"I think they want me to... ah... serve as a go-between."
"You mean they want you to spy on me. That's fine, I expect the same service. So, how many are in the Conclave these days?"
"I believe ten, Your Grace, although I haven't met them all."
She laughed. "Well, you only really need to meet one, am I right? Sorry, that was disrespectful towards your new brothers."
"You know perfectly well that no matter where I am, I am always and foremost at your service."
"My goodness, you certainly can talk!" She paused and had another sip of water. "How is your sister? Still measuring my room for her furniture?"
He paled but she had her sly smile on so he didn't panic.
"She... ah... continues to...."
"I fear Rhuun is going to disappoint that girl. But it isn't like the signs in the sand weren't there in front of her. Too bad you weren't born a female."
"I often remark upon that myself," he agreed. She toyed with her long necklace of jet and cream beads. Jewelry was another affectation that had recently come to the fore. While it was considered vulgar—and in truth, could easily cross the line of law to never display colors other than the eternal black, grey, white, and brown—there was a world of variety in the style of ornaments you could make. And what you did to adorn yourself under your clothing, well, that was not the business of the boulevard.
"Ilaan, you have the Conclave in an interesting position. They need your gifts. We both know you are talented in both the hand and the word. That's unusual. And they know we are great friends, and believe me, you're the first Mage, excuse me, Mage-to-be that's ever shared my water! But just because they are lucky to have you, and you probably cost the Zaalmage a few nights sleep with your requirements, don't underestimate them. We need them, but that doesn't mean I trust them."
He looked concerned.
"Do they plot against you? Do they think to seat someone else?"
"No." She frowned. "No, I am fairly certain they do not. But they are always busy at their own little projects. Watch them for me, Ilaan, can you do that? I'll even gift you with little bits of information you can bring back down to their Raasth. Oh, and you must be sure of one thing. Never take Rhuun down there with you. There can be no exceptions."
"May I ask why?"
She fixed him with a stare. "Let us say the air is bad for him, that far down. Promise me. He does not go down to the Raasth."
"Certainly, there is no question. Your Grace, I wanted to tell you about our project. I have something."
She lifted a brow. "After all these years and all your studying, I should hope so. I didn't give that book to you thinking it would just sit there forever."
You didn't give it to me at all, he thought, recalling a day years ago, and how scared he’d been; in the library by himself, looking for just the right spot in just the right bookcase. If you had, we could be having lunch on the other side of The Door by now. I’ve had to pry it away from your son, piece by piece.
"While talking with the Zaalmage, I noticed some volumes that appeared to be in a form of our book's script. I intend to finish the translation as soon as I can look at them more closely. I'm very close as it is." He took a sip of water to hide his nerves over the next question. "What happens when I've finished? Do we really intend to let Rhuun go to the other side?"
"Do you think you could stop him?"
Ilaan agreed it would be pointless to try.
"I have a job for him. I think it best that you deliver the particulars." They both knew that if Hellne told her son there was water in a cup, he’d flip it over. "I know you feel as if you're deceiving him, but hasn't it made him happier to have the book in his life? Everything you and I have done together is for his benefit."
Ilaan thought about Aelle and simply wasn't sure.
"I'm sending him on a mission he'll be particularly interested in. I want him to find the author of his little book, and if possible, bring that person back to us on Eriis for a visit. You've told me the Door should open—even just that tiny crack—close to where the author is now, and we know the author of the book is the author of the spell. It should be the work of only a few days, and he'll be home. I want to talk to the person who wrote the book, Rhuun gets a look at the other side, everyone is happy." She looked past Ilaan for a moment, "He will fly, but he will come back."
Ilaan said slowly, "I could tell him the author, Dos Capeheart, left a beacon of some sort, waiting for someone to come over and find him." He shook his head. "I'm just lying to him now."
"Hardly! Our author left us that inscription intending for it to be used in just this way. How is that not a beacon?"
He shook his head again and began to shred the cuff of his tunic.
"Look at it this way, Ilaan. Rhuun wants to meet this person, does he not? I would also like to see the author. The author, not coincidentally, left us a way to reach him. Let us do as he intended. Use the inscription to bring him here to visit us. It all works perfectly."
"Madam, I have a request."
She looked interested. He rarely asked her for anything. "You may ask, Ilaan, and if it’s in my power, I'll be happy to help you."
"I am having a party. Two nights from tonight. A celebration at my father's house to announce my accepting the Conclave's offer. I would be deeply honored if you would consider attending."
She looked amused.
"I'd enjoy seeing your family. Barring disaster, you may expect me. Leave the particulars with Diia."
***
On his way back home, feeling as if she'd done him the greatest favor in the world, he wondered again how the Queen could so effortlessly change his mind for him in any way she desired. He was still pondering this when he was surprised to find Aelle sitting with her back propped against the door to his study.
"I didn't want to just barge in," she said. "I...."
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "This is your house as much as mine, you didn't have to sit in the hall like a petitioner, Aelle. You look terrible. Has something happened?"
She went to her favorite seat, the one at the window. "You know how you think one thing is true, and you're really sure, and... like, what if we suddenly found out the air was made of stone?"
He didn't reply, only waited for her to circle around to her point.
"You'll be joining the Conclave soon, and you have Niico, and Father's so proud of you. And I... Well, that question you asked me at lunch." She looked up at him, dry-eyed as always. "I'm not ready for it not to be true, Ilaan. I'm just not."
"Let me ask you something. If Rhuun vanished, if he never existed, what would you be?"
She frowned. "You’re trying to be clever."
"That's not an answer."
"I would... probably still find myself at Court somehow. That's what Father raised me for, isn't it? And if Father never existed, and you were gone, and there was no Court, well, I guess I'd just fly through The Door and be a different person." She rubbed her forehead. "But all those people haven't disappeared." She gave him a tiny smile. "And you know I can barely fly across the street." Her smile faded and she looked at the floor. "I do love him. But sometimes I can't stand to be around him. I know I should be kinder, but half the time I feel like I'm the one who has vanished."
For once, Ilaan didn't know what to say. Aelle took a deep breath.
"That's for us—for me to figure out. Isn't it? I know how this ends. But I'm just not ready. Can you give me more time? Please?"
"It’s not my time to give, but I'll never fly away. And you don't even have to knock. Well, maybe you should, actually."
She laughed. "Definitely." She looked curiously around Ilaan's study. "What's all this?" He had apparently taken down everything he'd ever owned and strewn it all over the room.
"Conclave stuff. The Mages are very big on ceremony, and I don't want to put a wrong foot forward." He pointed to a large and heavily embroidered bag sitting open on his desk. It had an odd radiance that seem
ed to come from inside, although when she looked in, it was empty. "This is for my object."
"For those of us without an invitation, care to explain?"
"They have this thing before they let you join, it’s called the Naa Kansima. It means Lifting Up the Glass to Reflect Upon What Lies Within."
"Lifting Up... That is very fancy!" she laughed.
"The Mages don't believe in short names. It’s the last thing I have to do, and mine is in two days, the day of my party."
She raised an eyebrow. "You must be pretty certain they'll let you in!"
"Yeah, it would be a crap party otherwise, I guess. They told me it’s more for me than for them, although with those old dry farts, it’s hard to tell what they're talking about half the time."
"So you have to—what? Pick something in here?" She scanned the room with renewed interest.
"It involves giving up something of great personal value. It can be anything from a piece of jewelry to an old toy. But they examine it somehow and look inside the potential Mage. For character flaws, maybe."
"So, what's your backup career choice?" She grinned.
"Oh, it’s funny when it’s about me. Nice. No, I think they go looking for untapped ability, that sort of thing."
She spotted the little book sitting on his desk, and made a lunge for it. "A perfect opportunity to get rid of this thing!" She tossed it in the bag, which slid across the desk and onto the floor.
"Show some respect!" He snatched the bag off the floor and put the book back on his desk. "First of all, it’s not mine—as you know—and second, being jealous of inanimate objects gives you wrinkles."
He picked up a boy's tunic, brown and cream and quite faded. "I'm thinking of this. I wore it on several important occasions. Or this," an old string of stuffed winged mice, some missing eyes and others chewed by real mice, "I loved these. Or this!" An empty bottle of sarave. "Niico and I finished it off just a few days ago, and we created some fond memories." She giggled and "eeeeewwwed" at the same time. "Listen, don't move. And don't touch anything; I will know where your grubby mitts have been. I'll go fetch a new bottle and you can help me pick."
He shimmered out of the room and spent no more than a few heartbeats in the storeroom before returning empty handed.
"You put it back in there, didn't you?" he asked.
"Maybe," she shrugged. "It's almost like you don't trust me."
He made a great show of carefully placing the by-now rather tattered book on the top of his tallest bookshelf. "I will know," he warned her, and shimmered away again.
He reappeared a few moments later to find her curled in the window seat with a sweetly bland smile on her face. He set down the new bottle of sarave, and immediately took the book back out of the bag.
"Oh, come on!" she cried at his wounded expression. "You'd have been shocked and disappointed if I didn't!"
He poured them both a glass. "Moving on! Now," he held up a framed map of the Vastness, a gift from their father. "But is it personal enough?" He put it aside, picking up the tunic again. He thought about the boy he'd been that day, the first time he met the queen, and his trip to the library. "I think this will be perfect."
She nodded. "I suppose. It would have been my second choice." She sipped her drink. "I'm really glad you'll be going back and forth. Don't disappear into the darkness with those people."
"I have plans," he told her, his eyes bright. "Things are changing, and I'm going to make sure the Mages change with them. You'll see. You'll get your time, both of you. Just be patient."
Chapter 24
Gwenyth put her hand upon the latch. If the Duke came upon her now, there would be terrible trouble. She thought of his threats, that he'd spank her, as she deserved, and blushed furiously. He had told her more than once there were places she must not go, but after what she’d seen, what could be worse?
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 103
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
The Guardhouse
Scilla—now Little Sister Scilla of the Order of the Veil and the Door—opened her eyes as the sun rose, and looked at her cell. Call it that, because that’s what it is, she told herself. No new furniture had been added since she moved in, nor was there room for much more than the desk, the little fire grate, and bookcase. New paint had not freshened the walls, and the rag rug had not suddenly gained thickness or plushness. The Children of the Order were famous for their austerity, claiming it sharpened the mind and held The Door shut.
Scilla had other plans.
Her little notebook had begun speaking when spoken to.
She’d thought she’d followed her brother Rane off to the land of birds and bats when she’d seen it. And she had good reason to, what with his insistence on talking to things that weren't there. And she wasn’t deaf, she’d heard enough whispers about her mother, who had died bringing her into this world.
Scilla had written:
Ask About Dark
There had appeared:
It is not always dark. However, we find it quite peaceful.
Who are you? she scribbled instantly.
Someone with answers.
Are you beyond the Door?
You already know the answer to that one... try another.
Can I go where you are?
It has always been my fondest wish to see one of you join us.
She slammed the book shut and threw it on her bed, retreating to the far side of her cell. It wasn't a long trip. She held a hand in front of her face, watching it bounce and shudder—from fear or from excitement? She should bring the notebook to Brother Blue. She should tell the elders that one of the dreaded demon race had made contact with her from beyond the Door. She should thank her stars above she was in a protected place and safeguarded from corruption.
The Voice, as Scilla started calling it, was polite, witty, and very helpful.
Scilla began to even think perhaps she’d finally found a friend. She feared bothering it, writing to it too much, seeming too eager. But she was very eager. She thought about it all the time, wondering where it was and what it was doing by day, and sometimes even dreaming about the Voice at night. She could never see it in her dreams, only sometimes a hand would be reaching out for hers through a dark haze. It was very important that she clasp the hand. She hadn't yet, but she was certain one night she would.
This Order, as you say—you'll be there for life? Is that what you want? You are so very clever, it’s hard to believe you should be shut away.
She sometimes wondered if it was male or female, or neither (both?) but it seemed too large, too important for petty things like that. The very idea bordered on demeaning, like the way coloring your hair like a clown was demeaning. Like how ignoring your sister for the sake of parties and boys was demeaning. That sort of behavior, along with certain feelings, left you weak and vulnerable. She had a low opinion of those who flirted and drank and smoked and played little games.
Here on Eriis, we walk side by side under a glowing sky of gold and green. We read long into dusky evenings, we talk about our plans and hopes and dreams. We don’t fritter our time away on idle pursuits, or ignore those who love us. This sister of yours, tell me what she’s done now.
So the Voice was ageless and sexless, always interested in whatever Scilla had to say, ready to advise her, if that's what she needed, or just listen as she poured out her grievances against her family and the Order. The Voice agreed that Lelet didn’t deserve the life she’d been handed. It wasn’t jealousy, it was just good common sense. And when she confessed how she sometimes dreamed of making her sister pay, the Voice didn’t tell her to grow up and stop being foolish. The Voice, as in all things, was on her side. The Voice was the only one who seemed to understand that Scilla was more than just a Fifth, and deserved a better fate than being just another brick holdi
ng the Door shut.
Do you study the Door very much? How it’s held shut?
Ah, The Door. The Voice was very interested in anything she had to say about that. And wasn't it a shame, the way they were being kept apart? And wasn't it sad that even the idea of these two great lands coming together again, was enough to get a novice punishment duty? (Scilla had only endured the week of pre-dawn floor scrubbing and late-night pot washing once, before learning to keep her opinions to herself. Well, herself and the Voice.) Her classes had taken on a new luster, now that she knew the truth. She kept her mouth shut more and her ears wide open, listening for the truth behind the parade of lies her elders taught. When she thought she'd caught them in an untruth, the Voice was there to tell her what really happened.
Do they really tell you we tear at each other? What a thing to say!
She stopped thinking of them as demons, although the Voice confirmed that was what they called themselves. To Scilla, they were now 'the people', or 'the others.' As far as their being depraved little fire monsters, well, that was a lie beneath contempt. Who was kinder or more civilized than her companion the Voice? And was there a more beautiful name for a place than Eriis? She said it to herself all the time, loving the shape it made in her mouth.
Sometimes the Voice had little notes or messages waiting for her when she opened her notebook, like:
It's very fine here today. I'm planning on taking a lovely walk outside the city gates. If only you were beside me, my friend— what sights I could show you! The Towers of the Moons! The River of Glass! Truly, Eriis is a place of wonders. But once again I am filled with sadness at how the truth of our existence keeps us apart.
Any messages at all from the Voice made Scilla's heart pound, but here it was calling her 'friend.' Her desire to take that friend's hand was matched only by her passion for seeing Eriis for herself. Sometimes she couldn't bear the close stone rooms with their low ceilings and smell of age, and had to leave her brothers and sisters in their meditation to walk out under the sky. The same sky as the Voice walks under right now, she would think with a sort of awe.
She would take the winding stone stair from her cell early in the morning, and follow the path from the Low Gate into the forest—the very edge of the Great Forest. About a half metre from the Guardhouse a circle of trees had fallen victim to a lightning strike, so long ago that their shattered stumps were now plush with moss. Some were as high as her head (the tall ones still looked a bit like snagged teeth) while others were nearly as flat as the ground. She didn't know how it was possible for lightning to strike in a circle, but that's what it looked like to her, and she wasn't about to share her secret, favorite place with anyone who might know the answer. Two great old trees had come down, and their remains made perfect seats, as they just slightly bowed towards each other. Scilla liked to think they were having a conversation that lasted decades. In her mind, they were reminiscing about the time before, when Eriis and Mistra were neighbors in fact as well as in proximity.
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