The Law of Isolation

by Angela Holder

  “Of course.” Kevessa maneuvered her wide skirts through the door which had not been designed to accommodate them. Gevan followed her out. Hooves clopped behind them as the boy and his donkey tagged along, but Gevan continued to ignore them. He extended his elbow, and Kevessa took his arm.

  “Excuse me, Ambassador Gevan?” The boy had the temerity to tug at the sleeve of his jerkin. “You said the trial was over. What was the verdict?”

  “Guilty, of course.” Gevan kept his words as curt as possible. “He’ll be executed. Although your master persuaded them to delay that until after the election.”

  “Oh.” Josiah’s voice was subdued.

  Gevan hurried his steps, hoping to leave the boy behind, but before they reached the stairs Josiah caught up again. “Do you know when the other masters will get here?”

  “No.” Gevan refused to encourage him with a glance. But his worries broke through his determination to keep the boy at bay. “Soon, I hope.”

  “Yeah.” For a moment the boy was quiet. Gevan hoped he’d given up. But as they reached the bottom of the broad stairs, he bounded to Gevan’s side. At least Kevessa didn’t smile at him. She only shot him a quick glance, then looked away. “They will choose Elkan, won’t they? They have to. Master Dabiel named him. If they pick Master Hanion, and he doesn’t let a wizard go to Ramunna, they know what will happen. That can’t be what the Mother wants. They’re wizards. They have to do what the Mother wants. Don’t they?”

  Gevan stopped and looked at Josiah. The boy was so earnest, and so worried, and so young. Gevan felt ancient, weighed down with centuries of bitter cynicism. “Don’t count on it, boy. Don’t count on it.”

  He swung away and pulled Kevessa with him toward his room. Josiah didn’t follow.

  * * *

  Four days later, the last party of wizards, from Thedan, finally arrived. The Wizards’ Guild welcomed its far-flung members with a feast, which consisted of a few dumplings in the soup and meager servings of sliced fruit for desert. The council would commence first thing in the morning. The masters would retire to the largest courtroom and remain sequestered until they came to a decision. The journeymen and apprentices would carry on the normal business of the guild, healing and judging. Gevan expected very little actual work would be done until the matter was settled.

  He persuaded Elkan to meet with him for one final discussion of strategy. Maybe this time he could convince the young wizard to reconsider his honorable but doomed intentions and go along with Gevan’s plan.

  Elkan ushered Gevan into his room hospitably enough, showing him to a seat in a comfortable armchair and bringing him a glass of the red wine that was the pride of the area of southeastern Tevenar where Elkan had grown up. It was quite good, actually, perfectly drinkable, if lacking the complex nuances of the better Ramunnan vintages. Gevan sipped and watched Elkan as he settled in the facing chair, Tobi collapsing into an extravagant sprawl at his feet.

  “Let me guess, Ambassador Gevan. You’re going to ask me to lie to my fellow wizards again.” Elkan tilted his head and regarded Gevan with a wry smile, half amused, half annoyed.

  “Not lie, Elkan. Just be more circumspect with the truth. I still don’t understand why you remain so adamant that you must reveal every nuance of your intentions. Surely that isn’t required by your customs.”

  Elkan swirled the wine in his glass, the ruby liquid sparkling in the lamplight. “According to our customs, Gevan, the meeting tomorrow should be only a formality, to seal a decision that was settled long since.”

  “But this sort of thing has happened before, hasn’t it? Don’t tell me no other Guildmaster has ever died without a chosen successor in place.”

  “It’s happened, but not for centuries. The last occasion was more than three hundred years ago, when Guildmaster Nibir and his familiar perished in a shipwreck. And no crisis forced the masters of that day to choose between candidates based on the actions they would take if elected. They were free to select the person they believed most suited by experience and ability and temperament to the position.”

  Gevan stared at Elkan. He could hardly wrap his imagination around a history so uneventful. “For three hundred years, every one of your Guildmasters has died of peaceful old age?”

  Elkan snorted. “Is that so strange a concept to you? Why should it be any different? The Mother’s power protects us. It can cure most illnesses, ameliorate the effects of most others, and stave off nearly any accident. It’s very hard to kill a wizard, as long as we’re with our familiars. Even as weakened as they were by their fast, Master Dabiel and Buttons could have stopped the assassin easily if he hadn’t caught them by surprise and separated them.” As much as he’d talked about the incident in the intervening time, Elkan’s voice still roughened at the mention.

  Gevan looked away, shaking his head. He supposed he understood Elkan’s point. But it was still hard to grasp the idea that these people didn’t fear disease, either the sort that struck suddenly or the sort that caused gradual and inexorable deterioration. That their society was so stable, or so stagnant, that it faced neither invasion from without nor uprising from within. That only a rare and freakish accident ever disturbed the orderly progression of one generation succeeding another in power. “Even so, you’ve been very fortunate.”

  “Yes, the Mother has blessed us with many years of peace and prosperity. But they’ve left us unprepared to cope with our current situation. The only knowledge any of us have of this sort of thing is what we’ve learned from reading the Histories. So you understand how important it is that we approach tomorrow’s decision with the utmost care. It would be so easy to make foolish mistakes in our inexperience.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid you’re doing.” Gevan leaned forward in his seat. “All I’m asking is that you try to ease the worst of their fears. We can go through the names again if you insist, but you’ve seen that the numbers aren’t on your side. Not unless you can win over the majority of the delegations from the other cities. They’re inclined to favor you, since you’re Master Dabiel’s choice. When you speak to them, focus on that. Tell them how you’ll uphold the traditions of the Wizards’ Guild. Don’t frighten them by spending all your time talking about how you plan to change the Law and overturn everything they depend on to keep them safe.” He held up a hand to forestall the protest he saw springing to Elkan’s lips. “Yes, I know. It’s not you that’s going to change the Law, it’s the Mother. That’s irrelevant to my point.”

  Elkan shook his head ruefully. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that if I’m chosen I intend to resume Dabiel’s interrupted fast and call on the Mother. If any of them haven’t heard yet, Hanion will make sure it comes up. Better I declare my intentions from the beginning.”

  Gevan grimaced. “I wish you’d consulted with me before you made that public. But you’re right. You can’t hide it now. Just emphasize that you’re following in Dabiel’s footsteps and continuing her policies. Hanion will portray himself as the protector of all that’s safe and comfortable, while painting you as the one who’ll bring radical change. Don’t play into his hands.”

  Elkan rubbed his thumb against the base of his wineglass. “Master Hanion isn’t my enemy, Gevan. We both seek to serve the Mother. I’d gladly defer to his greater experience if I believed he was right.” He took a sip of wine, savoring it before he swallowed. “Have you noticed how few wizards there are near Hanion’s age?”

  Now that Gevan thought about it, in light of what Elkan had just said about the Mother’s power protecting from disease and accident, the population of the Hall did seem to have a disproportionate number of younger and middle-aged wizards. “Not really. Is there a reason?”

  Elkan nodded, still looking at his glass. “Twenty years ago a hurricane threatened Elathir. A great many wizards and familiars gave their lives to turn it aside. Hanion lost most of those he’d been an apprentice and journeyman with. I don’t know why he wasn’t one of those who went. I wonder so
metimes if he feels guilty that he survived when so many didn’t.” He fell silent for a moment. “Certainly he feels a great responsibility to serve the Mother with all he has. He lost an apprentice recently, too, in very unfortunate circumstances, which I’m sure has only strengthened his resolve. I’m positive Hanion is acting out of a sincere conviction that he understands the Mother’s will better than I do.”

  Elkan bit his lip and glanced up at Gevan. “He may be right. It may very well serve Tevenar better to endure the famine than to avoid it at the cost of our isolation. If I stand before the Mother and make the request, she might refuse. If she does, I’ll abide by her word. If that’s going to happen anyway, wouldn’t it be better for the Guild to have an experienced leader they can trust?”

  “You don’t believe that.” Gevan ignored Elkan’s continued insistence on an anthropomorphic depiction of the Mother. “Your isolation is lost no matter what you do. Now that the Matriarch knows of your existence, she’ll take by force what she can’t win by negotiation.”

  “Hanion doesn’t think she’ll succeed. We’re not completely defenseless.” Elkan’s hand fell to Tobi’s head.

  “Then Hanion is a fool.” Gevan hated to be so blunt, but he had to make Elkan understand. “You haven’t seen what our warships are capable of. All the magic you could throw against them would be as insignificant as a child throwing sand. They could destroy this city before they came close enough for your power to make their flags flutter.”

  “You’ve convinced me, but Hanion will deny it. I’ll try, but I doubt I can persuade the other masters that it’s true.” Elkan was back to his quietly stubborn attitude.

  “That’s why it’s so important you don’t mention the rest.” Gevan steeled himself for Elkan’s objections. “They’re already afraid of change, of disruption, of their lives being thrown into chaos. What do you possibly think to gain by telling them that if they choose you as Guildmaster, the first thing you plan to do is desert them?”

  Elkan met Gevan’s eyes. “What I gain is that they’ll make their choice with full knowledge of what it will mean. Master Dabiel intended to send me to Ramunna. If the Mother allows it, I will carry out her wish.”

  “Are you sure you won’t consider choosing someone else?”

  Gevan could see Elkan’s answer in the stubborn set of his jaw before he spoke. “Not unless the Mother tells me to. Otherwise I must take Master Dabiel’s words as her own. There was something she said, about why she chose me. I don’t expect you to understand. But I won’t change my mind.”

  Silently Gevan cursed Elkan’s blind adherence to his peculiar ideas of what his religion required. It made such an unnecessarily complicated muddle of decisions that should be based on simple expediency. He took a deep breath and changed tactics. “Only you and I know you were Master Dabiel’s choice. You don’t have to tell them before the election. Once your place is secure and you’ve had your little chat with the Mother, then you can reveal your intention to travel to Ramunna.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “Then you’ll lose.” Gevan returned Elkan’s gaze with equal force. “They’ll never vote for you if they know you intend to abandon them.”

  “That’s their choice. It’s not a matter of winning and losing. It’s a matter of the Mother’s children using her gift of free will to choose their path.” Elkan stared at Gevan until he could no longer bear to meet the wizard’s dark, level gaze.

  “You don’t want it, do you?” Gevan didn’t bother to keep the contempt out of his voice. “You’re deliberately sabotaging your chances because you’re afraid of the responsibility of being Guildmaster.”

  He expected angry denial. Instead, the wizard gave a strangled laugh that was very nearly a sob. “Dear Mother, no, I don’t want it.” Elkan raked his fingers from his temple down the full length of his dark hair, which fell much longer than any man in Ramunna would wear his. “Of course I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll fail Master Dabiel, and the Mother, and the people of Tevenar.”

  Gevan turned back to Elkan. This time it was the wizard’s eyes that fell. Gevan waited to speak until he’d carefully composed his words. He kept his voice soft. “You’ll only fail them if you choose not do everything in your power to win this election. You know what Tevenar needs. You know you’ll provide it, and Hanion won’t. It’s not wrong to help guide your fellow wizards to the correct decision.”

  Elkan was silent for a long time, staring into his cup. Finally he swallowed, and spoke, scarcely louder than a whisper. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right. I hate the thought of keeping the truth from them, but if you’re certain that knowing my intentions will prejudice them so strongly…”

  “I am.” Gevan put all the confidence he could muster into his voice.

  The big cat rose to her feet. She gazed up at Elkan. He fondled her ears roughly, bowing his head to press his forehead into hers. After a while he spoke, his voice muffled by her fur. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Gevan wanted to say more, but he didn’t dare disrupt his very fragile victory. He took a last gulp of wine, put his glass down, and rose. “I’ll leave you to get your rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  “Yes.” Elkan didn’t look up from his communion with his familiar. “Good-night.”

  The dismissal was the closest thing to rudeness Gevan had ever heard from the young wizard. He was greatly encouraged. Maybe he’d finally gotten through to Elkan, and the wizard would take his advice. Gevan slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  * * *

  The next morning, the dining hall was grim and quiet. The masters ate with the silent determination of those fueling their bodies against arduous labor. Gevan could only pick at his meal, though any other day he would have found the sweet porridge enjoyable.

  Hanion rose. He didn’t speak, only caught a few eyes and nodded. One by one the masters rose and made their way to the door. When Elkan and Tobi rose, Gevan got up too, and moved to accompany them out of the dining hall.

  Josiah jumped up from his place at one of the apprentice tables and rushed to Elkan, throwing his arms around him in a quick embrace before stepping back, looking a little embarrassed. “Sar and I will take it easy today, so we’ll have plenty of energy left to help you move your stuff into Master Dabiel’s office.”

  Elkan scowled at him with mock ferocity. “Don’t you dare try using that as an excuse to get out of your work. Savir would never let me hear the end of it. You listen to him. And don’t hesitate to ask him or one of the other journeymen for help if Sar thinks you need it.”

  “Yes, master.” Josiah ducked his head meekly.

  Elkan patted his shoulder, slapped Sar’s rump with much the same motion, and joined the other masters filing out the door. Gevan followed.

  In a loose cluster they walked across the large open rectangle of the main Hall to the doors that led to the courtrooms. The familiars padded or trotted or scampered or flew alongside their partners. Elkan hung back, waiting until last to enter.

  He turned to Gevan, his hand on the door, and gave him a brief, bleak smile. “I’ll do my best. Will you pray for the Mother to be with us and guide our decision?”

  Gevan nodded, though he felt uncomfortable acceding to a request he knew he couldn’t fulfill. “Remember what I said.”

  “I will.” Elkan nodded. Gevan couldn’t tell whether the assurance was as false as his own. The door swung closed, shutting Gevan out.

  The day dragged by. Gevan spent the morning instructing Kevessa in her studies. She was as attentive as he could wish. It always surprised him what a pleasure it was to teach her, compared to the majority of his recalcitrant students at the university. Of course, the fact that Josiah was hard at work and wouldn’t be able to spend time with her undoubtedly contributed to the undivided nature of her attention.

  The masters remained in the courtroom during the midday meal. A number of apprentices were recruited to car
ry food in to them and remove the empty dishes afterward. Gevan was so curious about the progress of the deliberations that he sought Josiah’s eye. When he caught it he raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Josiah shrugged and shook his head.

  Gevan devoted the afternoon to his research. He sketched out several new combinations of lenses he’d have Arlen make for him as soon as they arrived back in Ramunna. Then he turned his attention to the lodestone. He’d discovered that sometimes the lodestone could transfer its attractive qualities to metal objects so that the effect persisted after the contact was broken, and the objects became lodestones themselves. He experimented with various methods of causing the transfer to happen. He was excited to find that patiently stroking a steel rod against the dark rock seemed consistently effective.

  Though it was clear now that the wizards’ power bore only a faint resemblance to what his lenses and lodestone could do, Gevan found to his surprise that his interest in them for their own sake continued undiminished. They were obviously drawing on powers of some sort. If not the same ones the wizards used, then others. As pitiful as the results were by comparison, Gevan clung to them. These powers were his alone to understand.

  Once or twice Gevan heard a rumble of raised voices coming from the courtroom below, but try as he might, he couldn’t make out any words. At last he ventured out of his room and wandered down to the main Hall for a while. But if any rumors were circulating as to what specific subjects aroused such passion, no one would confide them to him.

  At the evening meal, the conversation was quiet but increasingly agitated. Savir told Gevan it was unprecedented for the masters to take this long to reach a decision. Even the famously controversial council detailed in the Fourth History had been over earlier. Gevan wondered whether this portended well or ill for his chances. He couldn’t decide. At least the other masters hadn’t dismissed Elkan’s candidacy out of hand. But they couldn’t have been swayed very strongly by Dabiel’s recommendation, either.

  Everyone lingered long after the food was gone. Gevan was so on edge that when Josiah shyly approached, inviting him and Kevessa to play a card game, he didn’t protest. The rules were complex enough that mastering the strategy provided a welcome distraction.