'She's gone because of you, you bastard. They're both gone. We only wanted to live in peace and because of you they've taken everything. All I loved is gone.' He relaxed just a little, the cords in his neck fading. 'Back. I just want them back. Where are they? They've taken my wife and son. You have to help me. You have to.'
The man sagged. Jhered hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him close. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, his body heavy with his pain. Jhered felt each shudder and clutched him tighter.
'Tsard will fall,' he said, his breath ruffling the man's hair. 'The Conquord will bring it to order and everything that has been taken will be returned. God will protect your loved ones. Believe in what I say. Trust the Advocate. Trust the Conquord.
'What is your name?'
'Jesson.' His voice was muffled in Jhered's chest. 'Han Jesson.'
'Be strong, Han Jesson. I am Paul Jhered. I am the Exchequer of the Gatherers and I speak for the Conquord. We will return your wife and son.'
He released Jesson into the arms of Praetor Gorsal. She was regarding him with an expression bordering on disbelief.
'This man should not be alone,' said Jhered. 'Listen to me. The only way to stop the raids is to conquer Tsard. That is where your taxes go, it is where your citizens are drafted. There will be peace and Atreska will bloom, its people taken to the heart of the Conquord. We are all in this battle. And we will prevail.
'Now, to the House of Masks. I must pray for the continuing cycles of those who have fallen.'
Chapter 6
844th cycle of God, 40th day of Solasrise
11th year of the true Ascendancy
'Settle down now, come on,' said Shela Hasi, clapping her hands.
Three of them had dissolved into laughter again and a smile even tugged at the corner of Gorian's mouth. Rare and welcome. Ten years old and so serious. It seemed he was coming to terms perhaps too early with what he was. Kessian didn't want the moment to end. But end it must and nerves were already picking away at his mind, though he would never let the children see them. Soon. It had to be soon. Today, God, please.
The four of them had walked with Shela and Kessian up the long slope to the orchard plateau above the harbour. It was, without doubt, the most glorious day of the year so far. The sun radiated down from an unbroken blue sky, a breeze off the bay keeping the temperature bearable.
From their peerless vantage point, they could see the sunlight dancing on the water between the fishing boats in the bay and reflecting from the bright painted sides of the clutch of merchantmen anchored a little way off shore. Up on the slopes behind Westfallen, sheep and cattle grazed or idled in the heat. On the terraces, crops swayed, lazy and almost ripe. It would be a fine harvest, just as Hesther had said it would be way back in the chill of early genasrise.
Kessian leaned back against the orange tree under which he sat, its shade welcome, its leaves rustling against ripening fruit. They were all sat out of the glare of the sun for the moment; even tanned skins could burn on a day like today. He looked at the young Ascendants while they gathered themselves under Shela's gentle chiding. All were dressed in light pastel-shaded tunics slashed with the red of the Ascendancy. They wore open sandals and wide-brimmed straw hats.
Gorian had stopped smiling now and a frown was deepening on his handsome young face. His pale blue eyes speared into his peers from beneath his mass of curled fair hair and his arms were crossed tight. Next to him, Mirron noticed his change of mood and sobered herself in impersonation. Kessian smiled.
'See that?' he said to Shela.
'I see it,' she said. 'Sweet, isn't it?'
'Very,' agreed Kessian. 'Come on now, you two. Arducius, Ossacer. Come on. Much to learn and I am an old man.'
The two boys tried to pay attention but the giggles were right behind their first words.
'Gorian. Our Father . . .' mimicked Ossacer in as deep a voice as he could muster. They two of them looked across at Gorian and submitted to another fit.
'They shouldn't laugh at me,' said Gorian.
'Oh, they aren't,' said Shela soothingly. 'It's just a silly joke about fathers, isn't it?'
'They are laughing at my name’ said Gorian, his voice suddenly chill. 'They are laughing at our history.'
Kessian looked hard at Gorian, searching for any sign he was mocking them.
'Well, perhaps they are, though they do not realise it,' said Kessian gently. He spared them a sharp glance which quelled their mirth. 'And perhaps they should have more regard for your feelings. But they mean no harm, do they?'
Gorian didn't react to the question. 'Gorian died a hero, and made us all possible. Arducius and Ossacer were both mere warriors. Both died in their sleep. Hardly heroic. Shall we laugh at them?'
'You do not have to die a hero's death to be a hero,' said Kessian. 'Your deeds throughout life determine the regard in which you are held.'
'Two old men,' said Gorian. 'Wetting the bed like newborns. Dying helpless like babies. That is worthy of laughter.'
And he did, clutching himself in imitation of Arducius and Ossacer earlier but stopping abruptly. Not because he knew he'd gone too far but to gauge their reactions. Kessian felt a cold anger settle on him. His hand tensed on the stick at his side.
Mirron's support had given way to confusion and the two boys looked to Kessian for justice. Any others would surely have pounced on Gorian. Not these two. Both so peaceable. Ossacer so frail and sickly and Arducius brittle, delicate of bone. And both woefully weak in comparison to their taunter's bold physique.
Kessian turned to Gorian. The boy gazed back, defiant. Too much.
'You do not insult the memories of the Ascendancy's heroes,' he allowed his voice, always powerful, to ring out across the orchard. The quartet in front of him flinched.
'But—' began Gorian, pointing to his right.
'Their poor joke was spoken with warmth and love. Your jibes sought to hurt and lessened the memories of our finest defenders. Learn the difference before you speak again.'
'I—'
'Do you think me such a feeble old man that you can talk back at will?' Kessian's eyes blazed. He could feel his limbs quivering. His voice boomed out. Echoes would be heard down in Genastro Bay. 'Do you consider yourself learned enough to challenge me? You are but ten and a sapling. I am one hundred and forty. I am the Father of the Echelon. The only member of the first strand still alive.' His voice dropped low. 'And I can assure you I have full control of my bladder.'
Mirron had a hand over her mouth. Gorian was swallowing tears, desperate to uphold his image.
'Now,' said Kessian, once more the gentle tutor. 'Let us never be unclear again. All of your names resound with glory through the history of the Ascendancy. Without all of your namesakes, none of us would be here. Instead our ancestors would be ashes, scattered by the Order of Omniscience to deny the continuance of their cycles under God.
'You are right, Gorian, that your ancestor was the Father of all the Ascendants. He was the one man who understood the pattern and committed everything he saw, heard and learned to parchment so that those who came after him could continue his work. He placed himself knowingly in the way of great threat. He effectively ranged himself against the Order, believing the Ascendancy to be the rightful evolution of people.
'But he was not a man alone. Mirron laid more false trails for those seeking to capture Gorian than you have had hot suppers. She loved and supported Gorian. She was his strength, the rock to which he tied his life. She drew the charts and diagrams that we use today. She took the huge risk of hiding all they had learned from prying, thieving eyes when Gorian was forced to flee and, ultimately, caught and murdered. If Gorian was the Father of the Ascendancy, Mirron was our Mother.'
He had their attention so utterly that it drew a smile to his lips. All of them, cross-legged and leaning forwards, sucking in all the information he gave to them. Once again, they were just children. In a moment, they would be something far, far more. He recognised the di
fficulty of the balance they had to strike every day. It would get no easier.
'But it is equally clear through all our writings, and the stories passed down through the generations, that none of the work would have been possible had it not been for the tireless efforts of Arducius and Ossacer. It was they who built the network of loyal men and women who reported on the movements of the Order. They who rode to the assistance of fledgling strand members under threat. They who stood side by side with Gorian in the Battle of Carao and they who facilitated his escape from the dungeons of Cirandon on the day before a supposed execution. And that at a time long before he came upon the most crucial knowledge that we now possess.
'Yes, Arducius and Ossacer died old men. But they died tended by those who loved them and in the knowledge that their lives had been spent making possible everything that has since come to pass. Most recently, the four of you. Though as you have seen, more have been born and five strand mothers are pregnant. We have high hopes.
'Heroes all. And you sit here because of their combined efforts. Do not forget that, and I will hear no more jibes, and no more jokes, however innocent you think them to be.' His smile broadened. 'You do understand me, don't you?'
'Yes, Father Kessian,' they chimed.
'Good. Now, to work.'
He saw the eagerness in their expressions and nodded his pleasure. They, like all strand members, had accepted their abilities without question. The problem had been explaining that not everyone had such talents and that they were valuable beyond measure. In generations to come, all should have some talent by right of birth. Surely, this was what God intended for His people on His earth. Until then . . .
'Today, I want you to try and think beyond that which comes naturally to you.' Groans rang around the orchard. He held up his hands. 'I know, I know, it is as we have tried a hundred times, as you are so fond of telling me, but I felt we were close last time. Now, I know this tries your patience but remember, we are new at it too.' He threw up his hands. 'Who knows, in a few generations, this teaching should be as second nature to those who come to practise it. People like you, perhaps.'
Mirron raised her hand.
'Yes, my little one.'
'We don't understand. You won't tell us. Why must we seek other talents?'
'It is part of the learning for all of us. Mirron, you are a Firewalker the like of whom has never been seen before in the Ascendancy. Likewise, your brothers display their talents better than any.' He winked at Arducius. 'And we need another great Wind Harker, young man. The present one is getting very tired. But the teachings of Gorian say that a true Ascendant will display more. And that when they do, they will be able to manipulate their talents and the world around them. That will be the start.'
Kessian wasn't sure they understood but it seemed to placate them anyway.
'So, Mirron, why don't you begin. You needn't move. Here we are in the orange grove for a reason. These trees burst with life as does the grass around them. You can smell it, can't you? But can you really feel it? Place your hands on the ground. Lose yourself in what you feel beneath your fingertips. Tell me everything. But be honest. Guesswork will get us nowhere.'
'Why isn't Hesther here?' asked Ossacer. 'She could tell us what we are supposed to be searching for.'
'For precisely that reason, my young warrior,' said Kessian. 'If you have no clue you cannot be led. Everything you sense will be from your heart. Mirron, continue, please.'
Mirron looked quickly at Gorian before dropping her head, feeling herself blush under his intense gaze. She could sense them all as she placed her hands on the grass, its warmth pleasant on her fingertips. Father Kessian was speaking softly to her, encouraging her. As she had been taught, she cleared her mind of cluttering thoughts and tried to focus on the space immediately around her.
It was easy with fire. It had always been so. She felt a natural closeness to it and with her eyes closed saw images of flames wrapping around her, caressing her, keeping her safe. She could see pathways through fire and could sense where fire was causing critical damage just as she could see cool spots in a fire or in new forged steel. The blacksmith loved her.
So it should be with the earth beneath her feet and fingers. Mirron calmed herself, slowed and deepened her breathing. She spread her fingers across the grass, focusing on them, trying to feel the earth below them and the individual blades beneath her skin.
'Now,' said Kessian. 'Seek downwards to the energy that lies under the surface of the earth. That which binds everything and gives life to every plant that waves in the wind and grows under the guiding hand of the sun. What can you feel, Mirron, my child? Speak to us.'
Mirron tried. She wanted to know a worm was burrowing through the dirt. She wanted to feel the minute movement of roots as they sought new purchase, thickened and grew. She wanted to detect the tiniest drops of water feeding life into the soil. She wanted to know it was healthy, or that it was not.
She opened herself as she would to a fire, to let the energies flow through her. She poured herself into the land beneath her fingers. Nothing. Not a murmur, not a flicker. Her brow creased.
‘I can't feel anything. Just the grass. It isn't working. I don't know what I should be feeling.'
It was pointless. She must look stupid. How could she be expected to sense what was going on down there. She was a Firewalker, not a Land Warden. She opened her eyes.
'Perhaps we aren't what you think we are,' said Arducius, the one always able to put her thoughts into words.
'You're just doing it wrong,' said Gorian, his tone dismissive.
'Then you try it,' snapped Mirron, feeling his words like a scratch on her heart.
'Patience, patience,' said Kessian, his voice soothing. 'Arducius, please, don't let a small setback upset you. Remember that you are all already the best in your fields and at such a tender age. You are special. But to learn more will take time. I'm afraid Gorian, the first Gorian, didn't say how long it would take for true Ascendancy to display itself.' His eyes settled on Gorian. 'There is no wrong way because we do not know the right way. But if you can show us, we would all be very, very happy. Please.'
Gorian smiled that smile attended by a sneer and began. But he could not do it either. Neither could Arducius, nor Ossacer. And though Father Kessian cajoled and encouraged them, told them again that they would succeed, today was not that day. So Mirron led them from the plateau, dispirited as the sun dipped below the cliff tops and the heat fell from the day.
That evening, Kessian ate with Genna, Hesther, Willem Geste and Andreas Koll. It was a sombre gathering, not helped by the constant bickering of the children in the courtyard gardens beyond the dining room windows.
Kessian looked out through the open frames, past the colonnades, and felt real doubt creep through him for the first time since they had been born. On a bench by one of the fountains, Shela sat and watched her charges. They had begun with a bragging match based on whose talent was of the greatest use. Harmless enough and debated for the thousandth time. Indeed, some of the reasons and statements they made had lightened the mood, such was their ludicrous nature.
'At least they demonstrate imaginations far beyond those of non-strand ten-year-olds,' said Genna.
‘I particularly enjoyed the early warning of a tidal wave as counterpoint to the saving of Westfallen from cattle plague,' agreed Willem Geste.
'Yes, catastrophes indeed,' said Kessian. 'And one to rival the hurricanes we also never see here. Still, Arducius is confident he can detect their development. We should all sleep more soundly as a result.'
The chuckles that had followed rang hollow now, cooling to memory with the night air, while the candles fluttered in a breeze that blew in the bickering voices ever louder. Kessian knew what they were thinking. It was inevitable.
'Is there any progress at all?' asked Andreas.
'On the face of it, I'd have to say not but we do not know what is truly developing in their minds and bodies,' said Kessian. 'Do any
of you see signs of advancement?'
'We are of one mind,' said Hesther. 'We know their obvious talents but in terms of their ability to manipulate, not really.' She shrugged. 'How can we know but by demonstration?'
Kessian sagged. 'I work with them so hard, so carefully. But tell me, any of you. How on God's earth do we teach that which we do not know?'
There was a silence. Deep. Contemplative. Broken by a shout from Gorian, harsh and resonant. Kessian boiled.
'For God's sake, Shela, still those babbling children,' he bellowed, instantly regretting his words and volume. 'Please, a little peace.'
A hiatus. Silence for a moment followed by Shela's strong words. No complaint from the children. Kessian calmed himself before continuing.
Tm sorry,' he said. 'Old man, little patience.' Their words of comfort fell unheard.
'The question is, how long do we continue to try?' Willem sounded weary. Kessian knew how he felt.
'We have no choice but to continue trying until the Omniscient calls us back to the earth,' said Kessian. 'There is no written time limit after which Ascendancy cannot be reached. We have no precedent. What else can we do?'
Hesther rubbed her chin. 'Then we have to ask ourselves if our teaching methods are to blame?'
Willem laughed and spread his hands. 'How can we possibly know?' He refilled his wine goblet and passed the jug to his right. Hesther accepted it gratefully. 'I'd rather question whether we have missed something in Gorian's writings. Or indeed, whether he has made mistakes in his conclusions.'
'We must question everything we think we know,' said Kessian. 'And we must continue to adapt our teaching methods. But I have to give voice to that which we are all thinking. Are we simply wasting our time here? We are honour-bound to continue, but is it folly? Is there a future for the Ascendancy?'
This time the silence signified a shattering of illusion. A rude intrusion of reality. Kessian moved his hand to his wine goblet but it was shaking too much and he withdrew it. The mutton on his plate looked tainted, the sauce covering it sickly, the vegetable leaves curled and bitter. He looked into Genna's age-lined face. She tried to smile but it crumbled. She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed.
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