Zarost flipped through the hanging sheets with casual indifference. “Mame Peligreeve, Magister Thuran, Archor Mephissachary. And Boldigar. Boldigar! Hah! Some of these fellows developed questionable arts.”
“What did he do?”
“Let’s just say that mistakes made in the past should be left in the past. Most of these fiddlers would be better off made into robes.” He bunched up the sheet he was holding, and the haughty face upon it began to resemble an angry cabbage.
Tabitha stifled a laugh. He was so irreverent.
Zarost let the sheets fall back into place. “Come. There’ll be ample time to explore all the many wonders of the Sanctuary, but first we must face the fearsome creatures that inhabit the upper levels.”
“Creatures?” Tabitha looked around nervously.
“Why, the wizards, of course! Be prepared for a rumpus.” He strode away toward the door.
She hesitated. “Twardy?”
“What?”
“Do you think they’ll help me to save Ethea?”
“I can’t see that they wouldn’t try, but first, they’ll all need to talk about it. The Gyre is a council, after all. Come, they will be most excited to see you. They’ve been wanting to meet you for over four hundred years. Some more than others.”
They left the Reliceum, with its precious relics and its atmosphere of perfect stillness, and passed through a long hall with doors leading off it. Zarost led her up a spiral stairway and along a curving corridor. There were windows on this level, tall slits of gold-tinted glass. Warm sunlight spilled down onto the patterned floor. The sound of voices came from ahead of them. They rounded a bend where the inner wall tapered off to nothing.
The air was full of clear essence. The sense of power was palpable.
They had arrived at the Chamber of the Gyre of Wizards.
Five council members were busy arguing from their places around a pool. They were seated on a circular bench that was backed with gold-filigreed greenstone.
“A normal day, in the Gyre,” whispered Zarost. “A committee of wizards; more opinions than members.”
A severe-looking woman stopped in mid-tirade. She turned her cold, grey gaze upon Zarost.
“What are you doing here!” she demanded.
“I missed you, dear Cosmologer, and so had to return.” He led Tabitha by her hand through a gap in the circle.
“What kind of an answer is that? You are not excused, Riddler! You are supposed to be in Eyri! And who is your companion?” The woman whom Zarost had named as the Cosmologer reached out with her scrutiny. Tabitha felt as if she was held between two mighty pincers.
“This is most ill-advised, Riddler!” exclaimed another wizard, a balding, bearded sombre-looking man. “A worldly woman here, and one so young! You risk us all!”
“Wait, Lorewarden! Isn’t that—?” began a white-haired woman.
“Good grief! She has command of her own essence,” exclaimed a smooth-faced man whose eyes were as blue as ice on fire and whose black hair radiated like quills on a startled porcupine.
“The Eyrian?” asked the eldest among them. His eyebrows rose amid many wrinkles.
The five wizards sat forward. Tabitha felt interrogated by their unified gaze.
“But then why is her aura so small?” asked the Cosmologer. “Riddler, you said she was a wizard. She has hardly any power.”
“No, it’s there, on the spiritual plane,” corrected the white-haired woman.
“And a touch on the mental plane, too,” said the shock-haired man.
“You underestimate her, all of you,” said a young woman who sat curled up upon her seat. She had an otherworldly cast to her features. She was pretty, her hair was short, and she had the most clear green eyes Tabitha had ever seen. “There is more to her than what is present this moment. Her fate is entwined with Chaos. She brings a great danger upon us!”
The eldest member stood up abruptly. “Wizards of the Gyre! We are getting ahead of our heads. Let the Riddler speak, and announce his guest. I think we are forgetting ourselves. This is an auspicious moment.”
“How can she be presented to us before we have decided that she is ready to be presented to us?” demanded the Cosmologer. “I don’t see her power, Senior, in any of the three axes. Her prime circle is too close to the origin to be a wizard.”
“Cosmologer!” said the elder, grasping the air with his fist and shaking it. “Your sense fails you! I am sure the Riddler has proof enough, or he would not bring her here.”
The Cosmologer pressed her lips together and said nothing. Tabitha did notice that the Cosmologer was being rocked in time to the movements of the elder’s knuckled fist. At last the Cosmologer looked away.
“Might I extend our combined apologies for your introduction,” the elder offered. “Riddler, let us begin again.”
Twardy Zarost grinned. “Behold!” he announced. He winked slyly at Tabitha and waved with a dramatic flourish. “The talisman has drawn a new apprentice through the mysteries. At long last, one bearer of the ring has seen the path through to the end and apprehended her own nature. If some of you have not seen the extent of her power, it is a reflection of your lack and not hers. Let none doubt her power. It is different to yours, it is different to mine, it is different to any of the wizards in the long history of the college. Oh compassionate and exceedingly wise fellow Gyrends, swallow your mischievous tongues before they betray you anymore, and cast your serene gaze upon the talented wizard of Eyri. I give you the Lifesinger, Tabitha Serannon.”
Tabitha stood there, before the five silent wizards, feeling her cheeks heating up. She bent one knee in a shallow curtsy, unsure what would be appropriate.
The eldest member of the Gyre cleared his throat. “H-hm. Yes. Thank you, Riddler, for that… illustrious ... introduction. Well, I think we should all rise and return our visitor’s courtesy, yes?” He stood and the others followed his lead. They bowed, some deeper than others, then returned to their places.
“I am the Senior,” said the old wizard. “Here beside me are the Lorewarden, the Mentalist, and Spiritist.” That accounted for the bearded balding man, the suave shock-haired one with the icy-blue eyes, and the white-haired gentle-looking lady in the soft purple silks. “The Cosmologer has already made her name…and her nature…known. And the pretty one across from you is the Mystery, but don’t mistake her smile for sweetness. She’s likely to be your biggest foe if you mince your words.”
The Mystery watched her with feline inscrutability.
“The only member of our octad who is missing is a rapacious fellow with dark skin named the Warlock. You’ll recognise him when you see him. He has a martial manner.”
“If I might intrude, Senior, he shall continue to be missing, I fear.”
“What! Riddler, this is foul news. Foul news! He has not fallen, has he?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The Senior blanched visibly. “Oh by the light of all the stars! You mean he works against us? No, we cannot have this now, when the Sorcerer is stronger than ever.”
“Aspersions! Lies and aspersions!” cried the Cosmologer.
“What proof have you, Riddler?” demanded the Mentalist.
“You hide the truth in your words, Riddler,” the Mystery accused. “Say what you mean!”
“The Warlock was here not two days past!” said the Spiritist, before Zarost could answer. “He helped us to restore the Sanctuary’s outer skin. There were some loose threads that he reworked. He can’t be on the other side. He can’t be against us, after so many years. It doesn’t make sense!”
“Riddler, you have no proof!”
“Order. Order!” shouted the Senior. “We shall hold council on this matter, but we must have order, and the first issue we must decide is the wizard of Eyri’s place in our circle. Forgive me, Lifesinger, but we cannot continue to discuss these matters with you present if you are not part of the Gyre, and if you are to be a part of the Gyre we must have proof of your
ability.”
“Proof!” exclaimed Twardy Zarost. “I found her in the bloodbelt, between the Lûk and the Hunters, dispersing the rage of men upon a battlefield. She emerged from Eyri, she crossed the wastes unaided. She followed a reintegrated Transference with me on the thirteenth meridian to reach here. What more proof do you need?”
“You did not pluck her from Eyri yourself?” asked the Senior, clearly surprised.
“No!” Zarost threw his hands in the air. “I have been in Azique, and Korin, and in the Lûk downs. I had no idea she had emerged until I heard her spellsong altering the world. If I’d not reacted then and there we would have lost her to the wildfire!”
“Ahh. Forgive me, Riddler, I jumped to a conclusion, I think we all did. I assumed you had returned to Eyri and grown impatient. If she was already beyond Eyri, without your assistance at all, then she has surely transcended all the conditions of her test. She has outgrown her sheltered cocoon.”
“This all sounds very impressive, Senior,” interrupted the Cosmologer, “but it is still an account told by the Riddler of his own protégé. I would still prefer a demonstration, if it is not too great a request of the wizard.”
“I must concur, Senior,” added the Lorewarden. “If the Lifesinger is to join the Gyre for this council, I would see a demonstration myself. I’ve no suspicion of your talent, Tabitha Serannon, so take no umbrage at my hesitance, but if you are to be the ninth, I need to understand what I’m dealing with at my side.”
“Is this the Gyre’s consensus?” The Senior looked around the circle and counted the nodding heads. “Lifesinger, is this too much to ask?”
Tabitha felt their eyes upon her again. She didn’t want to let them down, but she knew her power was limited because of Ethea’s plight. She wanted to tell them about her fear for the Goddess, but she couldn’t think of how to begin to explain that without it sounding like an excuse, a way to avoid being tested. They would think she was inadequate.
She didn’t want to seem like a failure before these high wizards. Twardy might make light of their grandeur, but Tabitha could sense they were very powerful. They had formed Eyri, they had created the Shield; they had been there at the beginning. She couldn’t tell them now that her ability wasn’t really her own. She would win them over, she decided, and maybe then she could demand their support in saving Ethea.
She turned to Zarost. “Is it safe? The wildfire…”
“Oh yes, we are beyond his grasp here, too far south, more protected than you ever were in Eyri. This is our sanctuary; you can summon or speak as you will. If you’re sure it’s what you want to do.”
“Yes. I’ll be fine, Twardy, I won’t reach too deep.”
He nodded. He seemed to understand her dilemma and her decision to meet the Gyre’s challenge.
She slid her lyre around her shoulder and lifted the strap over her head. It had come with her, through infinity, she realised. She wondered about that briefly as she tuned the strings. The Gyre grew silent and attentive. The air seemed to thicken.
Tabitha noticed how still and lifeless the chamber was. Apart from the gathered wizards in their various colours, it was all stone and architecture, elegant but dead. There were no plants, no woven fabrics and no works of art. The small pool encircled by the bench was dark blue, empty, like the night sky without the stars. Nothing moved in its sterile heart.
She stepped up to the edge of the pool.
As she stroked her lyre, the familiar wonder of the first stanza flowed into the air. Tabitha reached for the symphony beyond the words she sang, and it was there in her voice at once. It was so easy now, and yet so treacherous. The Lifesong pulled at her with the allure of its depths of wonder, and she had to resist the higher movements to keep her creation simple, to keep from being drawn toward the source of the power, to keep herself separated from Ethea and her plight. She felt like a thief, sipping from the vitality of the Lifesong when she knew how desperate the Goddess was, chained to her rock below the Sorcerer’s Pillar. But to use it was the only way to gain acceptance among the Gyre, and she needed their help. She couldn’t face the Sorcerer on her own.
They were all watching her, each in their different way, and it felt as if invisible fingers picked over her thoughts as she gathered the clear essence. They were trying to understand what she was doing. She ignored them all and focused on her creation as her song reached its climax. Bright colour flashed in the pool.
She extended her thoughts further, and sudden life spilled down the walls, vines of deep green, with bright golden blossoms spilling like bursts of sunlight upon the verdant drapes. As an afterthought she set a clutch of butterflies dancing through the air to play above the pool.
The last note dripped from her lyre. One of the fish, bright, wet and shiny, flipped high out of the water, its little tail wriggling, before it splashed down, to slip into the depths.
She set the end of her lyre on the floor.
Only then did she notice the Riddler, who spun and spun, his arms pounding the air as commanding an orchestra to play in time to the echoes of the Lifesong’s rhythms. He slowly wound down and down, until he was standing before her, breathless, his eyes shining.
“Haha!” He embraced her quite suddenly. “Haha! Haha!” He danced away along the edge of the pool. “And there is life in the centre of circles, when the true Lifesinger sings!” He stared into the waters, and Tabitha feared he might topple in, but all around him was silence.
It was difficult to read what the other wizards thought of her performance. None of them had spoken, and they seemed startled. Their eyes flicked around the room, from the vines to the flowers to the fish, looking, measuring, analysing. Then they moved.
“Remarkable!” whispered the Senior.
The Mentalist had covered his mouth with his hand. The Lorewarden whistled through his teeth.
“Even the butterflies have unique souls,” whispered the Spiritist. “It’s all new. It has never been before.”
“But the fish will foul the water!” exclaimed the Cosmologer. “And the butterflies will lay eggs, and they will die!”
“Oh Cosmologer!” Zarost cried.
“The vines will litter the floors. Who will clean them?”
At this, Zarost scowled, paused, then burst into laughter. He laughed and laughed, and as he did so the wizards lost their restraint and began to clap their hands on their knees, stamp and hoot themselves. The Cosmologer’s further objections were drowned out by the rumpus.
When the merriment had finally subsided, Zarost said, “Sometimes, Cosmologer, I really wonder if you have a sense of humour at all.”
“Humour is not a constituent of Order, Riddler. It is not necessary in a structured defence against Chaos.”
“But humour is necessary for life.”
“In your kind of life, maybe. Not in mine. You should wait until we have conquered the Sorcerer before you laugh. There will be ample time for playing the fool once the Chaos is ended. This is a mess!”
“And it is alive,” chided the Mystery. “It is alive.”
“I have seen nothing like this in all my many years,” stated the Senior. “Tabitha Serannon, you are most uniquely talented, and we are honoured to have you here in the Gyre. Well done, Riddler, your patience has paid off a thousand-fold.”
The Lorewarden cleared his throat. “The Cosmologer did raise an important point though, Senior. This will not last. It is not truly like Order at all. It is impermanent. Wonderful, but impermanent.”
“Lorewarden, you can cast your own stasis spell upon it if you wish to keep things as they are,” said Zarost, “but that would only diminish the beauty, not enhance it at all. And consider how impermanent Order can be.”
“Riddler, you misunderstand me. What I mean to say is this. How are we to work with this brand of magic in our midst?” This gave Zarost a moment’s pause. “How do we link our flows of essence with something so different? I was expecting Eyri to produce a purified strain of Order-magic, not
something so ancient and wild. I’m not even sure we could guide her power with steering flows.”
“If we cannot enforce Order upon it, is it not then a form of Chaos?” asked the Mentalist in a hurried voice.
“No, this is not what the Sorcerer wields,” answered the Mystery. “That much I can tell.”
“I see now why her power was so difficult to apprehend at first,” said the Mentalist. “She wields neither Chaos nor Order then, her power is balanced somewhere in between.”
“Is this upon a fourth axis? Is there such a thing?” pondered the Senior.
“A fourth? I don’t believe it!” scoffed the Lorewarden. “We know there are only three. Where would you fit a fourth axis in?”
“No, consider it, Lorewarden,” said the Mentalist. “Think laterally. It could be. Life is balanced on the first axis, between Light and Dark; it is balanced on the second axis, between Energy and Matter; and here we can see it could straddle the third axis of Chaos and Order. Either that puts the Lifesinger’s power upon a fourth axis, or she is at the very centre of us all—inside the prime circle.”
Tabitha had little idea what they were talking of. She watched the fish turning in the depths.
“You might name the moon a ball, but that won’t mean the moon must fall,” said Twardy Zarost.
“What do you mean, Riddler?” the Mentalist asked.
“You are wasting time, arguing about such things. You try to fit her into the confines of our knowledge, when before you stands a miracle.”
Tabitha kept her gaze down. It was the Lifesong that was the miracle, not her. She just gave it voice.
“Quite so, Riddler,” said the Spiritist. “Quite so!”
“She is a wizard, no doubt there,” said the Lorewarden.
“And an incredible singer,” added the Mystery. “You touched me in my bones, Tee.”
Tabitha looked up with surprise at the pretty green-eyed wizard. How did the Mystery know her nickname? Only her mother and her friend Lyndall had ever called her that. The Mystery winked at her, as if they shared a secret, then said, “You bring upon the Gyre the greatest threat it will ever face. Yet face it we must.”
Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong Page 46