by Jack Massa
All her life, Clorodice had worked to promote virtue and order. Now the manor house of her ancient family was surrounded by despicable slums. Plainly, she and those of like mind who followed the Thread of Virtue had not been successful enough. Perhaps she needed to take a harder line, to invoke stronger powers.
That thought turned her mind back to Amlina—the unrepentant renegade who cavorted with barbarians, who shamelessly admitted practicing foreign arts. The Duke saw Amlina as a dangerous enemy. Looking at the matter with her witchsight, Clorodice suddenly agreed. The renegade was more than a petty annoyance, she might actually win the Cloak, crushing all of Clorodice’s hopes.
The Duke was right: She would need a plan to eliminate Amlina.
“I understand this is what you must do,” Glyssa said. “Still, I had not expected we would be separated for so long.”
Amlina would leave tomorrow for the House of the Deepmind to begin the month-long preparations for her purification. She had disclosed the news to her friends that afternoon on returning to the palace. Now she dined with them in the central chamber of the apartment they shared. Pink glass lamps decorated the long table with a hazy glow. An alabaster fountain in the shape of a phoenix bubbled nearby. Beyond the open wall panels, a terrace lit by braziers overlooked the formal garden. Below the terrace, at the edge of the footpath, stood a circle of Iruk spears. This was the spot where the mates had set the klarn-spirit to rest, on the day Amlina surrendered the Cloak. By tradition, they performed this ritual at the end of every hunt, the klarn-soul residing as a protective presence at the doorway of their abode.
“We will miss you,” Glyssa added.
“And if you should need us,” Draven said, “we will not be there to help you.”
Amlina took hold of his hand and Glyssa’s. “My dear friends, you all have helped me already more than I can ever express, or thank you for. I have drawn strength from you all, but this time I must stand on my own. Well, not entirely alone, I will have Lady Melevarry’s guidance. I am very lucky she has agreed to help me.” She squeezed the two hands firmly. “I don’t know where I would be without my friends.”
“I still don’t like it,” Draven said, brow lowered. “More than a month without speaking with you or knowing how you are.”
“I know, my dear,” Amlina said. “I would not take this course, were it not my best hope of growing strong again.”
“And what should we be doing all this time?” Karrol wondered aloud.
Amlina had spoken with Lord Sim, the Tuan’s Chief Steward, and received assurances that her companions could remain guests of the palace for as long as they wished. Still, after doing nothing for four days but feasting and touring the gardens, the Iruks were growing restless.
Eben raised his goblet with a laugh. “I for one intend to keep enjoying the Tuan’s excellent hospitality.”
“That’s a fine answer,” Karrol grumbled. “We feast and grow fat for three or four small-months?”
“Well,” Eben spread an arm expressively. “I’m also learning the language, which you should as well.”
“Karrol makes a good point,” Lonn said. “We should practice with spear and sword every day.”
Up and down the table, the Iruks nodded their agreement.
“For my part,” Kizier said, “I plan of spending many hours exploring the volumes in the palace library. As long as I am a guest here, this is an opportunity I should not miss.”
“Oh, you must take me along,” Eben said. “I need to resume learning the characters.” While studying the Larthangan language with the aid of Buroof, the talking book, he had also made a start at learning to read.
“Perhaps I will try that as well,” Glyssa said. “If I can learn the characters, I can study the Canon of the Deepmind on my own.”
“That would be excellent for your training,” Amlina agreed.
“Hmm. What about the talking book?” Eben asked “Are you going to give him as a gift to the House of the Deepmind as he requested. Or will you leave him with us?”
That question had occurred to Amlina in the afternoon, as she packed the few belongings she would take with her. “Actually,” she said, “I had a different thought about Buroof.”
“Thank you for granting us this audience, August Ruler.”
Amlina carried the heavy, leather-bound book into the Tuan’s private apartment. With Kizier at her side, she stepped up to the inlaid table where Me Lo Lee sat eating rice cereal, surrounded by his personal entourage.
“Oh, it is my pleasure to see you, Honored Amlina, and you, revered scholar.” The boy waved his gold spoon in the air. “Pardon my taking breakfast while we talk. My schedule today is over-crowded with ceremonial appointments.”
“It is we who ask pardon for interrupting you.”
Amlina rose from her deep bow, and cast a quick glance at the Tuan’s attendants. These included Lord Han Sim, the palace steward, responsible for all household affairs; Mosavan Quo Tom, the chief tutor; and the governess, Sheil Na Quee, responsible for the Tuan’s dress and deportment. All three returned her look with carefully neutral expressions.
“As you may know, August Ruler, tomorrow I depart the palace to enter the House of the Deepmind in preparation for the rites I must perform.”
“Indeed?” The boy held the spoonful of cereal before his mouth. “I knew the day must be approaching. I most sincerely wish you success.”
“Thank you. I wanted to see you in person to express my gratitude for your speaking on my behalf to the Council.”
Chewing, Me Lo gestured to indicate the matter was of no consequence.
“And of course,” Amlina said, “I wish to thank you for all of your generous hospitality to myself and my friends this past small-month.”
“Oh, it is both my duty and my pleasure,” he replied. “You are a hero of the nation, Amlina. And I find your Iruk warriors most interesting company.”
“They are indeed noble,” she said. “So, I possess little of value in worldly terms, certainly nothing worthy of your kindnesses. But, as you are a scholar of wide interests, I thought this might at least provide you some amusement.” She set the heavy volume on the table. “This is a talking book, which I acquired from the lair of the serd sorcerer in Kadavel. For more than three thousand years it has passed from hand to hand and acquired much recondite knowledge of magic and witchery.”
The faces of the chief tutor and governess evinced both curiosity and reservation. But the Tuan bolted to his feet, eyes full of excitement.
“Indeed, it is a talking book? I have heard of such books, but never seen one. They are very rare in this age, I believe?”
He had directed the remark to Kizier, who replied: “Definitely so. This is the only one either Amlina or I have ever come across.”
“Wonderful!” the boy cried. “Can you demonstrate?”
“Yes, of course.” Amlina opened the front cover. Immediately, a haze of light appeared over the parchment leaf. “Buroof, I Amlina summon you.”
“I am here.” The book answered, inciting a delighted grin from the Tuan.
“As I said I would, I have am presenting you to the Tuan, Me Lo Lee, August Ruler of Larthang. He is now your owner.”
For once, Buroof sounded not proud and impatient, but humble. “This is indeed an honor, August Ruler. I had asked Amlina to offer me as a gift to the House of the Deepmind, as I was frankly rather bored with her and the low company she keeps. But I never expected to greet so glorious and magnificent a master.”
“Ha ha!” the boy was exultant. “He is wonderful! Buroof is your name?”
“Yes, majestic one. I have absorbed knowledge into my pages for thousands of years. And I know, of course, that you are gifted with the wisdom of your esteemed ancestors. I think we may have a great many interesting conversations.”
“Oh, yes! I am sure we shall,” the boy cried.
“August Ruler,” the steward said. “I’m afraid
the time of your first appointment draws near.”
“Please finish your breakfast, August Ruler,” the governess added.
“Yes, yes!” the boy said. “Thank you, Amlina for this wonderful present! I wish you all success at the House of the Deepmind, and look forward to your return. In the meantime, this worthy scholar and your Iruks will of course remain my honored guests.”
Nineteen
Next morning, Amlina met Melevarry once again at the gates of Ting Ta Roo. This time she was conducted along a side corridor and down several flights of steps lit by flickering lamps. The Mage of Randoon showed her to a small, windowless apartment. It consisted of a bedroom, a washroom, and a tiny chamber for meditation. The furnishings were sparse: narrow bed and nightstand, reading table, lamps, an hour glass to keep the time, a floor mat in the meditation room. The walls were plain gray stone.
“This basement level is seldom used in these times,” Melevarry told her. “The rooms are insulated by thickness of stone and by ancient designs to keep out mental influences. You must keep strictly to these chambers for the next month. Solitude is essential for your preparatory work.” The Mage set a scroll down on the table, black ink written in her own hand. “Here is a recommended daily schedule of activities. I will visit you here every morning and evening to see how you are getting on.”
Amlina stared down at the scroll. “I am very grateful to you. I realize this is keeping you here in the city and away from your normal duties in Randoon.”
“True. I will stay now through the end of Third Summer. I have dispatched my apprentice Yensia to manage affairs in Randoon. It will be good training for her. I trust my sojourn here will also be of value.”
“I will do all I can to make it so,” Amlina promised.
“I know you will, Amlina.” The elder witch laid a hand on her shoulder. “From all I can discern, what lies ahead will be harrowing. But I will do my best to help you through it.”
The Mage departed, leaving Amlina to unpack the clothing and jewelry she had brought, along with her worn copy of the Canon of the Deepmind. She reviewed the schedule Melevarry had written, then settled down to begin.
In the days that followed, her time was strictly regimented. She woke early, meditated for two turns of the hour glass. By then, her breakfast had arrived: rice cakes and tea. Morning tea was the only stimulant she was allowed, the rest of the time she drank water.
Her other meals were more robust and varied: apples, green salads, rice, almonds. On Melevarry’s insistence, she ate everything provided. She also drank potions that the Mage brought in tiny vials: purgative medicines in the daytime, sedatives at night.
Afternoons were divided between more meditation and physical exercise. In the center of her bedroom, Amlina practiced the movements of weng-lei, magical combat. This art involved drawing energy into the body and directing it out as mental force. The basic routines were designed to energize and strengthen the physical form.
As promised, Melevarry visited twice daily without fail. Each time she examined Amlina with witchsight, holding her wrists and staring into her eyes. She brought with her ancient texts to study, passages explaining what was known of the lingering effects of blood magic and the processes for purification.
Reading these made Amlina quail inside. The dark spirit that had seized a part of her soul would rise up, angry and seething with hate. Sometimes Amlina paced the small chamber like one driven mad, sweating, grunting, pounding with her fists on the door jambs. If Melevarry had not taken away her dagger, she would certainly have cut herself.
Slowly, over many days, the rage began to subside—isolation, physical rigors, and constant meditation having their desired effects.
Noting this change, Melevarry introduced new elements. Some days, a young witch came with a lute. Sitting on a cushion, she plucked notes which Amlina sought to match with her inner vibrations. Other days, a Chrysalis Warrior appeared. She would stand in the center of the floor and strike poses with a heavy, curved sword while inwardly Amlina attempted to mirror her strength and poise.
After perhaps twenty days, the Mage instituted another stage of the process. Seated in the meditation room with Amlina, she projected images onto the wall. These looked exactly like the colorful shadows cast in puppet theater, except they were purely mental castings. Still, like figures in a play, they acted out the tales and trials of ancient witches, those who had succumbed to evil practices and others who had overcome them and found redemption.
After she had seen a few of these performances, Amlina found that her own mind began casting images on the walls while she sat in meditation. These shadows recounted incidents from her past, her dismal childhood, her time at the Academy, her strange and frightening journeys to foreign lands. Eyes wide open, Amlina watched the events of her life streaming by, her mind detached, her heart numb and serene.
Each morning the Iruks marched out to a lawn at the edge of Perfect Light Lake and drilled with swords and spears. After stretching their muscles and practicing leaps and lunges, they performed intricate movements that resembled a dance—ritual exercises they had learned as children when they first took up the warrior path. The sessions would finish with mock combats, where the mates tested each other’s reflexes and honed their skills.
Before long, these activities drew spectators—first gardeners and servants, then courtiers and members of the Imperial Guard. Occasionally, a guardsman or noble would participate in the drills, studying the foreign Iruk swordsmanship and demonstrating skills of their own.
These sessions became a daily entertainment for the Tuan’s household. Ministers and ladies of the court came to watch, accompanied by servants carrying lawn chairs and parasols. The courtiers applauded politely, gasped at violent moments, chatted among themselves, and sipped tea from delicate porcelain cups.
Following the combat training, the mates adjourned to the bathhouse. Of all the luxuries of life in the palace, soaking each day in perfumed water was easily their favorite. After, they would take a midday meal, then spend time learning the language and customs of the Larthangans. In this, they were assisted by Kizier and by a tutor, a gentleman named Ting Fo, who was assigned by the Tuan to accompany the Iruks everywhere and assist them in any way needed.
Sometimes, Eben went with Kizier to the Tuan’s library, a huge complex of rooms stuffed with scrolls and bound volumes on shelves and populated by a host of scribes and scholars. Kizier read books on Larthangan history and philosophy, and worked on composing his own accounts of Amlina’s voyages and on the culture of the Iruks. Eben meantime was learning to read. Coached by Ting Fo, he studied basic texts, matching the pictographs to the words in his growing Larthangan vocabulary.
A few times, Kizier was summoned to attend the Tuan and Eben went with him. At these meetings, the boy ruler would open Buroof the talking book and question him and Kizier both about foreign lands, their peoples and customs. Clearly, in the little leisure time he was allowed, Mo Lee was having wonderful fun with Buroof.
In the evenings, the Iruks sometimes dined with the Tuan, either at large banquets or with a few honored guests. Following dinner, they would be entertained by concerts, puppet plays, or poetry recitals. Eben found the poetry especially interesting.
The mates started to receive invitations to private banquets and tea parties. They attended a few of these, in the company of Ting Fo who guided them on the intricacies of polite etiquette. The Iruks were a novelty in Minhang, and the fact that they enjoyed the Tuan’s favor increased their notoriety. In the refined and affected court, their barbarian appearance and manners were viewed as refreshing. Court dandies began to trim their mustaches to match those of the Iruk men. Some ladies affected to braid their hair like that of the Iruk women. Silk trousers and jackets tailored in the shape of Iruk deerskins suddenly became a fashion.
But as First Summer moved into its second month, the mates were growing restless. Karrol and Brinda said little, but Eben noticed they som
etimes appeared gloomy and bored. Glyssa and Draven both expressed worries about Amlina. The witch had been in the House of the Deepmind more than twenty days but because of her deliberate isolation, they had received no word of her. Outwardly, Lonn maintained his stoic, imperturbable demeanor.
More than the others, Eben definitely enjoyed the life of a palace guest. Still, he began to feel something missing. Increasingly, his thoughts found their way to Trippany. He had neither seen nor heard from her since their departure from Randoon. One day, he questioned Ting Fo about the drell witch. She had helped Amlina bring the Cloak to Larthang and Eben reasoned she ought to have garnered some acclaim. After asking among the palace servants, Ting Fo reported a rumor gleaned from the mansion of the drell ambassador, to the effect that Trippany was undergoing some sort of penance in the House of the Deepmind. But that was all he could say.
Eben fretted over the matter, concerned that she might be unduly punished for helping Amlina and the klarn. In odd moments, he found himself composing verses about the drell, praising her courage, grace, and beauty. He saw this as a way to hone his mastery of the Larthangan language, and he sought to match the rhythms used by some of the Minhang poets he had heard.
One night, when Amlina’s month of preparation was nearly over, the Iruks dined at a poetry festival in a garden of the palace. After eating, most of the mates grew bored and returned to their apartment. But Eben lingered, enjoying both the recitals and the varied and delicious assortment of wines.
Immersed in listening, and mildly inebriated, he did not notice her approach. Suddenly there was a flutter of air and a trickling laugh. Startled, he looked up to see Trippany settling to the ground beside his bench.
“I thought that was you!” She laughed.
Earlier, Eben had noticed a party of the winged people on the far side of the audience—the drell ambassador’s entourage. It had not occurred to him Trippany might be with them.
He bolted to his feet, delighted. “What are you doing here?”