by Jean Johnson
“There are?” Saleria asked. Then shook her head, impatient with herself. “Of course there are. There are Seers in every land. Even I know that much.”
“Yes, and they See glimpses of the future in snatches of rhyme, or visions, or words on a page. Once they See, we go into the Dark to ask clarifying questions. It doesn’t always work, of course . . . but we can get clear answers from time to time about certain things, particularly once the prophecies start coming true,” he allowed. “And one of those things is the fact that the Convocation of Gods and Man, which ended roughly two hundred years ago, is going to be reconvened soon. In order for that to happen successfully, each kingdom must have a holy representative of their local Gods—a priest or priestess—who can speak on behalf of his or her people.”
Sitting there under those watchful hazel eyes, it took Saleria a few moments to realize what he was implying. She frowned at him. “You mean . . . me?” At his nod, she shook her head. “No. No, surely there are more appropriate priests—what about the Patriarch? Surely he would count first and foremost, as the Arch Priest?”
“The holy advocate must be an advocate for the faith of their people, not for their politics,” Aradin told her. He paused, cleared his throat delicately, and added in that deep, soothing voice of his, “All signs, milady, point to the Convocation being reconvened by a rival of the Katani Empire. The current political clash between your homeland and this other land make it too risky to involve anyone in the uppermost positions in your hierarchy. Such rivalries could lead to sabotage at the Convocation . . . which in turn could lead to a second Shattering.”
She winced at that. She could easily envision his words. “That would be bad. We haven’t the Portals to cause dangers, like what happened here . . . but that would still be bad.”
“Yes, I was told it was the far-ranging damage of the previous Shattering that destroyed the Portals you had opened to Aiar, and rendered your Grove inhospitable. I’m sure you can see my concerns about not wanting to involve your Patriarch, who is of a similar mindset to your king, politically,” he added. “That sort of damage, and its underlying conflicts, must not happen again.”
Grimacing, Saleria nodded reluctantly. “This was once a beautiful garden, open to all, and safe for all, with normal plants and normal animals within its sacred walls. The physical ability to cross from here to the heart of Aiar was shut down, yes . . . but the Keeper of the day still chose to show images from the Convocation while it was happening, and the Portal frames imploded. My predecessor thought we were lucky to have no physical damage, but what did happen was worse in its own way.”
“My condolences, but you can see our concern. Your people’s holy advocate must be someone who focuses on the true needs of your people, and who will not be swayed or led astray into conflict by political ambitions,” he said. “We have asked many Katani citizens in the last two weeks who they thought would be a true representative and advocate. By all accounts, your very job is to focus your holy efforts and energies upon the needs of your people, and you have done it well. Your lack of knowledge about other lands speaks highly of your lack of interest in interkingdom politics—an asset in this case, and not a detriment,” Aradin pointed out. “I am therefore here to ask you if you would be willing to represent the people of Katan at the next Convocation, when Kata and Jinga are Named and made manifest along with all the other Goddesses and Gods of the world.”
“I . . .” The very idea was absurd, impossible . . . yet very much in line with what she normally did. On the one hand, it was flattering to know she held the apparent trust of her people, to have sent this man her way. On the other hand, any rival kingdom would be located somewhere away from the continent, and that would mean weeks, maybe months of travel. Therein lay the stumbling block to accepting his request, however enticing the thought of standing before her God and Goddess in person might be. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t possibly leave the Grove unattended for a single day, let alone the months such a trip would surely entail. Even to travel to Aiar, which is due north, requires a calm summer voyage of two weeks, since one has to navigate the Sun’s Belt reefs . . .”
Aradin held up his hand. “The journey would not take nearly so long as you’d think. My fellow Witches and I are under orders to cooperate fully with escorting all carefully selected advocates from their homelands to the site of the Convocation. We have a way to make the trip almost as short as a trip through one of the ancient Portals . . . though it is not one we commonly use, nor do we normally speak of it, because it is not a pleasant method of travel.”
“But if it is like the old Portals, surely that’s worth any discomfort?” Saleria asked. She might have been ignorant of far-distant lands, but she wasn’t ignorant of the implications. “If you Witch-priests can make such travel possible, you could each make a fortune serving to assist in worldwide commerce and travel!”
“Aside from the fact that it would force most of my Brother and Sister Priests to abandon their normal works in tending to our people . . . Teral tells me the transition feels very much like dying,” Aradin confessed. He knew such a thing might put her off, but he wasn’t going to lie about it. “I’ll remind you he is deceased. He knows well of what he speaks.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant, no,” Saleria admitted, wincing a little at Aradin’s warning. “But the old records spoke of the Convocation taking weeks, even a month. I still couldn’t spare that much time from my duties.”
“Not unless you had an assistant,” Aradin pointed out. “If you did, then they could stay to tend the Grove, and you could go to present the needs of your people. Do you not already deal every day in petitions from your people on the things they wish your Patron Deities to handle? The more I learn of your position and what it entails, the more well-suited you seem for this task.”
She shook her head. “The higher-ups won’t send anyone to me, and if I insisted vehemently that I needed one, all those politics you want to avoid would undoubtedly get involved. I can see why you’d want to pick me, and I am flattered, as I neither know nor care about any rivals to the Empire. That’s for King and Council to worry about. But I will not abandon my post.”
“What if I could get you an adequate assistant?” Aradin asked her. “All you’d need is someone who can contain the plants and animals of the Grove until your return, correct?”
“It’s more complex than that,” Saleria dismissed. Rising, she paced a little. “Every hour of every day, great magics flood the Grove. They must be contained, drained away from the plants and animals, given a purpose, and sent out to do good in the world, instead of being allowed to sit here, stagnate, and warp everything within reach. It is a daily task. I can only rest for a few hours here and there in the daylight, but never for a full day, as it takes everything I have to wrestle all those powers into something beneficial.”
She stopped, flushed a little, and glanced back at him, abashed by her own words. “Which means . . . I need an assistant. And I come full circle with my own argument.” Turning to face him fully, Saleria clasped her hands lightly together. “The question is, Witch-priest of Darkhana, can you find me an adequate replacement? Do not think to look within the priesthood here in Groveham,” she added in warning. “Prelate Lanneraun is physically old and frail, and Deacon Shanno is too young, impetuous, and barely powered as a mage. Neither would survive a walk around the wall, let alone the rest of it.”
“I would first offer myself, actually,” Aradin stated. At her frown, he quickly held up a hand. “Yes, I know I come from a different kingdom, and thus a different faith. But what Teral said earlier this morning is true; we Witches believe we are an adjunct to all faiths. We stand ready to assist in the local customs and beliefs wherever we may roam. With the approval of our own God and Goddess, no less, and no record of an objection anywhere in the records of the old Convocations of God and Man.”
“But if you are to provide some sort
of Portal-like escort to the new Convocation, how can you remain behind at the same time?” Saleria asked. “Or are you referring to yourself as Portal-like in the sense that you will be unable to move from this location?”
He smiled wryly. “Well, yes, I would have to remain behind. Certainly I would have to remain here in order for you to be returned in the same manner, if you felt you could survive the trip a second time. As for whether or not I am strong enough, I was not a weak mage to begin with, but now I have the added benefit of Teral’s power to back my own.”
“His what?” Daranen asked, lifting his head once more from his correspondence. He blushed at Saleria’s sharp, questioning look, but set down his pen for the moment. “Forgive the interruption, but you yourself said your Guide is dead and has no body of his own. How could his powers as a mage be added to yours?”
Aradin tipped his head. Saleria realized that meant he was handing his body over to his Guide to speak. Though the voice was the younger man’s deep rumble, the inflections turned into those of an older man. “That is what makes our holy Witches so different. Anyone with an understanding of death and how to bind spirits could replicate part of what we can do . . . and such attempts are often twisted perversions wrought by servants of the Netherhells. They can only force open the Doorway in the back of a person’s soul to thrust in another spirit for a form of possession, or even to rip open a Doorway into a recently deceased corpse to reanimate it in a grotesque parody of life. What we do is holy, with the blessings of the God of the Dead Himself.
“Unlike the abominations of those who practice unholy necromancy, our actions are undertaken with free-willed consent from all parties. With the will of the Gods to back our efforts, we are able to restore almost all the benefits of life to our Guides. They—we—can take on our original appearances, at whatever age we still feel ourselves to be. We can remember everything we ever did, said, or observed while we lived. We can access almost all of our original magical strengths, and spells . . . and we can share most of those energies with our Hosts. Not quite all of it, for some of it must remain a part of what binds us to our Hosts, but most of it.
“This is why a Witch must be a mage as well as a priest or priestess,” Teral added, shrugging the younger man’s shoulders. “We have non-mage members of the priesthood back in Darkhana, and we have non-priest mages who attend to various secular spellcrafting needs, the same as in any other kingdom. That is what my Host, Aradin, originally intended himself to be, a simple, if strong, mage. But together, we are more than either of us could have been alone . . . and I assure you, neither of us was weak to begin with.”
Seeing him stand differently, and speak slightly differently, but while wearing the body of Aradin, was a bit confusing. Saleria struggled to accept it, as she strove to accept his explanations. “Well . . . under normal circumstances, there’s nothing wrong with being a weak mage. It’s simply how the Gods have made you, and a weak but well-trained and inventive mage is certainly far more useful than a strong but undisciplined or poorly educated mage,” Saleria stated. She returned to her seat and braced her elbow on the armrest, rubbing at her forehead. “The Grove, however, is not for the weak, body or mind—did you know I’m the twenty-ninth Keeper of the Grove since the Shattering of Aiar?”
The Witch tipped his head, blinked, then shook it. When he spoke, she could tell it was Aradin back in control once more. His voice might have been deeper in this body, but his tone was lighter, less matured. “No, I did not.”
“I think the longest a mage-priest ever held this job was fifteen years. The shortest, just over two months . . . though that was mainly due to an unexpected death. Most of the rest of us last around ten years . . . and then . . . we’re done.” She flicked her fingers again in a dismissive gesture. “Exhausted, injured, stressed . . . At most, the Keepers who are so spent find their magics reduced and are forced to send for a replacement. I took on this position knowing full well the most I’d be able to do for years afterward would be to teach holy magic. I’d barely have enough to contain a single pupil’s mistakes, never mind enough for complex craftings and castings.
“I would take on an assistant, were I permitted one, but who could be as strong, as cautious, and as conscientious? Who would want to put up with . . . with rampaging marigolds, and giant rabid shrews? That was just this morning. Plus there are all the religious aspects, the duties and expectations, the obligations . . .” Saleria shook her head. “Then there is the responsibility of ensuring all the energies involved are kept safe, and not stolen, or warped, or used for untoward ends.” She looked at the man across from her, with his unshaven face and blond hair hiding that second, darker, bearded visage. “How could I trust a stranger?”
Her words were pointed, but Aradin had a counter for them. He braced one elbow on the arm of his chair, fingers laced together, and leaned forward. “Perhaps by taking the time to get to know the person who just might be able to help you? Then you—we—wouldn’t be strangers, now would we?”
A faint snerk sound snapped Saleria’s head to the side. She stared at her scribe, who sat with shoulders hunched and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. At her dark look, Daranen shrugged and smiled. “He has you, there, Saleria. That would end the label of ‘stranger’ rather neatly.”
“Yes, but he implies that he would make me an adequate assistant. A foreign priest of a foreign God and Goddess, with unknown strengths and weaknesses, in the Sacred Grove of Jinga and Kata?” Saleria challenged her scribe. Challenged both of them, for she turned back to Aradin Teral and addressed him as well. “I’ll grant you that I am not one bound to secular politics, and that because of my office, I always have the needs of the Katani people held first and foremost in my mind and heart when I work, but I hold those needs in mind and heart. You do not. What sincere, deep-rooted interest in the welfare of the Katani people could you possibly hold?”
“We are pledged—Teral and I—to give aid and succor to all mortals everywhere, as Witch-priests. This includes the citizens of the Katani Empire, since from what I understand, none of your people are immortal,” Aradin stated dryly. “Bring out a Truth Wand, if you do not believe me. Pluck and knot a hair from my head. Should you prove to be the right holiness for the job, and we prove to be the right assistant to help manage things while you attended to the needs of your people at the Convocation, we would even bind ourselves in a carefully stated, mutually agreed upon mage-oath.
“We have already bound ourselves in other oaths to this task. The resurrection of the Convocation of Gods and Man is too important not to take every precaution and make every effort to ensure its success,” he told her. She made a soft, scoffing sound, not quite a snort. Aradin pulled out his biggest weapon. “It has already been prophesied, Holy Sister. It will happen. It is up to us mortals to ensure it happens in the best way possible for all who are involved . . . and as it is the Convocation, that means all the world’s people, Katan included.”
“By a foreign Seer, no doubt. One whom I have never heard about, so naturally I must take your word for it,” Saleria scorned.
“By a Katani Seer.” Aradin tucked his hands deep into his sleeves, rummaging in the Dark with Teral’s help. Where is it . . . where . . . ? (Teral, isn’t it among the loose scrolls in the leather sack?)
(No, I don’t think it’s in the sack. I think it’s in the brown chest with the roses carved on the lid,) Teral finally said. (It’s not one we’ve consulted recently, that’s for certain.)
Grimacing, Aradin stood and pulled his witchrobe around his body, moving two paces from the chair. “One more moment . . .”
As she watched, frowning in confusion, he tugged the deep hood of his robe down over his face and throat. Cut off from daylight by the spells woven into the holy cloth, he was free to reach into the Dark directly. With both his and Teral’s will focused on finding exactly what they wanted, it did not take long.
The first few time
s Aradin had been exposed to this little perk of Witch-craft, he had been amazed and flabbergasted; Teral had been forced to manage the trick for both of them, since it required a very keen, firm will to make it work. But work it did, and was part and parcel of how their entire Order communicated over long distances, assisted others in traveling when there was dire need for it, and “carried” their belongings with them, without actually having to physically carry a thing. After a full decade of practice, Aradin could manage this quite well on his own, though his Guide didn’t hesitate to help.
As soon as they both had their hands on what they wanted, setting it at their feet, Aradin stepped back into his robe-shrouded body and spun away. The folds of his cloak parted around the object, leaving a chest as broad as any pillow and as tall as any footstool on the floor of the Grove Keeper’s study. Saleria sat up, eyes widening as she stared at the bronze-bound, carved mahogany chest. There was no way he could have smuggled that thing into her study under his robes, and no hint of magic, no cry of empowered words to suggest the use of a Gate of some kind.
“How did you . . . ?”
Shifting the hood of his cloak back from his head, Aradin knelt in front of the chest. He worked on the clasp while he spoke; the metal was cold and stiff from its time in storage. “The Dark, as you know, exists between Life and the Afterlife. But what most people forget is that it touches all corners of existence. All at once. It is the realm of spirits and magic, the souls of the departed and the life-energies that get sucked into the Dark in their wake.
“These spirits snap free of their physical bodies and head toward the home of the Gods—all the Gods,” he added, wanting to remind her that Darkhanan priests were not exclusive in their services and beliefs. “They can do so from any point in the world, and still wind up in the same place, if they will it.” The latch was stubborn, but it did move, squeaking a bit as metal rubbed on metal. “But that is the point, isn’t it? It is the will of a person that dictates how swiftly they head toward the Light of the Afterlife.