The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  He had still told no one -- least of all Sashka -- of the visitation by the enigmatic entity. And lately he had duped himself into thinking that perhaps Yandros and all he implied were nothing more than the aftermath of a bad dream; that the pact he had made -- or believed he had made -- would come to nothing. His need to delve into the mystery had faded, and even the waning of his one-time occult power had hardly seemed to matter any more.

  But now he saw that he had presumed far too much, walking into a trap of false assumption and complacency.

  Yandros, whoever or whatever he might be, was not about to let go his hold on Tarod -- he was simply biding his time, waiting, as he had said, until the moment was right.

  A blackness of spirit washed over Tarod. That laughter had been such a small sign, but no sorcerer worthy of the name could have mistaken it. Sooner or later, he would be called; and no power in the world could resist that call when it came. And if whatever Yandros had in store for him were to endanger or alienate Sashka, it would be a price he couldn't pay.

  He moved towards the window, and his right hand absently fingered the silver ring. The stone felt unusually warm to the touch, almost as if a small, independent life pulsed within it. Yandros, he remembered, had touched that stone as though it carried some significance that was beyond his understanding. And that was the trouble -- there was too much that Tarod didn't understand.

  He had to find out. Now that he had been forced to face up to the truth instead of hiding from it, it was more vital than ever before that he should learn what Yandros planned for him. Otherwise, his future with Sashka would be in jeopardy.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, he took the top book from the pile, brushed the worst of the dust from its cover, and sat down to begin reading.

  It was peculiarly unnerving feeling to look back after reaching the safe ground on the far side of the causeway and see the Peninsula stack rising gaunt and grey out of the sea, with not the smallest trace of the Castle visible. Sashka suppressed a shudder, then turned her face forward once more in preparation for the long ride.

  One of the younger Initiates in the party turned to look back at her and smile encouragement. "It's hard to credit, lady, but we'll find being in the mountains a blessing in weather like this. The crags keep the worst of the rain off, and provided we watch out for the cataracts that come down off the rocks we'll stay drier than we would anywhere else."

  Sashka nodded acknowledgment without speaking. She had no particular wish to engage in small talk with her travelling companions -- as a Veyyil Saravin and wife-to-be of a high Adept she didn't intend to encourage presumption from mere third and fourth rank Initiates. And so, to pass the time, she began to indulge in pleasant speculation about the reactions of her family and the Sisters to her betrothal. Even if her father hadn't taken an immediate liking to Tarod during their one brief meeting, he would be delighted. As far as Sashka knew, no clanswoman on either the Veyyil or the Saravin side had ever married into the hierarchy of the Star Peninsula; certainly none had ever wed an Initiate of Tarod's rank. Although whether she would want to stay at the Castle after their marriage was another matter -- the place was impressive, certainly, but to one accustomed to the hedonism of West High Land's upper echelons life in the Castle could pall after a while. Still, she reflected, it should be easy enough to persuade Tarod around to her way of thinking. They could, perhaps, divide their time between the Peninsula and her own homeland; and there would be any number of opportunities for further social advancement. To a seventh-rank Adept and his wife very few doors indeed would ever be closed, and Tarod would surely agree with her that there was more to life than the closeted existence he had known in the Circle.

  She had already decided that she would complete her training and remain in the Sisterhood. There were no strictures against marriage for Novices and full Sisters alike, and although it would mean devoting time to her qualifying studies to no real purpose, the status would nonetheless stand her in good stead in her future role.

  All in all, Sashka was well contented with life. Strange how fate held its secrets until the least-expected moment -- she had gone to the inaugural celebrations with interest but no serious intent; she had left as the betrothed of a highly placed member of the most feared and respected community in the land. Letting her horse pick its own way for a few moments she felt in her pouch and closed her hand round the gold Initiate's badge, as if half-convinced it might somehow have been spirited away. Then she smiled at her own foolishness, and concentrated on the road ahead.

  "That's the last for today..." Themila Gan Lin closed the register of depositions and yawned behind her hand. "And thankful I'll be when Keridil returns to take charge again! No Council member -- least of all a junior one like me -- can have any true idea of the responsibility that poor young man has to carry!"

  The three men who had been assisting her in the tedious task of reading the bundle of letters, pleas, complaints and tithe-lists brought in that morning by a courier from Prospect Province rose to leave. One -- an elderly, senior Councillor -- made a great fuss of tidying his share of the documents before handing them over. He resented the fact that the new High Initiate had placed so much in the hands of junior and less experienced Initiates; some even -- and his gaze rested briefly but sourly on Tarod, who was rereading one of the depositions -- not even Council members in their own right.

  "The High Initiate should be with us again within seven days or so," he pointed out. "If the weather permits. Until then, it is our duty to do our utmost to lighten the burden." Nodding cursorily to each in turn, he went out.

  Rhiman Han scowled after the old man's departing back. "Aeoris help Keridil when he does return," he said with rancor. "If he has to continue contending with pedants and procrastinators he'll be grey before his time!"

  "The man's old, Rhiman," Themila chided gently. "Give him the courtesy due his age and long service to the Council."

  Rhiman sighed, exasperated. "It's bad enough having to deal with such an unprecedented number of complaints!" he said, slapping one of the papers with the back of his hand. "Will the Circle put this right, can the Circle intervene here, what does the Circle mean to do about that --

  Tarod folded the deposition he had been reading and handed it back to Themila. "The Margraves of most provinces have their hands too full to cope, Rhiman. The number of brigand attacks has been increasing still further, and now there are other troubles. Floods in the Great Eastern Flatlands, freak storms in Prospect, Warps -- "

  Rhiman sneered. "I'm obliged to you for telling me something the Council has known since the summer ended! And as far as Prospect is concerned, my own clan -- "

  "Rhiman, sit down and stop overreacting," Themila told the red-haired man sharply. "We know you're as aware as anyone of the troubles in the provinces. The question is, what's to be done about it?"

  Rhiman snorted and snatched up to the top paper from the pile on the table. "Listen to this -- three merchant caravans ambushed in the past month, with the loss of seventeen lives; one a tithe-train bound for the Castle! And we sit closed in our stronghold, doing nothing -- "

  Tarod was reminded uncomfortably of his own words to Keridil on the night of the banquet. "What would you suggest?" he asked.

  "Damn it, there are enough men among us with highly developed fighting skills to put down this plague before it gets completely out of hand!"

  "That's not the answer. We're not law-enforcers, Rhiman; not in such a mundane sense. I agree we should aid the Margravates, but there must be other, better methods."

  "The idea of fighting beneath the dignity of a seventh-ranker, is it, Tarod?" Rhiman taunted. "Or are you afraid of showing up your own inadequacies?"

  Tarod's face whitened angrily, then he said, "I don't recall having too much trouble with you in the lists recently."

  Rhiman flushed a furious scarlet, and Themila realized that it would be a long time -- if ever -- before he forgave Tarod for the defeat he had suffered during the celebr
ations. Rhiman took his swordsmanship very seriously, and the fact that a combination of speed, guile and luck had given Tarod the victory was, to him, a barely tolerable insult. Now, the red-haired man stood up, almost knocking

  "I've got better things to do than argue with fools and cowards," he snapped. "If you need me, Themila, you know where to find me." And he stalked out, the door slamming behind him.

  Themila sighed. "Rhiman Man makes a dangerous enemy, Tarod. You shouldn't have reminded him of that defeat."

  "He'd make a more dangerous friend..." Tarod's dislike of the other man had been increasing lately; especially since he had traced the source of some spiteful remarks concerning his betrothal to Sashka. Rhiman was not the only one who would be glad when Keridil returned.

  Themila rose and began to put the papers away, deciding it was prudent to change the subject. "Speaking of Keridil as we were earlier, have you read the letter he despatched from Shu-Nhadek?"

  "Yes. I'm relieved to hear his view of the new High Margrave. "The boy sounds as though he has a good head on his shoulders."

  "So speaks the Circle Elder!" She laughed. "Have a care, Tarod, or we'll make a Councillor of you yet!"

  "Thank you, but I'm content to stay as I am."

  "Are you? Just lately, I've begun to wonder."

  He looked up quickly. "What do you mean?"

  Themila sat down once more. "Tarod, are you happy? I've seen your joy in Sashka and I've rejoiced for you, but... are you happy in yourself?" She hesitated, then decided to risk speaking her mind. "In honesty, something about your whole aura has started to remind me of your condition of some months ago... before Jehrek died."

  Tarod said nothing, only continued to look at her, and, encouraged, she continued. "After your... fever, you seemed recovered in spirit, but now it's as though you're slipping back to that old time. Tarod, is it the dreams again?"

  "Ah, Themila... you told me you were no seer..."

  "It doesn't take a seer to guess at what's obvious. Especially when I've known you since you were a child." She reached out, took his hand and held onto it when he tried gently to pull away. "It wouldn't do, would it, to begin your new life with Sashka while a cloud still hangs over you?"

  She echoed his own thoughts so closely that he felt a stab of pain. In her last letter -- delivered by one of her father's servants who had ridden from Han for the purpose -- Sashka had explained that she must stay a little longer with her family but urged him to join her, so that, in her words, her parents might "see for themselves why it is that I love you with all my heart." But although he ached to go, to be with her, awareness of the risk he might be running held him back. He couldn't embroil Sashka in this -- he had to be free of it, before he could fulfill his pledges with a clear heart and mind.

  But how could he stand against Yandros when all he knew of the strange being's nature and intent were the confused memories of a fever-dream?

  And Themila was shrewd enough to have guessed that he had been dreaming again of late: not the monstrous nightmares of the past, but strange, half-astral experiences that were dominated by a deep, heavy pulse, as though some titanic pendulum were eternally marking out the passing of time just beyond the fringes of consciousness. He didn't understand the dreams' meaning, but knew that they were significant. The hour Yandros had spoken of was drawing closer...

  He looked at Themila once more, then made the decision over which his mind had been hovering for some days. He couldn't challenge Yandros alone -- but with help, help that he could trust, there might be a chance....

  "Themila," he said, "I don't want to explain it all, not yet. But when Keridil returns, I will have something to ask of you both."

  The sorceress's eyes were sympathetic. "You know I'll help you in any way I can. But can you not tell me now?"

  He shook his head. "No. Forgive me, but this is something that must wait on Keridil. I need his consent as High Initiate, as well as his aid, for what I want to do."

  "Very well, Tarod; I'll not press you. But in my turn, I'll make a request of you."

  "Anything." He echoed her own words with a smile. "You know that."

  She nodded, her face unhappy. "Don't delay longer than you need to. I have a feeling -- just a feeling, mind -- that it might be very unwise..."

  "Keridil, I envy you so!" Themila smiled broadly at the High Initiate as they touched their wine-cups together. "A toast -- to your success, and to your obvious good health! And thanks be to Aeoris for your safe return to us."

  They both made the traditional sign, then Keridil leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. He was glad of this opportunity to spend his first evening back at the Castle in the quiet and peaceful company of only his closest friends. Tomorrow the cloak of responsibility would settle on him again -- but tonight he wanted to savor a brief respite from ceremony.

  "My brown skin is due more to the west wind than any sun," he said wryly. "Gods, I didn't think Shu and Southern Chaun could be so bitterly cold even at this season!"

  "But the Summer Isle...?" Themila prompted.

  "Ah, that was another matter entirely. It's beautiful, Themila -- such rich gardens, superb hunting land, and the High Margrave's court is..."He shook his head, unable to find the words to describe what he had seen. "I didn't know this world boasted such craftsmanship! The stone, you know, is a form of quartz, and at dawn and dusk the entire palace sparkles like one vast jewel as the crystal facets catch the angled light... And although it's but a small island, you might think it was a great continent, there's such variety contained in it." He smiled, remembering. "When you stand on the eastern beaches and look out across the sea, and think that beyond the horizon lies nothing and still nothing, right to the end of the world..."

  She laughed. "But we have such a sight right here at the Castle!"

  "I know... but there's a great difference. Northward, the prospect is chilling, bleak -- but there, the world seems full of hope and life." Keridil glanced up, embarrassed. "I'm sorry -- I'm beginning to sound like a third-rate ballad-maker." ,

  "Nonsense." Themila leaned forward. "And what of the White Isle? Did you see that, too?"

  The High Initiate's expression sobered, and she saw a glint of reverence in his eyes. "Oh, yes... From a distance only, of course; no one but the appointed guardians are permitted to set foot there unless a Conclave has been called. But we sailed as close by as we could before putting in to port at Shu-Nhadek. There was a heavy sea-mist, but I was able to glimpse the summit of the Shrine."

  Themila drew in her breath. It was the ambition of all Initiates to see for themselves the most sacred place in the entire land -- a small island lying off the far southern coast. There, legend ran, Aeoris himself had taken human form, and had summoned his six brothers to enter the last battle against the powers of Chaos. And there, deep in the heart of an ancient volcano, lay the Casket which had never been -- and, she prayed fervently, never would be -- opened. Only in the event of terrible catastrophe could a High Initiate, in the presence of the High Margrave and the Sisterhood Matriarch, open that sacred relic and call back the Lords of Order to the land.

  "So," Themila said at last, still awed by the thought of Keridil's experience, "your journey was a great success. I'm so glad, Keridil..."

  He smiled warmly at her. "Nonetheless, Themila, I'm thankful to be back home. Despite our northern climate the Castle still calls me, and I can't stay away from it for long."

  They lapsed for a few minutes into a companionable silence, then Keridil said, "Where's Tarod? I thought he was to join us this evening."

  "He is." Themila suddenly seemed intent on a small scar on her hand. "I asked him to allow me some time with you first. When he arrives, I've persuaded Gyneth to have a meal served to us in private, here."

  Something in her voice gave her away. Keridil leaned forward. "Themila, is there anything wrong?"

  "Wrong... well... yes, I believe so."

  Unbidden, a thought slipped immediately into Keridil
's mind. Something between Tarod and Sashka -- and he was shocked at the small flicker of hope that followed. Guilt made his flesh crawl; he shook the idea off, tried to pretend that it had never occurred.

  "What's happened?"

  Themila chose her words with care. "Nothing has happened as such, Keridil. But eight days ago, Tarod asked for our help. He put it very obliquely -- you know the way he is -- but the message was clear enough. And I believe it has something to do with the dreams that brought such disaster before."

  Keridil hissed softly between clenched teeth. "I thought that was all past and done with..."

  "So did I. He's been so different since his recovery, and particularly so now that he has Sashka, But I can see it, Keridil. The old darkness is back."

  "What of Sashka?" the High Initiate asked, having to force the words out. "Is she still at the Castle?"

  "No, thanks be. She returned to West High Land some time ago, and now she is with her family, making the marriage preparations. I believe..." Themila hesitated, wondering if she was betraying a confidence, then decided not. "I believe she has been writing to Tarod, trying to persuade him to go to her. He will not -- and nor will he bring her back to the Castle."

  "If your suspicions are right, that's wise of him. So, what does he -- '' and Keridil stopped as someone knocked on the door.

  Themila looked relieved. "Let's hope we're about to find out," she said.

  Tarod signed his name at the foot of the page, sprinkled sand over the wet ink and shook it dry. He'd wanted so much to explain the truth to Sashka, but at the last had thought better of it and compromised. In the letter, he had said only that vital Circle business still compelled him to stay at the Castle -- which, in effect, was true enough -- but that he would leave the Peninsula and meet her at the West High Land Cot within a few days. Then they could speak with Kael Amion together, and make the final arrangements for their marriage. As he wrote, he prayed silently that he would be able to fulfill that promise. What he and Keridil and Themila planned to do could prove very hazardous -- but it was the only way to resolve the questions that must be answered before he dared take any further steps to secure his own happiness. Either way, he would know soon enough if they had succeeded.