Children of Ambros

by Katy Winter

  "No," mumbled Chlorien, flicking a look at the mage. He raised his tankard to her.

  "Well done, little one," he sent. There was a very long silence during which time Chlorien fiddled with her tankard. It was she who broke the quiet.

  "Didn't you find meat distasteful, Jaim?" she asked, making the mage eyes begin to twinkle at the rapid change of conversation.

  "Not after a while. You can usually get used to most things."

  "Father?"

  "Aye, little one?"

  "Do you eat meat where you come from?"

  "No," was the bald response.

  "Is it from choice, or are there no animals?"

  "From choice." Chlorien considered this and then changed tack again quite abruptly. The smile in the mage's eyes deepened.

  "There are so many different skills beneath this house," she announced. "Is it the same everywhere else?"

  "Yes. Everywhere's active. We've always been industrious people and like to create and fashion. You haven't seen our heavy industry yet. That's at a deeper level and further out from the city."

  "I liked the glass making," said Chlorien simply, to the mage. Autoc had his tankard to his lips, but he paused and lowered it.

  "Perhaps Jaim will let you learn while we're here. It won't hurt you." Chlorien turned her head to the Gnosti who nodded, his tawny eyes amused.

  "Aye, lad, you can learn."

  "What heavy industry is there?" Chlorien pursued.

  "Metal work, smelting, precious stones," replied Jaim indifferently. "The latter come from tunnels cut very much deeper that travel for miles to the mountains west of Ostika. Any trade we've had over millennia was in metal and stones."

  "Do they bring stones back here?"

  "Yes, to work on them they do."

  "Do you still trade them?"

  "Not much. We've no need to, do we?"

  "Are the Gnosti self-sufficient, Jaim?"

  "Aye, lad, I guess we are. We have no formal trading partners." Chlorien turned to the mage.

  "The east could learn so much from here, couldn't it, Father?" Autoc didn't reply but his eyes met hers, his full of affection and understanding. "Are we to stay long, Father?" This time Autoc shook his head.

  "Until your seventeenth cycle day, little one."

  Chlorien thought she saw deep sadness in the eyes of the man she'd come to love so dearly, but when she stared more closely at him, the faint trace she thought she'd seen was gone. His eyes were as bland as usual.

  "That, Father, is only a matter of days!"

  "Yes, child, it is. Ten days to be exact."

  "But we've only got here," she protested. She got to her feet and prowled up and down, before stopping in front of the mage. "Where do we all go then, Father?"

  There was no reply. Again Chlorien thought she saw the hint of sombreness in very blue eyes and bent down over the mage, her arms going round his shoulders.

  "I won't tease you, Father," she promised, her dark head on his. Jaim saw such unutterable sadness in the mage's eyes, he had to look away.

  ~~~

  As the days passed, Chlorien was busy. She learned much, not least about the way the Gnosti viewed the world about them. She met Disah. She was encouraged to sit beside him, to talk and listen to him when he spoke in his bass, slow voice.

  She realised that this Gnosti, whom she nearly tripped over on arrival, was the king and that Jaim was his son and king-elect. She was quite startled by this, her large violet eyes betraying her incredulity.

  "No!" she exclaimed. Disah was highly entertained.

  "Do you expect a castle and servants then, child?" he asked. Embarrassed, Chlorien denied that, but it was patent this was what she did think. "So you think the trappings of kingliness make a ruler, do you, boy?"

  "They must help," stammered Chlorien.

  "How?"

  "Well," she floundered. "Wouldn't they make people respect you as a king?"

  "Why?"

  "They'd set you apart, wouldn't they? As a king?"

  "You think a king should set himself above others?"

  "Isn't that what a king is?"

  "Not necessarily."

  "What else is he?"

  "Here, child, among Gnosti, he's nothing more than a symbol of stability and continuity."

  "Don't you make the laws?"

  "We all make laws, Chlorien."

  Chlorien mulled over this, finally saying pensively, "You're saying a king doesn't need the trappings of state?"

  "Not here, boy. A crown and a fur robe do not a king make."

  "No," said Chlorien thoughtfully. Disah eyed her as she sat, pulling on a curl as Bethel did.

  "And have you lost the sadness that gripped you for your first days among us?" Chlorien looked up, but didn't speak. "You find Ostika has much of the home you've lost, don't you?" Chlorien nodded. "And that hurts?" She nodded again. "Can you live with that?"

  "I don't know."

  "You have to accept the loss, child."

  "I so wish we could all go home." Chlorien's voice quivered. "We were so happy, you see. Scholar was there too."

  "It's why you're not wholly in balance, Chlorien."

  "Father brought me here, didn't he, to make me see what's truly lost?"

  "Yes. There was nowhere else he could show you that as clearly as here. It's the first time you've been in such a place since you left Ortok, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "That's why you're here. You can't move on, Chlorien, until you accept Ortok is gone. You won't be able to grow as you must and face challenges without distraction. We'll help you."

  ~~~

  She met Jaim's wife and found his three small greatchildren delightful bundles of mischief. When not with them, she travelled the tunnels with the mage who followed Jaim's advice and translated to a Gnosti while underground. One day, Autoc found her a large and flawless blue gem that he offered to buy. The Gnosti refused any payment, saying he'd bring it to Disah's house later in the day. When the gem was brought it was surrounded by a finely wrought silver casing and hung from a filigree chain. The mage clasped it about Chlorien's neck as she knelt, her eyes, upturned to his, soft and luminous like Bethel's.

  "For your cycle day, little one," said Autoc gently, his hand tracing across her mouth.

  Getting to her feet Chlorien went on tiptoe, her arms flung about the mage's neck in an embrace. When Disah looked fleetingly across at Jaim, he saw both sad recognition and worried comprehension in the younger Gnosti's tawny eyes. It made the king profoundly thoughtful.

  Chlorien enjoyed Gnosti music and dancing that occurred most nights she was there. Gnosti could all whistle. It brought tears to Chlorien's eyes, because she thought of her twin brothers who used whistling as their secret way of sending messages. These people played pipes and drums and a host of stringed instruments, their fingers coaxing music from the unlikeliest instruments. The first night Chlorien painfully remembered Bethel, then she thought her probably dead brother would've loved being where she was and believed, in spirit, he would be.

  All Gnosti sang along to the music, their voices deep and soothing, sometimes even dreamily mesmerising or melancholic, though they weren't a moody people. Music profoundly affected them. Their dancing, however, was extraordinarily energetic. They moved in circles with much jumping, clapping and stamping of booted feet, hands transferred from one head to another at speed as the music tempo quickened, and, though she was much taller than the Gnosti, Chlorien joined in, laughing when hands couldn't reach her head. The Gnosti women were much smaller than their men, were quite slender and very lithe. Jaim and the mage sat it out.

  When Chlorien finished dancing, she collapsed at the mage's feet, in her usual way, her head rested in his lap while his hand gently stroked her curls. Jaim frequently looked at them and saw, as Chlorien did, the deep sorrow in blue eyes rested on the girl. Jaim knew time passed and much too quickly for Autoc.

  Just days before her cycle day, Chlorien was taken by Disah and
Jaim, to be taught basic Gnosti skills of a spiritual nature. With them beside her, Chlorien let herself go, sinking ever deeper into her subconscious. She began to recognise her essence and what she was. The mage had taught her before, but now she was ready for the Gnosti to take her a step further.

  Her cycle day came and went. Chlorien knew the mage was restless and disturbed, though he made no move. The following evening, Chlorien sat close to Autoc.

  "What is it, Father? You're so troubled." The mage cradled her gently in long arms as he always did and she cuddled into him.

  "Nothing much, my little one. Just relax now."

  "Aye, Father," she murmured. Autoc ran a hand through her curls, saying softly,

  "Always look beyond the obvious and the superficial, won't you, little one? The way you know I do and the Gnosti do." Chlorien snuggled closer, but looked up at the same time.

  "I'll remember, Father," she said quietly, her eyes luminous.

  "Never be complacent, little one. Understand all things are balanced and in harmony, as you must be if you wish to be whole, child. That's vital for you, something you have to understand. Harmony must exist, so things can flourish. Gnosti relationships with Ambros rest on harmony. That's something you must bear in mind. Peace comes from it, as does inner enlightenment and contentment. Never forget that. It is one lesson critical for you.

  Instinct and intellect should be in balance too. One should never outweigh the other. We all need that instinct, but few, like the Gnosti, have achieved that critical balance. You must attain that, so that every part of you is in harmony with the other; your balance will be critical in cycles to come, little one. Try not to seek it without. It only comes from a wellspring within."

  Chlorien still stared up into the face she felt was etched inside her. She felt his words inside her head so clearly, she knew she always would.

  "Remember more, little one. Let your instinct guide you along with your intellect - understand there must be a balance with nature. Do not strive for power." Autoc felt the shiver that caught Chlorien and bent his lips to the dark curls. "Yes, little one, like Malekim. Power, wisely used, is only a means to an end, child, it's not an end in itself. You've seen how perverted misuse can become.

  If the Gnosti have taught you one thing, my little one, it should be this. Listen to your essence, hear what Ambros tells you, and take heed. Recognise every natural dimension there is and let your whole being be in balance within it. That way you'll know how to act and know peace, I promise you."

  Chlorien had turned right round, and now stared deeply into the mage's darkening eyes. One moment they were outside on the terraces of Ostika, the next they flew high, minds in complete unison and essences freely entwined. It was a sensation that would never leave Chlorien. They were one. She was whole.

  ~~~

  The next morning, Chlorien wasn't surprised to be told they left Ostika. She was sorry, but not sad. It was a long morning, while provisions were gathered and organised and horses finally laden and saddled.

  Disah looked long into Chlorien's eyes just before she and the mage were ready to mount. He nodded his head as though satisfied.

  "Your mind's in balance at this moment, child," he said calmly. "Try to keep it so and go in peace. Don't forget where to look for that which means most to you. You do know where it is. Keep hold, if you can, of this balance and always look within, always. Without it, child, you'll be lost." She nodded thoughtfully.

  He stood back. Chlorien was surprised Jaim wasn't to accompany them, because she'd come to care very much for him. That farewell was tearful. Chlorien stooped and hugged the Gnosti hard.

  "Remember what you've learned, child," he said in his bass voice. "And never forget those who love you, will you, Chlorien?" Chlorien looked a little troubled at that.

  "I couldn't forget those who love me, Jaim," she said definitely. She saw Jaim looked thoughtfully across at the mage who stood on the white pebbles, his eyes looking northwards. "I'd never forget Father, Jaim. How could I? He's part of my whole being. His essence is bonded with mine. I know that. I'm incomplete without him." She saw a relieved smile come to the tawny eyes and wondered at it as she gave him another reassuring squeeze.

  "Gods speed you on your journey, child, and bring you safely back to us."

  Jaim kissed Chlorien on the cheek and pushed her gently to her horse. Then he walked across to the mage and looked up at the impossibly tall man. Autoc smiled down with affection, his long slender hand held down.

  "Until later, Jaim," he said, his voice steady. He hesitated, before adding, "In happier times to come, I hope. Our time here's been helpful, thank you. And not just for Chlorien."

  "We're always here for you, my friend," responded Jaim, gripping the hand fiercely.

  He stood back and watched the mage mount, the two riders turn and then give a last farewell before they turned a corner. Deep foreboding caught and gripped him. He found he shook uncontrollably. A voice behind him made him turn.

  "The mage grieves," said Disah very quietly.

  "Aye, he has to let her go. He can't know how she'll respond." Jaim's voice was low, dispirited and tired.

  "Will she recognise her salvation, son?"

  "I don't know," whispered Jaim. "Autoc can only hope she'll return to him in time. He's done as much as he can. I think," he added, a smile suddenly curling his mouth, "one day she'll call him as she's always done, and he'll be there, waiting, for however long it takes, to call her home. I just pray to the gods she survives what comes to her, so she goes to him."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A few weeks after Daxel left to rejoin the northern army, Sarehl found he had a little more time to himself now there was a relaxation of the protocol that'd surrounded the visits of dignitaries over the last season or so. He began to spend that time with Sasqua and Kalbeth, the little boy becoming as dear to him as Bethel was as a baby.

  More often than not, Kasan was with Sasqua. When he approached, Sarehl admired the chestnut head bent next to the blond one. He was always welcome and felt rested in their company, the child gurgling happily, his fingers outstretched to the man he'd grow to think of as his father.

  With the onset of cruel cold, the women were seldom outside. Sasqua especially suffered from it but never complained. Today was a chilly morning following a stiff frost - the forecasters predicted the snow, that would blanket the land for months, wasn't far distant.

  So Kasan decided, that, since the sun shone in a watery fashion, she'd take Kalbeth for a walk in one of the outer courtyards. Sarehl, looking down from his office, saw her walk briskly, a well wrapped bundle in her arms. Feeling enervated and in need of the blast of fresh air, Sarehl grabbed a heavy cloak, flung it round him so that it was all-enveloping, and set off in pursuit.

  He met up with Kasan when she just reached the gateway to a large courtyard. There, she saw him coming and stopped, a surprised lift to her eyebrows.

  "What's this, Sarehl?" she asked with her ready laugh. "I thought you hated the cold!"

  "I do," replied Sarehl, shivering and drawing his cloak tighter. "Gods, girl, it's perishing out here!"

  "Then keep walking," advised Kasan, briskly beginning to do just that.

  Sarehl accompanied her, his eye drawn every so often to the tiny face he could scarcely see, it was so swathed in blankets. Then Sarehl studied Kasan. His glance took in the youthful bloom on her cheeks that glowed pink in the cold, the wisps of chestnut hair that escaped the confines of her hood, and then, when she looked up enquiringly, at the shape and beauty of her eyes. The attractively shaped mouth curved in a smile, before she looked away and kept walking. Sarehl stood still. He idly thought how lovely Kasan was and how right she looked cradling a child. When Kasan turned, he quickened his pace to be beside her.

  "I'm bored with the demands of being Strategos," he murmured, falling into step beside her.

  "Then you did the right thing to escape," she observed. "You should get out more often, Sarehl. It's not
good to become so engrossed in what one does, one does little else." Sarehl smiled down at her.

  "That's true," he admitted. He stroked Kalbeth's cheek. "He grows more and more like Bethel."

  "Is that some comfort for you?" Kasan asked carefully.

  "In some ways, yes, but in others, no. It brings my little brother into sharp focus and that hurts."

  "Sasqua's deeply proud of his looks."

  "Yes," said Sarehl softly. "I know she is." He glanced down at Kasan. "You're very good for her."

  "My heart goes out to her," replied Kasan. "She's far more alone than I am. She's in a culture that's alien and she can't understand. It's hostile to everything her life represents, in the same way that Bethel and Luton must suffer. You can't help but pity her." Compassionate gray eyes were turned up to Sarehl and he stared into them thoughtfully.

  "You set out to befriend her, didn't you?" Kasan's glance fell.

  "As much as I can. You see, Sarehl, I know what it's like to be out of one's environment and though I'm favoured because of who I am, I still feel displaced and, at times, lost." Sarehl took her arm and made her stand still.

  "Give me Kalbeth," he suggested gently, hoisting the small child into one arm and then holding Kasan's hand with his free one.

  "I do understand, child," he said quietly, as he gave her a little pull forward.

  "Sasqua may be very young, Sarehl, but she's gentle and she loves your brother."

  "Isn't she too young to know love?" mused Sarehl. He didn't see the smile tremble on Kasan's lips before she spoke. Sarehl momentarily forgot how old he was at Choice.

  "Age has nothing to do with knowing and experiencing that, Sarehl." Enigmatically, Sarehl stared down at the chestnut head. Kasan turned suddenly. "That's enough for Kalbeth, I think. Shall we go back?" Sarehl obliged, her hand still held firmly in his.

  Inside the palace, Kasan moved to the nearest seat beside a mobile brazier that a courtier swiftly brought over to them. She spread her hands to the heat.

  "That may be the last walk for a while," she murmured. She watched Sarehl draw up a chair beside her and put Kalbeth on his lap, a gentle hand pulling back the blankets so the child could vaguely wave his arms. Kalbeth smiled up at Sarehl and, as always, he felt a wrench, so deeply inside, it was painful. Kasan saw the sudden flinch Sarehl gave and turned to him.