If the legacy left behind by the Old Ones had been anything more than legend and fragment, then the Circle might well have understood the true nature of these supernatural storms and possibly even have learned how to harness their power. But in the days after the final fall of the ancient race virtually all that unimaginable knowledge had been lost, as the Castle's new masters systematically erased every possible trace of their vanquished enemies.
According to what meager historical records did remain, the Old Ones had been servants of the powers of Chaos -- and thus they stood for everything that was anathema to the worshippers of Aeoris. It was impossible to imagine what this world must have been like in the days when the dark gods of Chaos held sway; an unholy miasma of wildness, madness, dementia; a reign of terror that was only brought to an end by the direct intervention of the Lords of Order themselves.
But whatever the extent of their evil, no one could deny that the Old Ones' command of sorcery had been phenomenal -- the Castle itself, created by Chaos's servants with Chaos's power, stood testimony to that. Beside them the Initiates of the Circle were pale shadows, striving but failing to understand matters which, to the ancient race, had been simple. In destroying the legacy the Circle had destroyed so much that could, if cleansed of its taint, have been invaluable, and again Tarod felt frustration welling up within him. So much knowledge lost, that could never be regained....
The passage ended abruptly at a heavy door, breaking his chain of thought. By this time he could feel the intensity of the approaching Warp as an almost physical sensation; the very walls seemed to pulse with a strange energy and he sensed that the storm would indeed be abnormally powerful. This time, if they could only break the barrier...
The door opened on to a dimly lit, pillared vault, deep underground beneath the main hall, where the Castle's library was housed. There were two sections to the library; one the province of the scholars and historians, the other closed to all but Initiates and holding the sum total of the Circle's occult knowledge, gleaned over countless generations since the destruction of the Castle's original masters. Tarod had spent more hours than he cared to recollect searching among the books and scrolls for some answer to his personal dilemma; now though, he didn't pause but crossed the deserted, shadowy room to where a small and insignificant-looking door at the far side stood open. Beyond it yet another passage sloped steeply downwards and Tarod made his way quickly along it. A faint, nacreous light filtered from the far end, growing stronger until another door came into view -- and the door itself was the source of the light. It was made of some silver-colored metal that the Circle could neither identify nor analyze, and it shone with its own peculiar phosphorescence. This was the entrance to the Marble Hall, at the very core of the Castle's foundations.
The Marble Hall was the Castle's greatest conundrum. Scholars believed that it contained within its walls the ultimate secret of the Old Ones' power, but, as with so many aspects of the Castle, they had been unable to fathom the mystery. Buried in the solid granite of the cliffs, it defied all known spatial laws, and seemed to act as a focus and magnifier for any occult activity -- and fragmented records hinted that it also held a vital clue to the nature of time itself. Only one door to the Marble Hall existed, and the key was kept in the close possession of the High Initiate, who alone could authorize its use. Tarod had entered the Hall four times in his life -- twice with his fellow Adepts on a mission such as this, twice with Jehrek and the higher Council members to face his initiation trial for the sixth and seventh ranks -- and each time he had been filled with a fascination that bordered on the obsessive. Now, as he eased the silver door open, the anticipation of seeing that awesome chamber again made every nerve in his body tingle.
The higher Adepts were there, waiting for him -- some twenty men and women utterly dwarfed by their incredible surroundings. The Marble Hall stretched impossibly away in every direction, its walls -- if it truly had walls -- obscured by a pale haze that pulsed with light in a disturbing blend of pastel colors. Here and there slender pillars reared up from the floor to vanish in the mist overhead, and the mosaic tiles on which Tarod walked seemed to shift and change subtly beneath his feet.
Keridil, at one side of the group, acknowledged Tarod's arrival with a grin, and the High Initiate nodded gravely in his direction. "Tarod -- I think our numbers are now complete. If you will all follow me..."
He moved across the floor to a place where the pattern of the mosaic had been abruptly broken by a large circle of dense black. This, it was surmised, marked the Marble Hall's exact center, and therefore, as far as the Circle could judge, the heart of its power. As the Initiates took their prescribed places around it, with Jehrek at the Southernmost station, Tarod's eyes were drawn -- as they had been before -- to another part of the Hall, all but lost in the faintly shifting haze. He could just make out the dim shapes of seven colossal statues, looming nightmarishly out of the gloom. Though crudely carved, they clearly represented human forms... but the face of each one had been thoroughly and determinedly hacked away, leaving the heads jagged and mutilated. And, as before, he felt an irrational shudder as he looked at those ruined figures. They were, so legend had it, statues of Aeoris and his six brothers -- once even the Old Ones had been followers of the Lords of Order and had erected these colossi in their honor; but after they turned to the ways of Chaos they had defaced the figures in deference to their new masters.
But if the statues were no more than that, Tarod wondered, why did they draw his mind in a way no other representations of the gods had ever done... ?
He was brought abruptly out of his reverie by a fellow Adept some way distant from him, who spoke in a carrying whisper to his neighbor:
"... more important matters on his mind, no doubt, than mere Circle business..."
Tarod looked up and met the hostile stare of Rhiman Han, a fifth-rank Adept some ten years his senior. As his own prowess in sorcery had become more and more noticeable, Tarod had realized that his skills provoked one of two reactions among his peers. Some admired his talents and gave credit where it was due; others envied them, and resented the fact that so young a man had reached the ultimate rank with such consummate ease. Rhiman had earned more honors with his sword in Festival-Day tournaments than he was ever likely to earn as an Adept, and though he occupied a minor seat on the Council he nonetheless missed no opportunity to broadcast the fact that he thought Tarod an upstart.
Tarod raked the red-haired man with one of his most contemptuous glances. "I'm indebted to you for reminding me of my duty, Rhiman," he said coolly, without bothering to lower his voice. "Perhaps if you'd care to focus your own mind on higher matters we need delay the High Initiate no longer?"
Rhiman flushed angrily, and Jehrek gave both men in turn a sharp look. From the corner of his eye Tarod saw Keridil hide a smile, then the High Initiate said with faint acerbity, "If we may begin... ?"
The Adepts as one bowed their heads and Jehrek started to intone the Prayer and Exhortation that opened every Higher Rite. Tarod did his best to concentrate as the too-familiar words flowed past him to be lost in the Hall's immensity, but it was difficult. Something kept tugging at his mind, calling him away from what should have been a sharp focus on the ceremony; and he had to admit to himself that he was bored. So much gravity and ritual; so much unnecessary preparation before anything could be done.... Aware that he should be attuning his senses to join with the others, he concentrated on the black circle around which they were gathered, trying to use it as a focal point. But still some nagging, insidious distraction was pulling him away from what should have been his goal. Jehrek's voice was hypnotic now, as the High Initiate moved towards the semi-trance state that signalled the moment for the ritual proper to begin. All around him his peers murmured the responses to the Exhortation, but though his lips moved in unison with theirs no sound came from Tarod's throat. Suddenly he caught sight of his ring, and the stone seemed to have taken on a ferocious life of its own, reflecting impossib
le colors back at him like a dazzling, unhuman eye. He could feel power beginning to emanate from the circle of Adepts as minds linked and locked, but his own mind was strangely apart, an observer... and the black circle on the floor seemed to be growing, spreading out, a dark flower...
Come back...
The words entered his head so unexpectedly that he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from gasping aloud in shock.
Come back... Remember... Time...
Time... the Marble Hall held the key to Time, it was said... Tarod shut his eyes, trying to blot out the unwanted interference that crept into his mind and concentrate on the task at hand -- but it was impossible. Time. The clue, the key...
His immediate neighbor felt the shudder that passed through him and gave him a swift, anxious look. Tarod's face was frozen in a rigid mask as he fought the influence in his head, but it was growing stronger, overwhelming him. For an instant he had the terrible feeling that the seven defaced statues were converging on him, that the walls and roof of the Hall were caving in -- he snapped his eyes open in an effort to clear the disorientation, and saw the black circle on the floor. But it wasn't a simple mosaic pattern any more; it was a vortex, a shaft that had opened up in the floor, plunging away into infinity and trying to drag him with it. The singing of the Warp, far overhead, seemed to be in his brain and carrying him on its screaming, howling way; he swayed, his balance was going --
It was something to do with the Warp, something to do with this Hall -- the dream, the entity --
"Tarod!" Dimly he heard a voice calling urgently to him. He thought it was Keridil, but the inflection was twisted somehow. "Father, stop! We must stop! He's -- "
Tarod didn't hear what Keridil might have said. At that moment a wall of darkness rushed out of nowhere towards him and hit him full on. As it struck, he had a momentary image of a star that flared into seven points of blinding light before he keeled unconscious to the floor.
"You're picking at your food." Themila Gan Lin spoke as she might have done to a recalcitrant child. "Eat, now. You heard what Grevard said."
Tarod glanced up at her and smiled wryly. " 'Lack of vitality in the blood, caused by neglect of the sustenance needed to maintain good health, both mental and physical. And too much overindulgence in wine.' " His mimicry of the physician's acid tones made her smile. "Yes, Themila, I heard what Grevard said."
She refused to be intimidated. "Then eat. Or I'll force the food down you myself, and don't believe I wouldn't!"
He turned his attention to the well-stocked plate she had set before him. He didn't want food, but would make himself eat it to please her. And doubtless Grevard had a point; he had neglected his own needs these past few days, and by all logical standards the diagnosis could well explain the incident in the Marble Hall.
But Tarod was none too sure that logic could be applied here. And when he looked across the table at Keridil, he knew that his friend was thinking along much the same lines.
"Keridil?" Tarod spoke softly, but something in his voice alerted the other man. He decided to be blunt. "From the look on your face, I'd say you no more agree with Grevard's diagnosis than I do."
Keridil stared at him. "No. I don't. But you've got the advantage of me, Tarod -- I'm not privy to your innermost thoughts... or your recent experiences."
Themila looked from one to the other. "If you're suggesting, Keridil, that Tarod is -- "
Keridil raised a hand, silencing her before she could say any more. "Themila, I appreciate your mothering instincts -- I've been on the receiving end of them myself, often enough! -- but you know as well as I do that there's more to this than Grevard's simple explanation! And with all due respect, you weren't in the Marble Hall today -- you didn't see his face..."
Tarod wished that they were anywhere but the overcrowded dining hall. There was too much noise, chatter and laughter, too many interruptions. He had spent the past hour suffering Grevard's examination and the lecture which followed, and had only submitted to the physician's orders because to argue would have put him in even worse straits with the High Initiate. Jehrek, anxious both for the well-being of his Adepts and for the success of any Circle rite, had been furious to learn of Tarod's self-neglect -- Keridil had recounted that after he was carried hastily out of the Hall the remaining Adepts had attempted to continue the Higher Rite, but the impetus was gone and they achieved nothing. Now though, Tarod felt that he had done his duty, and he wanted to escape.
But between them, Keridil and Themila wouldn't let him escape. Themila already knew about the dreams, if not in detail; Keridil's suspicions were sufficiently aroused to make him probe further. And it wouldn't be long before they put two and two together.
He hadn't wanted to confide in anyone. Since Lady Kael Amion's shocking rejection of his plea for help he had deliberately held his tongue, too unsure of himself to risk a second rebuff. But Keridil and Themila were his closest, dearest friends. If he couldn't trust them, he could trust no one. And perhaps, after all, it would help to ease his mind... ?
They were waiting for him to speak. He said, quietly, "You're right, Keridil. There is something... but this isn't the place to recount it. Come with me to my rooms, and I'll tell you as much as I can."
Tarod was surprised at the relief he felt when, finally, he finished telling his story. His two companions had listened without interruption as he recounted the dreams that plagued him each night, and described the disastrous attempt he had made to keep watch on the astral plane. When at last he stopped speaking, Themila nodded slowly.
"I see now why you were so anxious to secure Kael Amion's services," she said gravely.
"Lady Kael?" Keridil looked at Themila in surprise. "Was she involved?"
"She was not. She -- " Themila glanced at Tarod for permission, and he acquiesced with a slight gesture. "She... declined to give her advice."
"Gods! That's all but unheard of!"
"Yes, Keridil, it is." Themila's expression told him that he was being tactless. "Nonetheless, it's a right any seer may reserve if they choose . , . and Kael chose to reserve it. What concerns us is Tarod's own view of the matter.''
Tarod shrugged helplessly. "I have no view -- or none that's formed enough to be worth airing. But I'd greatly value yours -- both of you."
Even if Keridil didn't catch the faint, desperate inflection in his voice, it wasn't lost on Themila and her eyes filled with sympathy. "Tarod, I have no clear answers. This is something that's beyond my province; I'm a historian, not a seer. But I would like to ask you one question..."
"Ask it." Tarod was perplexed by her hesitation.
"Very well. It's simply this: since you first came to the Castle, all those years ago, and began your training with us... has the Circle been a disappointment to you?"
She saw the answer mirrored in Tarod's green eyes before he could hide it and, without giving him the chance to invent a careful denial, pressed on.
"I came to know you better than you think, during your early days here. I saw a child who longed to be a part of something that he thought great and splendid and arcane. And I have seen you grow into a man who still has that longing, yet who has found his heroes to be nothing more than fellow men, as uncertain as he himself is uncertain. Do I do you an injustice, my son?"
Keridil's indrawn breath was a strangled protest against such brutal frankness, but Tarod's eyes smoldered.
"No, Themila. You are very perceptive."
"Then answer my question truthfully
Keridil couldn't stand by any longer nothing to do with the matter at hand!' dreams, the incident today -- "
Themila interrupted him severely. "Yes, Keridil, the dreams. It's my belief -- and think Tarod agrees with me -- that the dreams are trying to tell us ail something that we should have acknowledged long ago. Answer me this -- how many Initiates ever achieve seventh rank? How many achieve it within ten years of beginning their training in the Circle? How many have the skill to rise to even greater status, if such
status existed?"
Keridil stared at her, then at Tarod as though seeing him clearly for the first time. Slowly, he ran his tongue over lips that were suddenly dry. "Yes... yes, I begin to understand you."
"I don't claim to know what lies behind Tarod's... shall we say... unusual talent," Themila went on, reckless now that her first premise had been accepted. "But one thing is certain -- he will know no peace of mind until he has explored it to wherever it wishes to lead him. And in that, it's our duty to help him in any way that we can!"
"Yes..." Keridil frowned, still not entirely sure of himself. "And yet..."
"Yet?" Themila's question was a challenge.
"I don't know... an instinct, maybe, but -- I feel there's more to this. Far more." He looked across the darkening room at Tarod and knew from his friend's expression that he'd found the mark. "Of course I'll do all I can to help, but... I don't know if it'll be of any use."
Tarod moved restlessly in the gloom. "Useful or not, I'm grateful to you... to you both."
"Well... three minds are better than one." Nonetheless Keridil wished he could banish the unease that lurked in a corner of his mind. "I'll think on it, Tarod. There must be an answer; either a solution to the mystery or a way of preventing it from plaguing you any further."
Silence hung in the room for a moment or two; an oppressive silence. Finally, Tarod broke it.
"Yes," he said. "There must be an answer, somewhere..."
When Keridil and Themila had gone, Tarod sat in his room while the last of the evening light failed. Down in the courtyard a supply caravan was arriving from Chaun Province, but the noise of wagons being unloaded and drovers escorted away to the dining hall for victualling hardly impinged on his consciousness.
Themila had struck home with her question about the Circle being a disappointment, though it wasn't something that Tarod had directly acknowledged to anyone before. Yet at the same time, she was wrong -- or so he believed -- in her assumption that his frustration was a cause of the dreams. Keridil, if anyone, had been closer when he intimated that there was far more afoot than any of them could guess as yet. But Tarod was convinced that their best efforts -- and they would give of their best, he was sure of that -- wouldn't even begin to break the conundrum. And while they deliberated, the specter of nightmare still hung over him like a sword poised to strike and he was as powerless against it as ever. And after what had happened today, in the Marble Hall, he believed that the strength of the unknown forces would be redoubled....
The Initiate Page 8