by Hal Emerson
Her first sight of Var Athel put her in mind of a gem shining in the noonday sun.
The walls of the famous Citadel were made of white stone, and they towered over the waves that lapped at the base of the crescent-shaped rock on which it stood. The swelling white curtains of stone that made up the boundaries of the sorcerers’ city seemed to rise from the sea itself when the tide was full, and there was no way to tell where the smooth white stone of the walls ended and the raw, unformed rock of the island from which it grew began. It was one seamless piece, integrated into the world with the smooth efficiency of natural beauty. Above the walls were visible towers and turrets, as well as soaring rooftops with flying buttresses and carved statues of men and beasts set on guard and looking out, as if stationed to defend the magnificent structure.
All of it together was larger and more glorious than anything AmyQuinn had ever seen. Several Dunlows could have fit easily inside with room to spare, and even though she stared at it incessantly as they approached, she still could not comprehend its size. Even the Caelron Great Ships, huge constructions of wood and canvas that looked like clouds and waves made solid, were dwarfed by the Citadel as they sailed past it through the channel and out to the Shining Sea.
The ferry they had taken from the mainland just south of Caelron – Valinor had broken their frosty silence long enough to tell her that it was the fastest way to Var Athel – had let them out on the coast of the cove that circled the Floating City, at the docks along the mainland shore. There was another city there, one not inhabited by Sorev Ael but by common men and women. It was large and thriving due to the presence of the Citadel and the traffic it attracted, but as they passed through the myriad shops and houses, AmyQuinn could not understand how anyone there got anything done. Surely they must spend all their time staring in wonder at –
“Come along!” Valinor snapped, urging her back into motion. He’d been forced to repeat the same thing a dozen times since they’d landed, and it was clear in his tone that whatever shred of patience he’d retained was close to fraying entirely.
They turned down a number of roads, passed a number of shops and inns and eating places – even the smallest of which looked larger and more elegant than anything Dunlow had to offer – and then finally emerged at the wide entrance to a long stone bridge that led to the Citadel. It was marvelously crafted, lined as it was with paving stones that were almost impossibly smooth and even, and it was wide enough for three carts to pass abreast. Countless men and women in a wide array of clothing all of various colors, cuts, and styles crowded across it. Their skin was everything from the pale white of Aginor to the deep black of fabled Laniae, something that boggled AmyQuinn’s mind. She even saw what she was certain must be Sorev Ael coming and going; some were alone, some were in groups, but all bore openly the staff and ring of their office.
“There are so many,” she whispered.
“There are not as many as there were,” Valinor replied, startling her. It was the first response he’d made to her since their fight in Erinwale. They were on foot now, leading their horses behind them, and close enough that talking was easy, even in the midst of the heavy traffic crossing the bridge.
“How many are there?” she asked, seizing the opportunity.
“A little over a thousand in the Citadel. Three hundred or so full Sorev Ael, slightly more Deri’cael who’ve earned their staff and are working for their ring, and the rest apprentices.”
She nodded dumbly, too awed by the place and the people to ask anything else. She felt her annoyance and anger from their quarrel fade into the background. Valinor was the only familiar part of this whole alien landscape, and she stayed close to his side. She knew she looked like a country-born fool, her mouth hanging open as she took in the sights all around her, but she couldn’t help it. She brushed hay and trail dust from her breeches even as she tried to ignore her appearance, thinking all the while that she resembled nothing so much as an urchin who had lived in a hovel all her life.
“There are more who come seeking entrance, of course,” Valinor continued, oblivious to her discomfort, “but many are turned away.”
Fear shot through her and she stopped dead.
“What?”
He walked a few more paces before he paused and glanced back.
“Many are turned away,” he repeated, confused.
“Turned away?” she asked, incredulous and horrified in equal measures. “But – wait, does that mean that I could be turned away?”
“It’s possible,” he replied, his mind clearly on something else.
“But – then – why am I here? I thought you said I had the talent!”
Valinor finally appeared to sense that he’d said something to upset her. A shadow passed over his face, and he became noticeably uncomfortable. Abruptly, he drew her into a small recess along the side of the bridge – a rounded platform made for looking out over the water – and motioned for her to sit on a ledge that circled the inside of it. She tried to keep hold of herself as she did, but suddenly everything was racing around inside her head and she could not catch hold of a single thought long enough to think it.
“You do have the talent,” the Sorev Ael said, grabbing her by the shoulder with one of his steady hands. The pressure and the touch made her feel solid and anchored, and she was able to take a deep breath with only a slight hitch.
“Listen to me,” he continued. “This is what is going to happen. At the end of the bridge is the Keeper’s Gate. There are enchantments on it that keep out those who would do the Citadel harm – enchantments so old that every Sorev Ael in Var Athel working together could neither duplicate nor dispel them. When we pass through, the Gate will sense your talent and alert a man known only as the Keeper. The Keeper is old, very old. He’s been here since I was a child, since I came here for training, and he was very old then as well. There are many secrets to Var Athel, and he is keeper of them all. He comes and goes as he pleases – some say he is not a man at all, but an enchantment, born of the walls and the gate and the city itself. He will come to you in the Sorcerers’ Court, which is only just beyond the Keeper’s Gate. It is as far as many men and women go – it is the only area inside the walls where outsiders are allowed. Merchants come there to trade, and those seeking an audience with the Circle or other Sorev Ael come to petition the scribes. When the Keeper comes, you must do as he says – exactly as he says – and all will be well. You will be revealed as a potential Sorev Ael, and you will write your name in the Book, at which time you will be asked to speak the oath that will bind you to Var Athel. That is all.”
As he finished, she found that the weight on her chest had dissipated somewhat and she was finally able to take a full breath. She looked up into his burnt-black eyes, and it was his calm that helped her compose herself in the midst of the alien majesty that cloaked the whole of her journey and her future and made her feel as though she were being swallowed by a strange, invisible creature.
“I will be with you until the Keeper deems you fit,” Valinor continued, letting go of his horse’s reins so that he could rest both hands on her shoulders and look her right in the eye. “When you are accepted, you will go with the Stewards.”
“You won’t be with me after that?” AmyQuinn asked, feeling again that flare of panic. What had she been thinking in coming here? What was she committing to? What if the Keeper did not take her, or what if the Gate thought she had “ill-intent” and decided to deal with her or – ?
“I am not a teacher,” he replied. “I must report to the Circle, and then I will be gone again. There are those here who are much better able to teach than I. But know this: I went through the training, as does every Sorev Ael. It is a part of who we are.”
He released her and stood up. He paused awkwardly, halfway between turning back to the horse and staying with her, and through her fear she realized that he was not used to touching people.
But the moment passed. He took the reins of his horse, checked the unconscious brigand
– he’d finally covered the man when they’d taken the ferry across the bay – and then set out again to finish crossing the bridge. She followed him with a sinking feeling, like she was being led to the gallows, and with each step panic rose up higher in her chest, filling her up and squeezing her lungs so that it was very hard to breathe. Her vision narrowed in on the gate, blocking out the people and the rest of the bridge. It loomed in front of her, a yawning mouth waiting to swallow her whole. The iron spikes of its portcullis hung high above like teeth, and it was dark inside, pitch black with no light.
“Why is it dark?” she managed to ask.
“It’s an illusion,” he replied calmly. “Follow closely.”
She jerked Col along behind her, and the gelding gave a sharp whiny of complaint. They crossed beneath the shadow of the wall – which soared above them like the craggy precipice of a mountainside – and then they were in total darkness.
Something passed over and through her, and she gasped as though she’d been plunged into cold water. Her lungs shriveled up inside her body and she stumbled several steps forward. As she did, the world reappeared around her and the icy cold dissipated. Col came through behind her, and though he looked startled by her sudden change in stride, he made no sign or show that he’d noticed anything out of the ordinary. She glanced back and found she could now see through the gate quick easily. The bridge was there in plain sight, though it did seem oddly tilted, as if she were looking at it through a heat haze.
“Come along, girl.”
She turned back and saw Valinor several yards farther ahead. She hurried after him, pulling the exasperated Col along behind her.
They were inside a long, high passageway now, with bright light visible at the end. The arched tunnel was made of white stone fitted together so perfectly that when she trailed her hand along the wall she felt nothing but the slightest indentations. They passed out of the tunnel, and she squinted against the glare of reflected sunlight.
It was like stepping into a tapestry. The floor was made of creamy white stone, and the courtyard itself was lined with pillars that were as thick around as tree-trunks. It had no ceiling in the center, but was instead open to the sky, letting in the noonday sun. Three pathways led right, left, and straight ahead, and each disappeared into a maze of shops and stalls painted in a riot of color. There were amulets and medallions that claimed to ward off sickness, as well as stoppered bottles containing bright liquid purported to cure disease and induce euphoria. There were knives that would not dull for a dozen years and wagon tongues that would not break. Bright green birds from distant lands squawked and cried loudly from where they were tethered next to sleek black cats with golden eyes full of uncanny intelligence.
The sheer number of people was overwhelming. They wandered in and out of the shops and haggled with merchants who bore the seal of the Sorev Ael on their left breast. They all called about and greeted each other and laughed as young boys in simple wool clothing with the ring and staff emblazoned on their backs ran about and got underfoot, delivering messages and offering various services.
Valinor took the central path, and AmyQuinn followed. The crowd parted as they advanced, revealing two distant lines of people at the base of a set of stairs that led up to what AmyQuinn assumed was the Citadel proper. At the front of each line stood a harried-looking pair of men hastily taking notes as they listened to their petitioners. Valinor continued in that direction, and she followed quickly, only to nearly collide with him when he abruptly stopped a second later.
“Master Therin!”
It was a young boy who had called out what appeared to be Valinor’s official title, and he ran up to them breathing heavily.
“Thom,” Valinor said with a curt nod. He handed the reins of his horse to the boy, who stopped and stared wide-eyed at the body of Tholax just visible beneath the covering that had slipped enough to reveal a bound arm and shoulder.
“Oh, yes,” Valinor said lightly. “See that he’s taken to the dungeons. I will inform the Circle of him myself.”
“Will… you go to see them now?”
“Not yet. There’s something I have to do.”
He glanced down at AmyQuinn, and the boy followed his gaze. When Thom saw her, he looked confused. He had the air of someone who was often confused, and his dirty brown hair stuck up in the back like he was trying to imitate a rooster.
“Is she a prisoner too?”
“No,” Valinor said, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross his impassive face. “She’s an apprentice.”
The boy’s eyes grew round and his mouth dropped open. He stared with such intensity that AmyQuinn began to feel horribly self-conscious. She had not bathed in days, and her hands itched to smooth her shirt and ferret out any remaining pieces of straw from their nights spent sleeping in haylofts. But she balled her traitorous fingers into fists instead and bunched them by her side.
“Are you joking, Master Therin?”
“No.”
“But she’s a girl,” the boy said, incredulous.
“And you’re an ass,” she retorted immediately.
“You are both correct,” Valinor said, highly amused.
The Sorev Ael motioned for Col’s reins, and she passed them over with trembling hands. Valinor handed him off to the stable boy, who was still staring at her as if she were some strange creature with a third eye and tentacles.
“Thom,” Valinor prompted, thoroughly enjoying the interaction but clearly impatient to continue on. “Go do what I asked.”
The boy tore his eyes away from her and focused back on Valinor, and then went pale as the blood drained from his face. Suddenly he was bowing and backing away, muttering apologies, until he finally disappeared into the crowd.
As soon as he was gone, she turned to Valinor.
“Does it matter that I’m a girl?” she asked quickly. “Are girls not allowed?”
“Two of the most powerful Sorev Ael in history were the Sisters after which you are named,” he said simply. “The Sorev Ael don’t – ”
He stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder, his expression suddenly veiled. She turned, expecting Thom and readying a sharp-tongued scolding to send him on his way again, but it died on her lips.
It was not Thom. It was instead a man older than any she had ever seen. His hair had gone beyond gray and was a pure, snowy white, bleached of all color like a bone left in the sun. His chin was covered in a thick beard that flowed down over his chest like a river of cotton, and the skin of his face was a mass of wrinkles and broken veins, blue worms just below the surface. His back was bent so that he leaned heavily on the staff he held in his left hand – a staff with a clawed crown as gnarled and tangled as the knuckles and fingers of the hand that held it.
The noise in the courtyard began to taper off and then abruptly died. Not a single person spoke for the space of a full minute, but then there came whispering as word was passed along, and soon there were more people crowding out of the shops and looking – all of them looking in at –
Me.
The sudden weight of a thousand eyes made AmyQuinn wish she could disappear. A vague, sourceless buzzing had taken over her body and was making her skin vibrate and her breath come in short, harsh bursts. Her back teeth were locked together so tightly that she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to speak again, and there was a lightness in her feet that was quite clearly urging her to run.
“Do not flee.”
The voice was as old as the man: an ancient tomb opening, full of cobwebs and hundreds of years of dust. But there was power in it, like a vein of gold deep below the earth, and it made her shiver like a plucked string. His words were more than words – they were the sound of wind and sea, and the slamming of a door.
“Do you understand me?” he asked.
The question hit her like a punch in the gut. The words, again, were not words but thoughts – images and sounds, the taste of copper, the smell of ancient wood with new oil – word
s that did not make sense as words. That part of her mind that had opened when she’d grabbed Valinor’s staff opened again, and it was like seeing a new color, or hearing a pitch higher than normal sound. There was an extra layer to the world, and she was being given a glimpse of it.
“Yes,” she replied.
The word that was not a word rolled out of her, but as soon as it was off her tongue and past her lips, she could no longer understand it. The extra sense of the world disappeared, and she snapped back to herself. She shook her head and swayed where she stood, then looked back at the man and saw him watching her with blank white eyes.
“Do you wish to learn?”
Again, the words that were not words rolled over her, and again that part of her mind opened up, but this time it was harder, and it left her gasping to utter even a single word reply:
“Y-yes.”
The sense of the words faded again as soon as the answer slipped past her teeth. Fatigue settled over her mind, though not her body, and she shivered as if she were in the grip of a fever.
The man slowly, ever so slowly, nodded.
Murmurs burst out around her like echoes in a dark cave, but she did not pay them heed. She had been seized by something else, something that nudged and poked against that part of her mind she hadn’t known existed. The part of her that understood this deeper language, this language of thoughts.
“You’re not a man,” she said.
The Keeper’s eyes widened, and his whole demeanor changed. Suddenly the benign smile was commanding, and the blind stare pierced her with frightening ferocity. She felt immediately that she had done something wrong. She tried to break away but the blank white eyes held her in place.
“What am I?” the Keeper asked.
The world swirled in around her, and there was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing at all but the sound of the words and the thought that burned in her mind like a fire in the dark of night.
“Something more,” she whispered.
The Keeper smiled.
There was a burst of light and the connection broke. She stumbled back, her ears ringing. Strong hands caught her, and she recognized Valinor. He righted her, and she looked around wildly for the Keeper.
He was gone.
She stared stupidly at where he’d been until Valinor spoke.
“It’s over,” he said. She looked up and back at him, and then stood as best she could under her own power. She felt as though she’d been struck upside the head – her vision was fuzzy and she couldn’t make sense of what had happened.
“Did he tell me to go away?” she asked, worried. “He didn’t say anything about me staying. Does that mean I have to leave?”
Valinor raised his eyebrows and smiled an ill-concealed smirk. He came forward and rested a calm, sturdy hand on her shoulder.
“Look down,” he said.
She did, and gasped.
Her breeches and shirt had disappeared, and in their place was a full-length dress of snow-white cotton, with a white sash tied around her waist. Her feet were encased in sturdy white boots, her hands in white fingerless gloves, and on the right breast of her bodice beneath a well-fitted gray cloak was emblazoned a golden sigil – the ring and staff of Var Athel.
“Come with me,” he said.
She nodded, and together they walked into the Citadel.