Lukasha’s eyes were on Kassia’s face, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her. “But there must be four catalysts. We’ve both already tried squaring the base elements themselves.”
Kassia’s heart leapt. “Not with this formula. Not with the spell balls placed just so and not facing the proper direction and not from the mandorla.”
Even as she spoke, she went into action, laying out the spell balls, facing the eastern horizon. She chanted the equation, this time calling upon Air, Earth, Fire and Water, repeating the order with the names of their symbolic elements—Asur, Lien, Rez and Alka.
The result was spectacular. She was overspread by a brilliant canopy of light that pulsed with all the hues of the called catalysts . . . but she went nowhere and, though she did catch a glimpse of the cesia at the Zelimirid palace, the image was more dreamlike than real.
“That wasn’t it,” she said glumly when she’d let the canopy fold in on itself.
Lukasha agreed. “Beautiful but ineffective. The elements are not the key.”
“I should have expected not. Honorius’ notes make it clear the catalysts are things contained in the forces, not the forces themselves.”
“In a way,” Zakarij observed, “Mat and Itugen are contained in their creation.”
“But they are only two,” said Lukasha, “and there are four catalysts for this spell.”
“Perhaps they are four names for the God and Goddess,” persisted Zakarij. “Itugen is sometimes called Milada and Amaliya. Mat is sometimes referred to as Boh. Together they’re known as the King and Queen of Heaven.”
They tried those names also, and although Kassia felt power vibrating her body and tingling in her fingertips, and she was able to concoct a wonderful, glistening shield of iridescent light, her form did not so much as waver before the eyes of her companions. There was, however, a sudden gathering of clouds over Lorant, and the flash of light her spell engendered was met by a flash of lightning outside and followed by a crack of spell-borne thunder. She quickly allowed the spell to collapse.
“What happened to this last set of names?” mused Lukasha when they had abandoned their experiments sometime later. “Who could have effaced them? Pater Honorius?”
“Perhaps the Tartars did it,” said Kassia, rubbing tired eyes. “Perhaps it offended them in some way. Or perhaps Pater Honorius effaced them to keep the Tartar shamans from using them. The third level of power is supposedly the highest—to control. Although . . .” She tugged at her lower lip. “It’s possible Marija didn’t copy them for some reason.”
“Maybe they were indecipherable,” suggested Zakarij.
“No, she would have tried. Maybe, having deciphered them, she hid them somewhere.”
Lukasha shook his head, disappointment heavy in his face. “As useful to us as the lesser manifestations of this spell can be, I must believe that this highest level must be even more so, perhaps by an order of magnitude. Kassia, bring me Marija’s journal,” Lukasha bid her, and she reluctantly obeyed.
Though he examined the journal’s mutilated sections, Lukasha could bring to them no new insights. Still, Kassia’s worst fear was not realized; Lukasha did not take the book from her keeping. He returned it to her with a dual charter, to teach him the Window and Traveling spells and to probe further for the missing catalysts and their possible uses.
Her Master did not take to the spells with the same facility she had—a thing which distressed Kassia almost as much as it surprised her. Was it his age, she wondered. Was he growing weak? Or was it merely that to a practitioner of almost pure celestial magic, the use of earth forces, so long dammed away from anyone’s use, simply came with more difficulty? The Window spell worked well enough with sustained practice—though he seemed to have trouble focusing it across distances further than the next room—but the Traveling spell eluded him completely for some time. After nearly a week of struggle, he at last was able to port himself from room to room in the college (always in his private rooms), but even that meager success severely taxed his strength, both mentally and physically.
Surprisingly, he was angry at his self-defined failure. He had less patience with himself than he ever had displayed with Kassia and she found herself taking him to task for being too hard on himself.
“Why should you find this natural? It’s half shai magic, which is surely the only reason I can do anything with it. You taught me the rest of it, which wasn’t easy for me either, at first. I think you should be at least as patient with yourself as you were with me.”
He laughed and raised a hand against her scolding. “Granted, Kiska mine. Granted. But this Itugenic magic is so very difficult to control. It’s like trying to put a bit and bridle on a raging fire.”
“And aeromancy is easy? I found controlling air like . . . like trying to catch a breeze in a fish net.”
Lukasha grimaced. “Yes, I’m sure you did—for all of two minutes. I’ve been at this for days. But—” He raised his had again to preempt any further argument. “But I must learn it, however long it takes me.”
oOo
It took another four days before Lukasha was able to hold the balance necessary for the use of the Traveling spell. In a week more of steady improvement, he worked on concentration of will and consistency, until his handling of earth elements and forces was nearly as smooth as his handling of celestial ones. He still had a bit of a problem with distance, but not because of the newness of geomancy. He was loathe to admit it to anyone, even Damek (or perhaps especially Damek)—because the true root of his unstable sorcery was his uneasiness at the thought of traveling such immense distances through a realm he had once thought familiar, but now realized was utterly alien.
The Window spell posed no problem for him, but the frenzied trip through the liquid crystal corridor of the Traveling spell filled him with dread. Though the speed was so great as to be incomprehensible, still he was aware of things moving about him—above and below, left and right. Awful things, terrible things . . . or so he reckoned them to be. The longer the journey, the longer he must spend in that place full of alien spirits, strange shapes, frenetic movement and eerie whispers.
He asked Kassia about it once. Yes, she too had noticed the flickering of light, color and motion behind the translucent walls of the spirit corridor, but she seemed to find the strangeness more curious than threatening. Her calm both annoyed and relieved him; if his Apprentice could tolerate the disorientation, surely he could. Still, when he felt he had delayed long enough in using his new knowledge to communicate with Master Antal, he chose the Window spell instead of its more powerful relative to make the connection.
Antal was beyond surprise to see his Daliboran friend apparently confronting him from his mirror one morning. He stammered and gaped and even started to genuflect once. Lukasha, laughing, stopped him from going that far and let him in on Kassia’s progress with the ancient spells. Antal was dumbfounded.
“I didn’t even suspect,” he murmured, when at last he believed his eyes, “that such things existed. This is a miracle, Lukasha. A miracle that couldn’t have come at a better time.”
His words made Lukasha immediately wary. “What do you mean, Antal? What’s happened?”
“Just after you left, our king sent away all but one of his concubines. The woman he kept is most striking. She is from the north, and her hair is so fair as to be nearly white.”
Lukasha felt a thrill of triumph at that. “You imply she reminds him of Kassia. I see no problem there, unless it is that he is in Tabor and Kassia is here.”
“There is more. The field of bridal candidates has narrowed to three women. The Orsini, the Turkish woman, Amadiyeh bint Tash—who is the great-niece of the Sultan—and a woman of Bytomierz darugha, Zofia Varyusha. Michal seemed very much to like this Zofia. She is bright as well as beautiful, well-versed in the arts and sciences, and has been disposed to accompany him to the cesia in the mornings as your Kassia did. Moreover, she speaks fluent German, Italian and Frankish to the ba
rgain.” He smiled almost fondly. “She has a temper.”
Lukasha was uncertain whether to be pleased or disappointed. He realized he had actually hoped Zelimir would offer Kassia marriage, but in view of the disparity in their stations, he now knew concubinage was the most he might have hoped for. Still might hope for, though it seemed to hold no favor in Kassia’s eyes.
“I have yet to understand your concern, Antal,” Lukasha acknowledged. “Surely, that our king marry a native daughter is a thing to celebrate.”
“On the surface, yes. Such a marriage would find favor in Polian eyes, but neither the Franks nor the Turks may be disposed to ally themselves with us against the Mongols should they have no real stake in the matter.”
“No stake? When their own borders would then be laid open?”
“Polia would be a battleground in that case, Lukasha, not a protectorate. If Zelimir does not take the Lombard, the Turk would be the better choice. The Sultan’s forces are fierce and legion.” He shook his head. “It may all be irrelevant; for no apparent reason, Zofia has fallen from favor and Zelimir has begun to display a distinct preference for the company of the Duchess Orsini. She, of course, will not visit the cesia in his company, so he attends to his devotions alone these mornings, then escorts the duchess to mass.”
Lukasha’s heart chilled. “The Orsini possesses so little charm.”
“Charm is in the eye of the beholder. What I first took for a solemn wisdom I’m now convinced is a clever cloak for ignorance, but His Majesty is increasingly drawn to her. I don’t think it has much to do with what she possesses, Lukasha, but with what possesses him. There is magic of a sort at work here, I’m certain of it.”
“Benedict. Kassia warned me that he has some arcane skills. She once before caught him trying to manipulate Zelimir, but was able to block him.”
Antal’s face showed hope and concern at once. “If she can do that, you must return her to Tabor.”
“Alas, she was not happy there. Our king has already asked her to stay. She refused him. I had hoped that with time and distance, her feelings would draw her to Zelimir. This has not been the case.” Lukasha grimaced. “Yet, given the strides her powers have made these last weeks, I can hardly say her presence here has been a disappointment.”
“Lukasha, I cannot block what I can’t sense. If Benedict has some sort of magic at his disposal, it’s not something that’s evident to me and mine. If Kassia can sense this alien sorcery, and can block it, then Zelimir needs her. You’re her Master—order her to return to Tabor.”
“I am loathe to ‘order’ her, my friend. Kassia is her own woman—a woman with immense potential. I hesitate to ask her to bind that potential to Michal Zelimir—and by such an ephemeral bond as bodily desire. Still, there is a great deal more hanging in the balance than one young woman’s particular aspirations.” He grimaced. “Or one old Mateu’s. If it becomes necessary, I may have to compel her. Never fear, Antal, I shall speak to Kassia. I suppose I shall have to return her to Tabor . . . by whatever means prove necessary.”
oOo
”Twilight,” Kassia murmured.
Ari looked up from her equations, a tendril of curly hair floated across her face by the balmy breeze. “Twilight?”
“In Marija’s translation of Pater Honorius’ notes he links the catalyzing names for a Squared spell to day, night and twilight. Day would seem to indicate the celestial names, and night the earthly ones, but I don’t understand the reference to twilight.”
“Twilight is the confluence of day and night, the gray area between light and darkness. Could it be a combination of the two?”
“I had the same thought. So I tried using the most neutral earth names I could think of; that didn’t work. Then I tried mixing earth and sky elements in the spell.”
“That didn’t work either,” guessed Ari. “I wish I could help, but I’m still struggling with this new Triad Master Radman wants me to master.”
Kassia smiled then, looking up over Ari’s head, noticed that Shagtai had ceased his work over Beyla’s newest kite and was listening to their conversation.
Catching Kassia’s eye, he asked, “What does this Honorius have to say about twilight?”
Humoring him, Kassia recited, “‘Let him who has ears hear—these four catalysts may represent the kingdom of Day or of Night or of Twilight, and these four may allow the user to see or to be or to control. These are the faces of increasing levels power, of which there are three’.”
Shagtai nodded, his eyes saying nothing which, as Kassia now knew, often meant much. “Tell me about this Honorius. He was a shaman or a mage?”
Kassia rose from her roof-edge seat and moved to where Shagtai and Beyla worked in the golden light of the long summer evening, stretching brilliant azure fabric over a kite frame. “He was a monk. What they call a theurgist. He worked his magic in the name of God.”
“As is proper. This spell you seek to know came from him?”
“No. It’s much older than even Honorius. I think he got it from the local shamans, and I’ve no idea where they might have got it.”
“You are sure of this, that it was from the ancients?”
“Well, Pater Honorius treats it as if it were something outside himself, something . . . alien. He uses the spell, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust it.” She looked at Shagtai with sudden interest. “Your father was a shaman, wasn’t he?”
Shagtai turned his attention back to the kite frame Beyla was holding with patient hands. “He was. And his father before him, and his before him, and so on. So far back no one recalls if there was ever a man of the clan Bhatan who ever did other than that, though I know we were sometimes farmers and huntsmen as well out of necessity. My father was such a one—a farmer-shaman and my mother was a medicine woman.”
“But you’re not a shaman,” said Kassia. “Why?”
Beyla looked up sharply from his kite. “He is too a shaman, mama. Why do you say he’s not?”
Kassia’s attention was fully on Shagtai. “Do you know something about this spell?”
“I know something about Twilight.” He gestured at the mellowly lit sky. “It is a place between. A time that is neither day nor night. A time when the souls of things are tethered loosely and a gate is open between heaven and hell. At this time, as at no other, evil may enter our world.”
“Then you believe hell is a place?” asked Kassia. “A place Mat and Itugen created?”
Shagtai’s head shook in a quick negative. “Not a place. And not created by Mat and Itugen, who give birth to no evil. We have given birth to hell. It is a realm of our devising. A doorway through which the shaman may reach through to the raw forces of the world’s beginnings and bend them. The forces know neither day nor night nor twilight. We assign them celestial names or hellish ones. But at twilight, they may be more easily reached. At twilight all barriers may be breached.”
“The writings of the Mateu say nothing about twilight or hell.”
“I speak of ancient beliefs. There were no Mateu when the first Bhatan shaman worked his magic and the first shai wove her spells. These things are passed down in the memories of the generations. They are not written; they are merely understood.”
“There were shai in your clan?”
“In every generation.” He hesitated momentarily, then said, “My mother was shai. I have a certain understanding of the old beliefs and of Twilight. It is not a safe time.” He gave her a look as sharp as a shard of glass and turned his attention back to the kite.
Exhilarated as she was by Shagtai’s intimations that a sorcerer might harness primordial power, Kassia yet felt a certain disquiet in his vague warnings. If the intent of the Traveling spell—or its more powerful triplet—was to harness the powers of creation, then the missing names must be from an order of catalyst that Kassia had never heard of, let alone used. She wondered where she might find such names, then wondered if she even wanted to find them. She had already tapped the power to travel to Tabor an
d back in a matter of seconds. What more was there? What benefit could control of the ‘raw elements of creation’ give?
Curiosity tugging at her, Kassia spent the entire evening buried in a pile of books and tablets, taking time out only to read Beyla a story and tuck him in. She slept fitfully and briefly, finding that even her dreams were preoccupied with finding some clue to the Twilight catalysts. Awake long before dawn, Kassia turned once again to Marija’s journal, poring over the pages nearest the missing sections in the hope of making some serendipitous find. She made only a slender connection. Marija, she realized, seemed to spend much time in the library archives, studying the most ancient manuscripts she could find. “Aged odds and ends,” she called them. It made sense to Kassia that perhaps her predecessor had found something there—possibly even a key to the strange script on some of the pages.
With that in mind, she dressed and journeyed to the heart of the college. The library was empty and Kassia went immediately to the archival section where there were kept folios and even boxes filled with records going back . . . well, further than she could imagine. She peeked and poked and riffled, only to find that the records seemed to pertain to the college itself—to its instructors and students. She found the old registries, smiling fondly as she found, in one, the page on which Marija of Ohdan’s name first appeared as an applicant for the Initiate.
As interesting as this was, it was clearly not what she was looking for. The records she sought were from a time before, a time when Lorant was a monastery called Jasna Gora, and when the library she now knelt in was a Christian house of worship. Rising from the floor amid the archival stacks, Kassia closed her eyes and emptied her mind, counseling it to quiet. She called upon Itugen and Mat and the spirit of Marija Boh-itu in turn and asked them—begged them—to aid her in her search. Then she began to move among the shelves, not knowing what she was looking for, hoping she would know it if she found it.
She ended her journey in a dimly lit, little-used end of the general library, where an odd little pillar of pink marble supported a dusty hand-enameled bowl. The little obelisk looked strangely out of place here, in a structure of native granite. Kassia’s eyes were drawn to the floor. Here too, a sheath of the pink stone covered the gray and white, creating a raised area roughly the size of Kassia’s dais. Or, she thought, the size of an altar. And she had seen something like this in Pater Julian’s domain. There, a large golden bowl had held what appeared to be water. What was its purpose?
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