The Initiate

by Louise Cooper

  He looked at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. It was daunting to force his mind back to the night's events, which were already taking on the quality of an ugly and half-forgotten dream. "Answer me one thing first," he said. "Do you believe that -- Yandros -- was what he claimed to be?"

  "Yes. I don't doubt it for a moment." She shivered.

  "And -- Tarod?"

  Themila didn't answer, and Keridil sighed. Her silence was enough in itself -- she knew the truth as well as he did. Oh, Tarod had protested his loyalty to the Circle, and hadn't balked when Keridil had demanded that he prove that loyalty. But he had not once denied the kinship that Yandros claimed with him. And the fact that he and he alone had had the power to banish the entity was surely proof in itself.

  A man, to all appearances mortal, but who carried his soul in the stone of a ring... the soul of a Lord of Chaos -- it was an obscenity! But Tarod hadn't denied it -- and he had known, and had hidden the knowledge, that Yandros was directly responsible for the death of Keridil's father. A life taken in exchange for Tarod's own life saved... not even Themila's tenacious loyalty could condone that.

  Keridil knew that he could no longer cope with the unanswered questions alone. He needed the support and wisdom of his peers to help him reach a decision on what was to be done in the face of tonight's revelations. And besides, he couldn't now afford to keep the matter secret. If word were to get out -- and it would eventually, he was sure -- then his own position would be very precarious indeed.

  He put down the biscuit he was holding, unable to eat it. "I'll have to convene a full meeting of the Council," he said.

  "Oh, Keridil... is that necessary?"

  "Themila, I appreciate your motives in wishing to protect Tarod, but it has to be done! I can't hide this -- and I can't carry it all on my own shoulders. Tonight a Lord of Chaos has appeared in our midst, and Tarod summoned him! It's possibly the most portentous event that we've had to cope with for generations -- and you ask me if a Council meeting is necessary?"

  She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Keridil. I spoke without thinking; but you're right. It must be done. Though the Gods alone know how Tarod will feel about it . .

  No matter what the circumstances, Keridil thought with an acid sense of jealousy, Themila always considered Tarod's point of view first. She had taken him under her wing on the day he first arrived at the Castle, and her concern had never wavered since. Suddenly he felt very isolated and more than a little resentful, and it was on the tip of his tongue to remind Themila that Tarod had been, at least indirectly, responsible for Jehrek's death. He controlled the impulse, aware that it was unfair as well as serving no real purpose, and instead said, "He'll have his chance to speak, of course. But if the weight of opinion should go against him..."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Themila, Tarod has friends, but he also has enemies. Take Rhiman Han and his petty envies." Keridil ignored the small inner voice which accused him of being more than a little hypocritical. "And there are many older Council members who view anything that smacks of Chaos with an almost obsessive superstition. They'll want to take every precaution possible."

  Themila didn't like the direction in which Keridil's argument was leading, and she said, "But Keridil, what does this mean? You say, if the weight of opinion should go against Tarod -- but what would happen in that case?"

  There was a long pause before Keridil replied, "Truly, Themila, I don't know. It's not up to me any longer; it can't be. I have no right to make decisions on behalf of the Council of Adepts."

  "You're the High Initiate!"

  "Yes, Aeoris help me, I am! But when I was inaugurated, I took a vow that I would govern our Circle according to the will of its members. I may in theory have the authority to override the Council; but in practice I daren't use it. Whatever the majority of the Council should decide, I must abide by that decision. If I don't, then I'm not fit for the rank I hold!"

  Despite her overwhelming concern for Tarod, Themila understood Keridil's predicament. She was free to champion whom she chose, at the dictates of her heart and conscience -- Keridil was not, and it was clear that the opposing pulls of friendship and duty were tearing him in two.

  Or at least... no. Themila dismissed as absurd the notion that had suddenly occurred to her. There had always been a friendly and humorous rivalry between Keridil and Tarod, but it went no deeper than that. After all, Keridil was High Initiate -- what had he to be jealous of?

  She stood up. "Keridil, forgive me. I am tired, despite my preoccupations -- and. so, I suspect, are you. You're right -- a full Council meeting must be called, and quickly. And whatever the outcome, let's both hope and pray that it will be soon settled."

  Keridil also rose, and came across to kiss her cheek fondly. "I count on your support, Themila. Sometimes I think yours is the only sane voice in a mad world."

  "Good night, my dear son..." She turned and left the room.

  When Themila had gone, Keridil sat at the grooved and battered table occupied by so many High Initiates before him, and covered his face with his hands. His father, he knew, would in his place have knelt before the votive lamp and prayed to Aeoris for guidance, but Keridil didn't have Jehrek's quiet conviction of spirit. And there were too many warring thoughts in his head to make clear contemplation possible.

  Tarod... a creature of Chaos... The concept still seemed insane, but the evidence couldn't be refuted. And so many factors fitted the appalling picture -- the manner of Tarod's arrival at the Castle, his extraordinarily rapid rise through the ranks of Initiates, the rebellious streak that had never fitted in with the ways of the Circle... Tarod was, and had always been, different. And now they knew what that difference truly was.

  Tonight Tarod had protested his loyalty to Order and to the Circle of which he was a part. But Keridil had seen the inner struggle that took place in his old friend even as he made that protestation, and he was frightened by it. For the foreseeable future, perhaps, Tarod would hold fast to those loyalties, and Keridil didn't doubt for a moment that he was sincere. But might there come a time in the future when the other forces, the old forces, would start to call to him again? Already they had made their mark on him, and tragedy had resulted from that. If it were to happen again -- and it could, whether Tarod willed it or no -- how much worse might the consequences be?

  Keridil just managed to quell a sudden, violent impulse to pick up his wine-cup and hurl it into the fireplace with sheer frustration. His head ached and clear thought was impossible -- perhaps he should follow Themila's example and go to bed...

  He was halfway to the door when he remembered Sashka Veyyil.

  Tarod's marriage was due to take place as soon as the final arrangements could be made... he himself was to officiate, give the girl into an indissoluble bond with a man who...

  Who isn't fully human, said a tiny voice within Keridil. A man whose soul owes its existence to Chaos...

  Abruptly Keridil sat down again. Was it possible that Sashka knew the nature of the man to whom she was betrothed? No -- even Tarod himself hadn't known it until tonight, or at least not consciously. And if she did know, what would she think, what would she do? If she abandoned Tarod now, when he needed her perhaps more than ever before, it could break him. Keridil knew the strength of his friend's feelings for the girl. And yet... was it just to allow her to enter into a marriage contract with her eyes unopened to the truth?

  A worm of discomfort moved in Keridil, condemning his own motives. Was he really trying to be fair and altruistic, or was the old jealousy behind the thoughts? Was it Sashka's well-being he cared about -- or his own infatuation with a woman who might, if the facts about Tarod were revealed to her, suddenly move within his own reach?

  He slammed a fist down on the table, biting his lip as pain jarred through his arm. He was High Initiate -- as everyone seemed so fond of reminding him. He had a duty to uphold the truth, conceal nothing, and that duty made personal considerations irrelevant. And if he
couldn't reconcile his own conscience where Sashka was concerned, at least he could -- should, he told himself -- inform Kael Amion, her Senior. Beyond that the matter would be out of his hands, and he could live with himself.

  He pulled open a drawer set into the table, and took out several sheets of parchment. Spreading one out before him, he dipped a pen into the inkpot at his side and slowly, carefully, began to compose a letter. He worked steadily for some time, and when he finally finished, he shook sand across the resulting three sheets and slid them into a small, oiled leather pouch that bore the High Initiate's personal insignia.

  Should he send the message? His conscience attacked him afresh and his hand hovered over the pouch, on the verge of pulling the parchments out and consigning them to the fire. But a mental image of Sashka's face held him back. Surely, he was doing no more than his duty in informing the Lady Kael of this development? His father would have done no less....

  Keridil was still hesitating when the door opened, and the surprised and concerned face of Gyneth appeared.

  "Sir... I thought you were abed." A faint avuncular accusation tinged the old man's words, and Keridil shook his head.

  "There's much to do, Gyneth. Tonight, we -- oh, never mind. You'll learn about it soon enough, I imagine." He looked again at the pouch. "Gyneth..."

  "Sir?"

  He had to decide, now... Keridil stood up. "I have a message here for the Lady Kael Amion, at West High Land Sisterhood Cot. It's of the utmost urgency -- "

  "I'll have a rider woken immediately, sir. If he sets out within the hour, he'll be there in less than two days." Gyneth came forward and took the pouch from Keridil's hand, and as he did so Keridil felt a weight lift from his spirit.

  "Yes..." he said, turning to stare into the fire. "Yes. I think that would be as well."

  Chapter 13

  Sitting in a chair in his rooms and forcing his muscles to relax, Tarod found it impossible not to think about the hours that lay ahead. Waiting was the worst part of all -- the Council meeting had been convened for sunset, and since noon he had felt the inner tension building up, until it reached the point where he felt he couldn't take any more pressure. Time and again he had risen and paced restlessly to the window, peering out at the sun which still stayed obstinately in the sky and willing it -- fruitlessly -- to set. And time and again he had gone over in his mind what he planned to say when he stood before the Council of Adepts for judgment.

  There was no doubt in his mind that judgment was what he would face tonight, no matter the terms in which it was officially couched. Even Keridil had admitted as much when, early that morning, he had sought Tarod in his rooms to inform him of the meeting. And there had been something amiss in his old friend's manner -- he'd sensed it the moment he saw Keridil's face, and it was what he had feared. A gulf had opened between them, separating them -- and in the gulf was the specter of Yandros.'

  By now, Tarod had grown used to the mingling of revulsion and confusion that crept up on him whenever he thought of the golden-haired entity. He was honest enough not to deny that he owed Yandros a debt, however immorally it had been incurred; but as an Adept of the Circle that was sworn to serve Aeoris, all that Yandros represented was anathema to him.

  And yet, try as he might, he couldn't deny the power that resided in him, drawn from the Chaos-soul that lay within the stone of the silver ring -- and no more could he deny the truth of Yandros's revelations about his nature. The knowledge that his own soul was a soul of Chaos had been at first like a living nightmare. Late last night, alone, he had reached his nadir, a crisis of heart in which the full implications of what he had learned had brought about such misery and despair that he had ended up on his knees beside the bed, silently praying to Aeoris that he might die and be released. But Aeoris hadn't responded, he had lacked the courage to take his own life, and the crisis had passed with the coming of dawn, leaving him with a faint but sure glimmering of hope. Whatever his origins, he was human enough to have loyalties and emotions and conscience, and last night in the Marble Hall he had realized that control of the soul-stone's Chaotic powers rested in his hands alone. He had defied Yandros, freed himself from the Chaos Lord's influence -- and, too, from the pact that Yandros had tried to enforce. If he chose to turn his back on those old affinities, pledge his existence to Aeoris, then no power in the world could prevent him.

  But would the Circle see matters in the same light? Easy enough for Tarod to reiterate his loyalties; there would be factions who wouldn't be convinced. Yet he must convince them -- and not merely for his own sake. In his heart he knew that Yandros would not accept defeat; he had been banished once, but he would return, and in a direct conflict Tarod feared for the ability of the Circle to stand against him. In one respect Yandros was right; the followers of Aeoris had lost many of their one-time skills, but those skills would be needed as never before if Chaos planned to try to return to its old place in the world. And if the Initiates couldn't regain them in time, Yandros might well have no need of Tarod's help in furthering his malignant aims.

  Tarod stared down at his ring, thinking that it was at one and the same time his greatest enemy and his greatest ally. Without it, he would be freed completely from the ancient links that had tried to bind him to the powers of darkness. Yet with it, he controlled a weapon which might in the final event prove to be the sole force strong enough to combat Chaos. Oh, as a man and a sorcerer in his own right he had power. But with the soul-stone that power was magnified immeasurably. He dared not give it up. And with the aid of the other Adepts, he believed that he could ward off its pervasive, evil influence and stay true to himself and the Circle.

  He had to convince the Council that he was right. He had to overcome the suspicion and prejudice he knew he would encounter tonight -- and he believed he could do it. With the support of Keridil and Themila -- and there were none better qualified to speak up for him, for they alone had come face to face with Yandros in person -- the Council could be swayed, whatever the effort....

  Someone knocked on his door then, and he looked up, surprised. A quick glance at the window showed that the sky was turning a dull, angry red as the sun began to set, and Tarod's pulse quickened. "Come in..."

  Two young second-rankers, dressed in the livery of Council stewardship and both carrying torches, entered the room, and one bowed to him. "We've been sent as escort, sir. The Council of Adepts is convening."

  Tarod rose, surprised and a little disconcerted to realize the Keridil had paid strict attention to formality. Normally the more elaborate protocols weren't invoked unless the matter at hand was very grave indeed, and the thought that Keridil considered it necessary worried Tarod. But if he wanted to win the Council's confidence, he'd be well advised to comply...

  He fetched his ceremonial cloak and cast it round his shoulders, then ran his hands through the unchecked mass of his hair to smooth it. "Very well," he said. "I'm ready."

  There were few people, barring servants, about in the Castle as the two young Initiates, walking in step, escorted Tarod towards the Council chamber which adjoined the High Initiate's rooms in the central wing. As they approached the chamber along a rapidly darkening passage, Tarod was further surprised to see a full ceremonial guard of seven men, swords drawn, mounted outside the double doors. He waited with growing apprehension as the formalities of challenge, identification and admission were completed, then at last the doors swung open and they were allowed to pass through.

  On the threshold, Tarod stopped dead. The Council chamber was one of the largest rooms in the Castle -- and it was packed to overflowing. On a high dais at the far end Keridil sat, flanked by the senior Councillors. He wore the gold cloak and circlet, of his rank, and the regalia made him look remote and a little unreal. On a lower platform before the dais were the other Council members; among them Tarod recognized an unhappy-looking Themila, and two places from her the conspicuous red hair of Rhiman Han.

  And filling the remainder of the hall, in the places tr
aditionally granted to non-Councillors who wished to attend meetings, were other Initiates. Tarod surmised that almost the entire Circle must be present, sitting or standing as space permitted and leaving only a narrow aisle between the door and the Councillors' platform. Every face was turned towards him, every pair of eyes regarding him with curious interest, and he suppressed a shiver.

  At the far end of the hall Keridil rose. "Will Tarod, seventh-rank Adept of the Circle, come forward."

  The whole spectacle was beginning to take on the aspect of an unpleasant dream... or a trial. Tarod walked between the staring ranks of Initiates, until he reached the single chair that had been placed in the aisle before the dais. He looked up at Keridil and saw unease in his friend's eyes; Keridil tried to smile reassuringly but the attempt was a failure. He cleared his throat.

  "I call to order this meeting of Adepts in full Council." He nodded, and at the signal the guards closed the doors with an echoing slam. As the noise died away someone shuffled papers with a good deal of unnecessary fuss, and Keridil glanced down at the documents that had been set before him.

  "As many of you know, this meeting has been called so that Council and Circle alike can be acquainted with the full facts surrounding an event which took place last night, in the Marble Hall," he said.

  So the Council had already been told... that could well explain the insistence on formality. Tarod felt discomfited, but his expression remained enigmatic.

  "Our task," Keridil continued, "is to assess the implications and possible consequences of this event, and to decide in full Council what action, if any, should be taken. I therefore propose to begin these proceedings with a detailed account of last night's occurrence, so that you may all be fully informed of the facts." He looked up once more, and nodded to Tarod. "Will you please sit."