by David Hair
Ramita liked the name: it echoed what her late husband had told her of the Ordo Costruo. ‘Antonin would have approved,’ she said firmly.
Corinea made sarcastic noises. ‘These are Lakh, Dhassan and Keshi boys, and anything with “Ordo” in it won’t feel right to them,’ she sniffed. ‘Anyway, your late husband could be damned ruthless when he wanted to be. He certainly wasn’t all peace and forgiveness.’
‘You didn’t know him as I did,’ Ramita retorted.
‘I knew him in all ways, and for longer, girl.’
Ramita glared at her and Corinea glared back.
Alaron and Puravai exchanged glances and the Master said, ‘Putting the name aside, is your idea not the Ordo Costruo again?’
‘Well, yes – but we don’t know if they even still exist. Anyway, they don’t have exclusive rights to sensible ideas.’ Alaron looked at Ramita. ‘What do you think?’
‘I agree with my husband,’ she replied, looking up at him fondly.
Corinea looked skywards. ‘I despise newly-weds.’
Puravai gave her a stern look. ‘This is important: we need to consider what exactly your new “order” might be. For example, do you wish to start with novices or trainees who graduate to being a full member of the order? Do you wish to acknowledge different levels of expertise? What moral constraints do you wish to impose? What educational qualifications? What level of expertise in martial training? Do you wish the novices to maintain their Zain vows? Obviously I would prefer they do, but I recognise that pacifism is not so easy when one is confronted with deadly force.’
‘Clearly,’ Corinea said in an ironic voice.
‘Nevertheless, restraint seems to me to be important,’ Puravai went on, unperturbed. ‘And do you wish to allow them to put aside their vows of celibacy, to have children or to wed? And what if their offspring do not wish to be in the order – or what if they themselves wish to leave the order, having their heads turned by the world?’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I could go on . . . but you begin to see the complexities.’
Ramita slipped her hand into Alaron’s under the table. ‘We need to include people, not shut them out.’
‘I’ve no quarrel with that,’ Corinea agreed. ‘There aren’t a lot of us to start with.’
Alaron frowned. ‘My father used to say, “If you want a broad church, build a big roof and lots of doors.”’
‘My father would say that if you want to sell things, ask what the buyers want,’ Ramita put in.
Everyone looked at her. Alaron squeezed her hand. ‘Actually, I think my father would probably agree with that.’
‘We’re both children of traders,’ she reminded the others proudly.
Corinea rolled her eyes again, but she turned to Master Puravai. ‘It’s actually sensible. We need to find out what the novices want.’
*
As the young men honed their skills in the gnosis, use of the kon-staff and the mental disciplines of the Zains, each was taken aside and asked, ‘You agreed to learn this gnosis to fight a very specific evil. But if this evil is overcome, how do you wish to live afterwards, now that you have the gift of this power?’
It was soon apparent that only two – Gateem, the most pacifist, and Yash, the most worldly – had given the matter any thought. Oddly, for all they were opposites in many ways, their ideas were quite similar.
‘We cannot go back to being Zain monks,’ Gateem said in his serious, impassioned manner. ‘If we’re to engage with the world, we must do so completely. Gifts such as these are for using.’ Under Corinea’s tutelage, he was becoming a very skilled healer. His face lit up as he added, ‘Imagine the work we could do among the poor!’
‘We cannot go back to being Zain monks afterwards,’ Yash echoed in his own interview. ‘If we’re to fight evil, we can never stop – evil goes on, and so must we. We must be a new thing to do this – new vows. New ranks.’
Both young men must have started bending the ears of their comrades, because after that everyone else started suggesting much the same things – and so the new order began to take shape, a process which culminated one evening when they all remained in the foodhall after the meal.
Somewhat to Alaron’s surprise, it was Aprek who stood and took the lead, but he quickly realised that while Gateem and Yash were opinion-leaders, Aprek, the most thoughtful and well-read, was the more comfortable speaker.
‘Master Puravai, Magister Alaron, Lady Meiros, Lady Lillea,’ he began, hands clasped and bowing, ‘we have given this matter much thought. Not all have agreed – in fact we have argued long and hard into many nights.’ He eyed Yash, Kedak and Gateem especially. ‘I feel those discussions have brought us closer together. Perhaps my fellows even agree with that . . . ?’
There was a murmur, and a smile passed from face to face.
Aprek bowed again and continued, ‘So after many tangents and wild ideas, we returned to the core tenets of who we are: Zain novices. Master Puravai will know this, but you’ – he looked at Alaron, Ramita and Corinea – ‘might not; Attiya Zai taught that the soul – the fravarshi – is eternal, and that it creates the urfan – the body – when it enters the world, and thus we are born again and again, the same soul in renewed bodies. Those who are in touch with their spirit are in touch with their fravarshi, which we see as our guardian spirit, protecting us from evil and harm. It is said that Attiya Zai performed miracles through his fravarshi. Your ambrosia, Magister Alaron, has given us the ability to reach our fravarshi, so we must use this ability to be the guardian spirits of our world. That will be our role, both in aiding the pursuit of your enemies, but also afterwards. Our purpose shall be to find, to understand and to resolve conflict.’ He paused, looking especially at Master Puravai for approval.
The Master gave a slight hand gesture, one used only when a pupil had done exceptionally well; that tiny sign was an indication of great praise. Aprek struggled to remain impassive while around him his fellow Zains looked at each other in mutual congratulation.
Aprek swallowed and went on, ‘We considered our nature as a group. We are already brothers in belief, backing each other, protecting each other, caring for each other. So we wish to be known collectively as Brothers, or “Bhaicara”, which is the Lakh word for brotherhood.’
‘What if a woman wishes to join?’ Ramita interrupted. She exchanged a look with Tegeda, whose position was still nebulous.
Aprek admitted, ‘This was a point of great debate, but with you as our shining example, Lady, we will welcome any woman who joins. But unless we recover the Scytale, we don’t know where any future recruits will come from.’ He bowed to Tegeda. ‘Our one female novice is welcome here, and we pray that if we are successful, she and future female trainees will be able to drink the ambrosia.’
Tegeda ducked her head shyly, but looked very pleased.
Puravai raised a hand. ‘There have been many requests through the years for women to form Zain hermitages, though the heads of our order – men far holier than I – have thus far declined those requests. But there are sisterhoods dedicated to the Omali gods with not-dissimilar ideals. I would be happy to approach them: if we can recover the Scytale.’
The young Zains looked at each other, faintly surprised, but Aprek was already bowing again and continuing, ‘Our trainees will be drawn from the Zain monasteries and other approved orders, including those female hermitages of which Master Puravai speaks. They will be “Aspirants”, to be inculcated with our purpose and ideals and trained in how to survive the ambrosia. Those who gain the gnosis will be “Brothers” or “Sisters” – Bhaiya and Bahana. And those who master all sixteen aspects of the gnosis will be “Savants” – this word was taught to us by Lady Lillea; it means gifted. We create this rank because it is good to have a higher standing to aspire to, as seeking to better oneself sharpens one’s skills and understanding. But above the Savants are the Masters, who need not be magi at all, and are appointed by consensus. We wish to name them “Pahali” for a male and “P
ahala” for a woman: the word signifies both authority and mastery of a discipline, so is very appropriate.’
He paused, and again Puravai gave his small gesture of approval.
Aprek beamed. ‘Thank you, Pahali Puravai,’ he said, bowing very low. ‘And finally, the name and badge of our order: first and foremost, we are Zains, and we continue to seek a path to moksha. That has not changed. But the path we walk is new, and our guides are magi: both the fabled Antonin Meiros and the one who through his wisdom and courage has brought us to this path: Pahali Alaron.’ He ignored Alaron’s blush and demurring gesture. ‘We therefore wish to be known as “Merozain”, to honour our three progenitors. We wish our badge to be the fravahar – the winged man symbol that Attiya Zai used to depict the soul. Do we have your approval?’
The hall fell silent, and filled with nervous expectation.
Puravai, Corinea, Alaron and Ramita looked at each other. Corinea was the first to speak. ‘Well, I’ve heard worse,’ she drawled. ‘Once a group of mage-knights decided they wanted to be “The Glorious Knights of the Temple of Golden Redemption” and call each other “Exalted Paladin”. I had to kill them.’
Everyone stared at her, a few mouths dropping open.
She rolled her eyes. ‘They’d trapped me; I had no choice.’
Ramita harumphed, and then beamed at the novices. ‘Well, I entirely agree.’
Alaron nodded his own agreement and they all turned to Puravai.
The old Zain had a slightly sad smile on his face. ‘Behold my young charges, going off on a different path, when I had other hopes for them . . . but I did help persuade them to take that path. And yes, I think they have done well.’
He stood and bowed low to Aprek and the circle of waiting novices.
‘Let the documents be written, founding Brothers and Sister of the Merozain Bhaicara. May you prosper, and attain your goals!’
A cheer rang out through the hall.
*
The newly named and constituted Brothers of the Merozain Bhaicara went back to work, and weeks flew by as the experienced magi tried to impart all they knew to their eager young protégés. Progress was mixed, predictably, but they concentrated on the basics of mental and physical defence and from those building blocks, the Brothers improved rapidly.
When they weren’t teaching, Alaron and Ramita worked on their own wider skills, concentrating on spiritualism, clairvoyance and divination, the Studies they’d need for their search, with Corinea as their guide. They started using their dreams to explore both the future and the present. With Corinea in attendance and wards carefully set, one would watch while the other began searching Ahmedhassa from the comfort of their sleeping pallet.
Nasatya’s name was on Ramita’s lips as she fell into the trance and invoked spirit-gnosis. She floated above her body and saw Corinea and Alaron watching over her: Alaron appeared oblivious to her otherworldly presence, but Corinea looked up, her eyes piercingly bright and focused, as if to say: Yes, I see you. Then Ramita whispered her son’s name, picturing his tiny face, and she shimmered and flashed outwards in a blur of darkness and light—
—and into Dasra’s nursery, the next storey up. She hissed in annoyance and quested outwards. The world blurred, then she cried out when she saw a child held by a woman in a tiny, smoky hut in the mountains. But it wasn’t Nasatya at all, and the woman cradling the boy wasn’t Huriya. The vision frayed and she flashed on to another and then another, until her conscious mind reminded her subconscious that it had been six months since Nas was torn from her hands and she found herself back in the nursery, gazing down at little Dasra, lying on his back, sleeping.
He opened his eyes . . . except he didn’t – but he saw her in his own dream and smiled, and she blinked back to her body, trembling as she woke.
‘You’re back already?’ Corinea enquired. ‘It’s only been twenty minutes!’
‘I was trying to find Nasatya but that led me back to Dasra in the nursery,’ she mumbled apologetically.
‘Then try again, and stay focused.’ Corinea clicked her fingers and a wave of tiredness rolled over Ramita, instantly carrying her back down into the dream-state.
*
Over the next few weeks, Ramita and Alaron grew progressively more tired. Sleep yielded no rest, for their dream-searches were draining them of gnosis – and their spiratus had a range of only a few hundred miles. Once they learned to use the eyes of other spirits – the Web of Souls – they could go further afield, although this too had its problems: the desert had few beings whose eyes they could borrow, while the cities had far too many – and on top of that, they could be more easily deflected by gnostic wards.
The search became increasingly distressing for Ramita as Nasatya remained unfound, and she began to doubt that she would ever find him.
The Valley of Tombs, Gatioch, on the continent of Antiopia
Safar (Febreux) to Awwal (Martrois) 930
20th and 21st months of the Moontide
It was somehow appropriate to awaken in a tomb.
I’ve come back from the dead.
Malevorn had no memory of how he’d come here – in fact, he had no memories at all after that sharp moment of painful awareness that his heart was stopping.
Six pairs of eyes gazed at him as he sat up on the stone slab. Something shifted on his chest and he clutched it to him: the necklace anchoring the possessing spirits of each Ablizian. Moving was horribly painful: his whole body was stiff, his joints were locked, and almost worst of all: he stank. He’d evidently soiled himself repeatedly.
But I’m still here . . .
A Necromantic scarab was one way to save yourself from death, but the arts of Wizardry provided another: you could house your spiratus in an artefact, preferably a gem like a periapt, instead. While a necromantic scarab dwelt in the skull; a spirit-gem remained separate from the body it protected. Rather than becoming a death-magic parasite, one becomes one’s own possessing daemon.
This was the preferred means of cheating death among Wizards, but it wasn’t as reliable as the Necromancer’s scarab – and it came with other limitations, chief of which was that the wearer was vulnerable to Wizardry himself. But that was still preferable to dying – and in Malavorn’s view, much better than being reduced to a Death Scarab. And right now he felt utterly vindicated: he’d survived the heart-link with Huriya being snapped – for the necklace of gems that contained the souls of the Ablizians had also contained his own.
Hessaz, you treacherous bitch . . .
As his awareness extended, he let his gnostic sight drift, reacquainting himself with the Valley of Tombs. Huriya’s dead, rotting body still hung from the manacles, but the Lokistani woman was gone and so was the Meiros boy. The Ablizians were still here, though there were far fewer – he probed deeper and found that in his absence, they’d been eating each other for want of other food, the weakest voluntarily baring their throats to the strongest.
He counted the gems on the necklace; as well as his own, there were just seventy-eight Ablizians left – he’d lost hundreds of them. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. He looked at the nearest Ablizian, a male, who’d been regarding him with narrow, focused eyes. These creatures had kept him alive when he was utterly helpless, and that told him much about what he’d achieved: multiple possessed daemons devoted to him alone.
Then it spoke. ‘Master, welcome.’
He caught his breath as the six slaves went down on their knees.
‘A bath is prepared, and a meal awaits,’ the Ablizian said as he extended a hand to help Malevorn rise.
As he clasped the proffered hand, something utterly unexpected shocked through him, and changed everything.
*
Malevorn examined his diamond-studded spear: each stone, pulsing like hundreds of heartbeats and glowing with a peculiar inner light, was the anchor-spell for an Ascendant slave. He’d taken his necklace and fused it to a spearhead; the spear was much more warrior-like – and in th
is configuration, it had produced an interesting effect: it worked just like an unusually powerful periapt, which was something he’d not been able to use since becoming a Souldrinker.
But he had discovered there was an unexpected price, though he hadn’t at first noticed it: he hadn’t slept in the past month. He’d been working day and night, sustained by greedy use of the gnosis. His slaves had to remind him to eat and drink, for he had lost any cravings at all, except to hold the spear and commune with the inner landscape he’d found there – and his new Master. This was an endlessly fascinating world, far more interesting than the drabness around him. The Valley of Tombs was just ancient statuary, a reminder that all things failed in time. Only the spirit was eternal.
Like an addict reaching again for the mouthpiece of his hookah pipe, he clutched the spear tighter and plunged back into its eternal and ever-changing vista. Choosing a diamond at random, he threw his awareness into it, his senses separated into two. The core of him remained inside his own body while a shadow-self plunged through the gem and along the link to the daemon it anchored, an Ablizian presently stalking the perimeter of the Valley of Tombs. It flinched when it sensed his presence, but he caressed its sensory nodes to reassure it, then sent his awareness delving into its soul like a worm through layers of soil, pushing aside the detritus of memory and sensation until he burst through into an entirely different place: into the mind of Corineus Himself.
His Saviour became aware of him and turned his way, like a galaxy forming a visage from the stars. A massive voice sang inside his mind,