting bindings in the near future.” Once again, a chorus of agreement went up from around the table, and Jaryd scanned the room for the two unbound mages. He barely noticed what Jessamyn said next. “We also welcome a newcomer to the Gathering, Owl-Master Baden’s Mage-Attend, Jaryd.”
Jaryd felt Baden’s elbow poke him in the ribs. “Stand up!” the Owl-Master whispered fiercely. “They’re all waiting for you to stand up!”
Realizing suddenly what was happening, Jaryd stood abruptly, nearly toppling his chair, and so startling Anla that she jumped into the air and circled the chamber once before returning to her perch. Jaryd felt his face turning deep red as the mages and several members of the audience began to laugh. Stealing a glance toward the far end of the table, he saw Alayna watching him with a slightly mocking grin on her face, and he sensed the color of his face deepening even further. As he sat back down, Baden leaned toward him. “Welcome to the Gathering,” the Owl-Master said quietly.
His face still burning with embarrassment, and his head spinning with renewed intensity, Jaryd looked toward Jessamyn as if to will her to move the Gathering on to its next order of business and shift attention away from him. But when the sage’s brown eyes met his gaze, she favored him with a smile so complete in its warmth and compassion that he instantly felt his chagrin starting to recede. Glancing around the table, he saw that most of the other mages had already turned their attention back to the Owl-Sage, although Trahn, still looking his way, grinned at him ruefully, and Sartol offered a wink of encouragement.
As Baden had predicted, Jessamyn began an extensive discussion of the history of the Gatherings, and the time-honored procedures that the Order would follow over the next few days. Jaryd saw Baden shift in his chair and prepare himself for a long morning of ritual and protocol. Jaryd began to do the same, but suddenly heard a now-familiar voice cut into the Owl-Sage’s oration.
“Pardon my interruption, Owl-Sage,” Trahn said, standing as Jessamyn’s eyes blazed with anger. “I mean no dishonor to you or to the customs of the Gathering. But, as you yourself pointed out, we’ve come together in difficult times; we must address this crisis without delay.”
Peredur, sitting just to Jessamyn’s right, jumped to his feet, his long face distorted with rage. “Even if it means defiling the traditions of the Order and the memory of our First Mage?” he demanded.
One of the young mages stood, a woman with short, dark hair. “Yes, First of the Sage, even then,” she asserted.
“Then we’ve already lost,” said an older woman sitting directly across the table from Baden. Arguments began to break out along both sides of the table and spread noisily to the crowd of observers in the back of the chamber. Baden, looking around the hall in bewilderment, caught Trahn’s eye and gave the Hawk-Mage a questioning look. Trahn took a deep breath and shook his head slowly, as if unable to comprehend how he had managed to spark such bedlam.
Then, an instant later came a single word that pierced through the clamor like a sword, and thrust all in the room into silence. “Enough!” the Owl-Sage commanded in a voice that seemed to come directly from the legendary figure painted on the chamber’s ceiling. “Enough!” She seemed to grow in stature as she swept the room with an icy glare, and most at the table looked away rather than meet what they saw in her brown eyes. “What have we become that we should begin a Gathering like this? What is to become of us if we fail to respect our traditions and ceremonies and heritage? Perhaps what Sonel says is true: perhaps we have already lost this battle!”
For several moments, no one in the chamber spoke. At the far end of the room, the people of Tobyn-Ser waited breathlessly to see or hear what would come next. Jaryd wanted to look around the table again, to see the response of the other mages. But he remained utterly still, afraid that any movement at all would bring Jessamyn’s wrath down on him. Sitting thus, with his eyes trained on the table, he sensed, rather than saw, Baden rise.
“I think you know that isn’t true, Jessamyn,” he said gently, “as does Sonel.” Jaryd glanced across the table at the Owl-Master named Sonel in time to see her give Baden a small smile, and a look that conveyed much more. “This Order is more than merely the sum of its rituals and customs,” Baden went on, his voice pitched now to carry throughout the chamber, his fingertips resting on the table. “We are servants of the land, and, right now, the land is in pain. Trahn and Ursel, and the others who feel that we need to begin immediately to heal this pain, should not be rebuked for their impatience.” Some of the other Owl-Masters began to protest, but Baden raised a hand to quiet them. “Our rituals will still be here when we’re ready for them. But, for now, I agree with Trahn: we must first address the dangers we face.”
Remembering Baden’s intolerance for the formalities of the Gathering, Jaryd concealed a smirk, although he said nothing. Baden sat back down, and all eyes in the room swung back to the Owl-Sage, who suddenly appeared old and very frail. Peredur still stood beside her, glaring in the direction of the younger mages, his lanky frame trembling with anger. She placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him softly. After a moment, the First of the Owl-Sage sat back down. “I suppose you’re right, my friend,” Jessamyn said to Baden wearily, in a voice utterly devoid of the steel with which she had silenced them all moments before. “I just wonder if I was meant to be sage in such times.”
Baden said nothing, but for the second time that morning, he raised his staff over his head and let a bright orange flame leap from his ceryll. It was joined instantly by the colored mage-fire of every other member of the Order. Her eyes glistening, the Owl-Sage
slowly, almost reluctantly raised her own staff, accepting their power and channeling it once again into a radiant white light. From the back of the chamber, building slowly at first, but swelling soon to a roar that threatened to topple the Great Hall itself, came cheers from the people of Tobyn-Ser who also loved Jessamyn and continued to place their faith in her.
“Lead us, Owl-Sage,” Baden said. “We’ve chosen to follow you, and you’ve given us no cause to question the wisdom of that choice.”
Jessamyn nodded. “I will lead you as I always have: by listening. I would hear counsel from any who wish to offer it, although first I would ask our guests to leave us so that we might discuss these matters in private.”
A murmur of dissent rippled through the crowd, but most of the people in the back of the chamber began to make their way outside. Those who lingered were escorted to the doors by the blue-clad stewards of the Great Hall. As the observers exited, Jaryd leaned over to Baden and whispered, “Do you think that’s wise?”
Baden looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said yourself that these attacks have eroded the people’s confidence in the Order. Don’t you think that by discussing the attacks behind closed doors we heighten their distrust?”
Baden weighed this for a moment. “An interesting point, although I’m not really sure what we can do. The Order has always held its formal deliberations in closed session. We can only challenge precedent so many times in a given day. And don’t forget,” he added with a grin, “within the next few moments, I’m going to request that my Mage-Attend be allowed to address the Gathering.”
Jaryd swallowed nervously. He had not forgotten, and this was one challenge to tradition he could have done without.
The sound of the heavy wooden doors closing echoed through the chamber, announcing the recommencement of the Gathering’s deliberations. “I would hear your counsel,” Jessamyn repeated, surveying the faces arrayed around the table.
“Perhaps, Sage Jessamyn,” Sartol suggested, “we should begin with a brief summary of what we know of these attacks. I’m certain that all of us know something of what’s happened, but I for one would like to know more.”
“A good suggestion, Sartol,” Jessamyn agreed. “Peredur?”
The First of the Sage rose and nodded to Jessamyn. “Unfortunately,” he began soberly, “there isn’t much information available. We know of twenty-three attacks thus far. They’ve been attributed by the people of Tobyn-Ser to mages because a single black feather has been left at the sight of each incident; as of yet, no one has actually seen the person or people responsible. The first incident took place approximately fourteen months ago, the next almost six weeks later. They’ve been increasing in frequency ever since and have occurred in nearly every part of the land. They’ve ranged from minor mischief—crop destruction, vandalism—to more serious crimes such as arson and, as of this spring, murder.” Jaryd could tell from the expressions on the faces of several of the mages that this last detail came as a shock. Whispered conversations spread through the Gathering.
“What was the most recent attack, First?” came a voice from the back end of the table.
“A devastating fire in the village of Taima on the Northern Plain,” Peredur replied. “Although that was nearly four weeks ago; there may have been an incident since of which we have not yet heard.”
Baden and Jaryd exchanged a look. Then the Owl-Master rose. “We were there at the time,” he announced.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. “What did you say?” Orris demanded, leaning forward, his dark eyes narrowing.
“Jaryd and I arrived in Taima the morning after the fire,” Baden explained. “We were on our way here from Jaryd’s home village in Leora’s Forest. I have friends in Taima, which is fortunate. Had I not, we might have been attacked ourselves. The people of Taima were quite suspicious of us. One might even say hostile.”
Jaryd noticed that a number of mages glanced knowingly at their neighbors or raised a speculative eyebrow, and, with a surge of anger, he realized that they suspected Baden.
“Had they cause for this hostility?” Orris asked pointedly.
“Their town and their entire supply of grain had just been destroyed by a terrible fire,” Baden responded evenly, “and their access to the water they needed to quell the flames had been cut off by those responsible. I understood their anger.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Orris said in a voice laden with innuendo.
“How dare you accuse Baden!” Jaryd shouted at the burly Hawk-Mage, knocking over his chair as he leapt to his feet.
“Jaryd!” Baden hissed.
“Mage-Attend Jaryd, please be seated!” Jessamyn commanded coldly. “As you are a newcomer to the Gathering, I will remind you that only members of the Order may speak during formal deliberations.”
His face reddening once more, Jaryd nodded and sat down silently. Baden gave him a reproachful look, but then squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered. “But I can handle Orris.”
Before the Owl-Master could speak, however, Jessamyn turned her fury toward Orris. “Although Jaryd spoke out of turn, Orris, I must admit that I share his outrage! Your veiled accusations are most inappropriate!”
“With all due respect, Sage Jessamyn,” Orris began in his usual gruff tone, standing as he spoke, “what was appropriate in the past may be naive and weak in our current situation.” Words of protest rang out from the Owl-Masters seated near Jessamyn, but Orris went on, silencing them with a glare. “All the evidence we have indicates that there is a traitor to the Order and a murderer of innocent people in this room. Now is not the time for decorum.”
“That may be true, Orris,” Trahn conceded. “But Baden has done nothing to warrant our suspicions. Why, if he had destroyed Taima, would he admit to having been at the scene of the attack?”
Orris passed a hand over his rough beard. “A good question,” he conceded reluctantly. “I may have jumped to a conclusion too quickly.” He glanced at Baden and then sat down abruptly. The Owl-Master inclined his head slightly as if acknowledging an apology, but Orris’s tone had left Jaryd doubting that this had been his intention.
“Baden, did you learn anything while you were in Taima?” asked one of the older masters.
“Not from the people there, no,” Baden replied, shaking his head. “I healed many of them, and, as I did, I asked them about the attack. But no one saw or heard anything. At least no one from Taima.” He glanced quickly at Jaryd, as if to prepare him. “But the night before, Jaryd had a vision of the attacker.” After a moment of shocked silence, the entire room seemed to erupt with shouted questions and exclamations of astonishment. It was several minutes before Jessamyn succeeded in restoring calm. “With my assurance that he will not yell at any more mages,” Baden said wryly, “I would ask that he be allowed to address this Gathering in order to describe his vision.”
Jessamyn scanned the room. “Does anyone object?” Her question was met with utter stillness. “You may speak, Jaryd,” she said simply.
And so, for the second time in as many days, with the most powerful men and women in Tobyn-Ser staring at him with expressions of eagerness and, he thought, even a bit of fear, Jaryd related his dream of the hooded mage.
When he finished, a voice from the far end of the table spoke his name. Even before he turned to face his questioner, he knew that it was Alayna. “This strange bird you saw in your dream—do you see it now, sitting in this room?”
Neither he nor Baden had thought of this, and he quickly stood to scrutinize every bird. The black creature was not in the room. “No,” he conceded, facing Alayna. “It’s not here.”
“How about the ceryll?” came another voice. “Do you see a crystal that matches the color you saw?”
“No,” Jaryd said again, discouragement creeping into his tone.
“Don’t despair, Jaryd,” Sartol offered, his handsome face stretching into a sympathetic smile. “Not
all of our dreams can be taken so literally. You’ve had a powerful vision, and, before this episode is over, I’m certain that its meaning will be made clear.”
“Well said, Sartol,” Radomil agreed from his seat to Jaryd’s left. “But for now, I’m afraid that we’re right back where we began.”
“Radomil is correct,” Orris said loudly, rising from his seat. “We have no idea who is committing these attacks or why, and it’s time we acknowledged that.”
“What do you propose, Orris?” Baden asked, his calm tone a sharp contrast to the churning impatience so manifest in every movement of the Hawk-Mage.
Orris hesitated, his dark eyes scanning the room as if he was not completely comfortable with what he was about to say. “It is time to reestablish the psychic link.”
Several of the older mages cried out in protest and the Gathering again fell into turmoil.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Jaryd said to Baden above the din.
Baden nodded. “It’s not a simple matter to explain. The psychic link is just what it sounds like: a constant telepathic web connecting all mages within the Order. It was first used during Amarid’s time after Theron’s death and the self-imposed exile of Theron’s followers. Amarid feared that they would return, attempt to win control of the Order, and place the people of Tobyn-Ser in servitude. He believed that the link would allow the Order to maintain a watch along the shores of the land.” Baden paused as Jessamyn attempted once more to reassert her control over the Gathering. When he began again, his voice had fallen to a whisper. “Orris seeks to use the link in a slightly different way, as a means of monitoring the activities of all members of the Order.”