by Jean Lorrah
Lenardo was hungry again, and surprised that Wulfston was not. “There will be a feast after the funeral,” the Adept explained. “It is considered honor to the dead to eat heartily. I don’t suppose you’ll have any trouble with that today, but I must warn you that no one but Aradia and me knows you’re a Reader. If you reveal yourself, you will undermine people’s trust in Aradia. That may not concern you, but perhaps the fact that you would be killed immediately will.”
“I won’t betray myself��� or Aradia.”
When they gathered in the courtyard, Lenardo saw Aradia dressed formally for the first time. She was all in gray, her dress a slender column of fine cotton, the bodice fitted to her body, the skirt a mass of tiny pleats falling gracefully to the ground. The sleeves were also pleated, and so full that they fell from her wrists almost to her ankles, seeming to mingle with the pleats of her skirt. The vertical lines of the dress made her look taller than she was, and stately-no trace of mischievous village maiden today.
Her hair was covered by a veil of sheer gray material, a second veil attached to it in front of her ears, hanging under her chin, over her breast, so that her pale face looked out as from a closely drawn hood, the rest of her features merely background to her luminous eyes. Like everyone else, she wore no ornament.
Lenardo fell in with the crowd as the funeral procession moved out the gate. No one took particular notice of him. They went a fair distance from the castle, to a field grown up in wild grass, uncultivated. In the middle of the field was a large but shallow depression, the center of it a huge flat rock surface showing signs of charring. A huge mound of firewood lay ready to one side, and the cleanness of the flat rock, the grass along its edges cut back to form a perfect circle, bespoke careful preparations.
The cart bearing the body was placed in the center of the rock surface. The people moved into a circle, then one at a time moved to the center to say something about the dead woman. Not everyone spoke, and many who did said little more than, “Vinga was a good woman. She will be missed.”
Wulfston spoke of Vinga’s motherly kindness to him when he was an orphaned child. Lenardo noted one more fact about the mysterious Nubian Adept with the peculiar name-for all the talking they had done, he had learned precious little about Wulfston.
Finally Aradia spoke. “For the past five years, Vinga attended Nerius with great devotion. Like a soldier in battle, she gave her life in performance of her duty. Her memory will live as long as Castle Nerius stands, in the hearts of her children and her children’s children.”
Then the dead woman’s family stepped up to look at the body once more. When they returned to Aradia’s side, the circle of mourners began to file past the firewood, each placing a stick on the growing pile surrounding, then covering, the cart.
When the pyre was built and the circle again complete, Wulfston picked up a small jar that had been under the pile of wood and sprinkled its contents over the funeral pyre. Water? That was what Lenardo Read. When the young Adept went to the edge of the stone circle, scooped up a handful of earth, and sprinkled that on the pyre as well, Lenardo understood-earth, air, fire, and water. Wulfston had said they would return Vinga’s body to the elements.
Again Aradia stepped forward. “Nature brings life,” she said. “The elements themselves are eternal. We are not. But life is! Of all living things, only man passes more than mere life from one generation to the next. All that has been learned, all that has been created, we pass on-language, knowledge, song. Vinga exists in me because she taught me things. When I teach someone else, a part of Vinga is passed on, as well as a part of myself.
“Even more, Vinga exists in her children and grandchildren. The pain of parting is grievous now, but in the future it will be forgotten, and only Vinga’s life remembered-a good life, a model anyone might honorably take for his own.”
She moved a few paces from the funeral pyre, and the pyre burst into flame! It roared into consuming heat, the flames shooting straight up with the noise of a whirlwind.
Lenardo stared, astonished. Aradia was causing it, of course, possibly with Wulfston’s help, but he had never seen such a fire before! The fires the Adepts started in their attacks were easily put out with a few buckets of sand or water. But what if they sent a conflagration like this one? Before anyone could put it out it could consume an entire building, just as this fire had already consumed wood, cart, and body, and was dying down to soft ashes-no charred remains to disturb the family.
The fire flickered out, leaving nothing but a scorch mark on the flat rock surface and a drift of powdery ash��� the gray of mourning.
“Vinga is dead!” cried Aradia. “We live! In her honor, let us celebrate life!”
A cheer went up from the circle, and there was a sudden rush back in the direction of the castle. Now there was no procession; people broke up into groups, laughing and talking as if on the way to a party.
Lenardo caught Wulfston’s eyes on him, and Read the black man moving in behind him in the throng, probably to see that he made no move to escape. I’m not going anywhere until I get my strength back. But Wulfston couldn’t know that.
And not until I find out how you caught me the first time, Lenardo added to himself. Now he knew where Galen was, if he was still alive. How much at odds were Aradia and Drakonius? Would they spy on one another? If he could gain her confidence, he might even volunteer to Read for her into Drakonius’ lands, playing his role fully. It would give him all the more chance to get at Galen, to find out if the boy were truly traitor or no.
Wulfston had independently drawn the same conclusion Lenardo had: Galen had broken a command implanted in his mind and turned the earthquake back upon the Adept army. Lenardo had to believe that. And if the boy bad learned his lesson��� then, if Masters Portia and Clement could get Lenardo readmitted to the empire, they could bring Galen home as well!
Home. Home with the news that only one Adept with his followers was attacking the empire. With the fact that others, like Aradia, might be willing to make peace But that was the treason for which both he and Galen had been exiled.
He pushed that thought aside. It would not be regarded as treason if the senate knew there really were Adepts who wanted peace. Galen’s theories had been speculation, but now Lenardo knew they were truth. There was a chance to put an end to the constant warfare.
His step grew lighter than it had been in many a day as he followed the funeral party back to Aradia’s castle to join the feast
Chapter Five
The Quarry Sighted
In (he days that followed, Lenardo set out to discover everything he could about Aradia’s alliance with Drakonius. At the funeral feast he had found some curiosity concerning himself.
“You are the man the watchers were seeking, are you not?” asked one man.
“Uh��� yes. The watchers,” Lenardo replied. He had heard the term before-the watchers had reported the rain clouds.
“You look well enough now,” said a red-haired woman. “They said you was an exile Aradia took in, and you was sick and lost your way.”
Lenardo knew his accent would identify his empire origins, even if the brand on his arm was covered. “Yes��� I got lost,” he said uncertainly.
Wulfston, who was seated not far away, put in, “Aradia has asked Lenardo to stay here now. He has useful skills.”
Feeling someone staring at him, Lenardo looked down the table to find Helmuth, the old man who had been with the rescue party that first brought him to Aradia. You wear Aradia’s sign. Even though Lenardo was Reading only superficial emotions, the old man’s suspicious thought came through clearly. Deciding to brazen it out, Lenardo smiled at him and said, “I have not had the chance to thank you for your kindness. I do not believe I have been told your name.”
“Helmuth.”
“Well, thank you, Helmuth. I owe a great deal to you, and Wulfston, and Aradia. I must find a way to repay all of you.”
As he hoped, the man se
emed to accept that. After all, Lenardo was accepted into the company at Aradia’s table.
Not exactly at Aradia’s table, as she was seated in the ornate chair behind the permanent table, with the family of the dead woman. Trestle tables had been added down either side of the great hall to accommodate the large number of guests. Lenardo suspected that Wulfston belonged at the high table but had taken his present seat to keep an eye on Lenardo. He soon found out why.
The red-haired woman was looking him over. “They’re afraid of Adepts in the empire, I hear. Was that why you was exiled, a fine-looking man like you?”
“Lenardo has��� unusual abilities,” put in Wulfston. “I’d not advise you to try your wiles on him, Jenna.”
“Someday a woman will tempt you, me black beauty.” she replied.
“Probably so,” said Wulfston, unperturbed, “but not you, unless all you are seeking is Wulfston’s wedding right!”
That puzzling exchange, which was greeted with raucous laughter, reminded Lenardo of the fact that Aradia claimed virginity was necessary to keep her powers intact, yet her father was supposedly a more powerful Adept than she was. The next day, he asked Wulfston about it.
“Aren’t you more likely to have Readers born of Readers than of non-Readers?” Wulfston asked curiously.
The two men were in Wulfston’s room. Lenardo under orders from Aradia to keep the young Adept occupied in conversation so he would rest physically. He didn’t mind, as he had many questions to ask-except that Wulfston had the annoying habit of answering questions with new questions.
“Yes,” Lenardo told him, “but the very best Readers remain celibate, virgin, so as never to impair their powers. I take it you, as well as Aradia, are ‘virgin-sworn,’ as she puts it, for the same reason?”
“True. However, both of us owe it to future generations to pass on our powers. As a man, I can wait for a long time yet, and of course a man’s part in the production of a child is quickly done. Nerius regained almost all his abilities, by maintaining celibacy once Aradia was conceived.” He gave a sad smile. “He says it took over two years to regain the strength he has now, and that he can-could- sense distinct limitations. I just hope that one day I might attain the power Nerius had before his illness!”
“And Aradia?”
“Her powers were approaching her father’s when he fell ill. It is possible she will exceed his abilities, but she owes her people an heir. One day she will have to sacrifice her powers, unless she can find a younger Adept her people will accept as her successor.”
“You?” suggested Lenardo.
“I am only five years younger than Aradia. Perhaps my child one day, once our lands are safe from attack. If it destroyed my abilities permanently, I would do it to save Aradia from her mother’s fate.”
“Aradia’s mother��� died in childbirth?”
“No. Terrible as that is, it would have been preferable.” As Wulfston did not seem to be inclined to continue, Lenardo suggested, “If it’s a secret-”
“No. Everyone knows. Aradia’s mother was an Adept, of course-two Adepts always produce an Adept child. Is that true for Readers?”
“Yes, although we test all children because sometimes Readers are born in families where both parents are non-Readers.”
“You test every single child?”
“Of course. Readers are precious, and all are academy-trained to their highest level of ability.”
“That is something to considera system for reaching and training every Adept���”
Lenardo noticed that Wulfston was only too eager to change the subject. “What happened to Aradia’s mother?” he prompted.
“A woman’s part in bearing a child is long and difficult. She could not regain her powers after her child was born. When Aradia was two, she killed herself.”
“How terrible for Aradia,” said Lenardo. “They say-servants’ gossip-that she claimed Aradia stole her powers and that she tried to kill the child.”
“Her own baby? Surely she was mad.”.
“Aradia was already showing Adept abilities.”
“At two years old?”
Wulfston nodded. “There are legends of great Adepts who emerged from the womb and proceeded to heal their mothers, but those are fancy, I think. Two is early but not impossible. I was three.”
“You don’t really believe a child could steal her mother’s powers?”
“I don’t know,” said Wulfston. “The very act of sex limits the powers of both parties, even if no child is conceived. It is the only instance of the state of the body affecting Adept abilities. It is a mystery, Lenardo-the passing of life from one generation to another. It is best not to question such things too deeply.”
“Why not?” asked Lenardo, who had been taught to seek knowledge above all.
“People who become obsessed with that mystery become depressed and may even..-. abandon life.” Wulfston’s tone, and the euphemism, suggested that suicide was unacceptable here.
“Wulfston,” said Lenardo, “do you not believe that a person’s life is his own, to do with as he sees fit?”
“No! My life, for example, is pledged to Aradia. I would give it in her defense, but I have no right to abandon it, no matter what grief or pain I suffer.”
“But there are circumstances��� What about Nerius? He is dying, and while he lives he is a danger to those around him-”
Tears brightened Wulfston’s eyes. “He’s alive! Yes, he will die, but from that tumor in his brain, not from���” The man shuddered at the thought. “Suicide!”
Lenardo waited while the young Adept regained control. “Wulfston,” he said gently, “we have differing beliefs in this matter. In the Aventine Empire, suicide is not acceptable as a coward’s way of avoiding debt, pain or punishment When a situation is hopeless, forever, why should a dying or dishonored man continue to endure? We have no Adepts to stop the pain of the grievously ill.
Nerius’ situation is even worse-he is hurting, even killing, the people he loves. He doesn’t know it-I can Read that. If he did know, don’t you think he would expect you to stop him?”
“Yes, of course,” said Wulfston. “But we have stopped him, Lenardo. We didn’t have to take his life to do it.”
“What value is Nerius’ life to him now?” Wulfston stared at him. “Life is the greatest value. Without life there is nothing.”
Lenardo recalled yesterday’s funeral service, with no mention of deities or an afterlife. “Wulfston, what do you think happens to you when you die?”
“To me? Nothing. When life ceases, that is all.”
“The body dies, but the person, the mind, the��� individual must continue.”
“That is superstitious nonsense, like the gods you swear by,” Wulfston scoffed. “If the mind survived, Adepts would certainly make their presence known. Why, a powerful lord could go right on ruling after his body was returned to the elements! There are fantastic stories of that very thing, but everyone knows they are fairy tales. I suppose you believe in the winged folk of the wood, too?”
“If I ever Read one, I would believe!” Lenardo replied impatiently. “Wulfston, every Reader knows the mind-the personality-is a separate thing from the body. We experience it! And if it is separate, then there is no reason for it to die when the body dies.”
“Have you��� Read the presence of someone��� after his body has died?”
Lenardo could sense Wulfston’s desire to be told yes. But he could not have the man’s confidence in him built on lies. “No, I myself have not-but others have.”
“They told you they had. It’s all superstition to chain your mind.”
“You accuse Readers of chaining minds? You, who casually implant suggestions-?”
“Clean and simple barriers against pain,” said Wulfston, “or to hold prisoners as we held you. Would you rather have been chained in a dungeon?”
“It would have been more honest!”
“Honest!”
Wulfston glared at him, but then his fury subsided. “That will always be the crux, won’t it? How can either of us judge the other’s honesty?”
And why do we care so?
Lenardo’s Reading abilities approached normal as his strength returned. He ate the huge meals Aradia provided, slept all night and part of each day, and on the third day woke on schedule at dawn, feeling completely rested. Having given his word not to leave his room, he lay still and Read beyond the castle, finding the flat rock where the only sign left of the funeral pyre was a bit of ash drifted by the morning breeze.
In the nearby fields, people planted and cultivated with the same instruments he had seen farmers use at home. Lenardo knew little about agriculture-Readers didn’t need such skills.
Before the castle, people were rebuilding the house that had burned down-the ones on either side were only scorched, although they should have all gone up like torches. While Wulfston and Aradia were occupied, what Adept had miraculously contained that fire? This notion of stray Adepts among the common people, untrained���
He watched, focusing in on the carpenter in leather apron, gnarled hands carefully placing support timbers. Then he expanded his view, moving along the road, finding girls carrying food and water to the workers in the fields, and beyond them, on the grassy hillside, a flock of sheep tended by three young boys and a dog.
Satisfied that he could Read over a normal distance once more, Lenardo was about to test his limits when the kitchen maid appeared with his breakfast. “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady asks that ye attend her in the great hall at yer earliest convenience.”
So he didn’t linger over breakfast, but ate the bread, fruit, and cheese, and left the meat-time to return to a normal diet to bring his abilities back to peak efficiency. “Normal” was still far short of Lenardo’s usual powers.