The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Three: A Long-Awaited Treachery

by G. D. Falksen

  “A few years?” Iosef asked, astonished. “We shall return by Easter.”

  “You may return by Easter,” Zawditu said. “May. But you know the lure of the sojourn, Iosef. I knew it myself in my younger days. You will leave intending to return within a few months, but while you walk about in the world, you will lose track of your time and your place. You have experienced this yourself, Iosef. You know how simple it is to forget.”

  Iosef felt himself frown despite his best efforts. It was true, what Zawditu said. Time passed so quickly for the Shashavani, especially for the Living, who could not even mark the passage of time with their own bodies. It was a simple thing to lose track of time.

  “And if we do not return?” Iosef asked. “If we mistakenly wander for years rather than months?”

  “You must remember, Iosef, that Philippa is old. She remembers the dark time, the killing time, when The Three left us in search of Shashava

  and the Order devolved into chaos and bloodshed. She told me that she fears what may happen if Sophio does not return. There may be power struggles and factions again.”

  “And what did she ask of you if that happened?”

  “Philippa asked me to ensure the loyalty of the soldiers stationed in the castle, especially those guarding key positions,” Zawditu said. “The Council room, the armories, the gates. She wants them to be loyal to her rather than to someone else who might seek to usurp Shashava’s throne.”

  “And to whom are they loyal?”

  Zawditu smiled. “To me, of course. And so they will remain.”

  “Is that why you are ordering an inventory?” Iosef asked.

  “Inventory is inventory, Iosef,” Zawditu replied. “Weapons must be aired and oiled from time to time in case they should need to be used.” She patted Iosef on the shoulder. “Go and wander the world with your wife, Iosef. I will keep her kingdom safe until her return.”

  * * * *

  The following day, Iosef went to the Council room with a deep sense of apprehension. He suspected that Varanus had been antagonistic when questioned, and that would not make things go well for her. Sophio and the Council were already suspicious of Varanus for her stubbornness and her unconventional methods, and the nature of her crime was so extraordinary that there was no clear precedent. Iosef feared that they might kill her out of hand, simply for the sake of expediency.

  Iosef entered and took a place at the end of the table where he could be seen and could address the Council. He bowed to them all and exchanged a long, meaningful look with Sophio.

  Presently, the doors opened again, and Varanus was brought in by a pair of soldiers. Varanus was not restrained, but only because there was no need. Any attempt to escape her fate would be seen as an admission of guilt, and the soldiers—Shashavani who still walked in the Shadow of Death—would not hesitate to carry out an appropriate sentence.

  Fortunately, Varanus seemed to appreciate her situation. She eyed the soldiers and the Council members warily and muttered to herself. Iosef did not hear what words of self-assurance she uttered, and he did not think it appropriate to listen. Perhaps she was praying, though that seemed unlikely.

  “Doctor Varanus Shashavani,” Sophio said, her voice soft but somehow managing to reverberate around the chamber, “you have committed trespass against the House of Shashava. You were discovered having entered the secret places beneath this fortress and taking without approval the waters of life for purposes unknown. All that remains is to determine your punishment.”

  Varanus’s eyes flashed with anger and she opened her mouth to protest, but something interrupted her and she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she looked to her left, her mouth twisting in anger. She muttered something under her breath.

  She was, no doubt, used to the idea of trial proceedings where evidence would be given and she would be asked for her plea. But such things were unknown among the Shashavani. The Council had already heard all the evidence there was to hear, and now they would advise Sophio before she, with her centuries of wisdom, decided Varanus’s fate.

  “This is a grave transgression, Eristavi,” said Marie of Toulouse. “We must consider it with all due seriousness. But we must also remember that she is young, not even past her first century. If her actions were motivated by ignorance, her age may warrant consideration.”

  “She claims ignorance,” Iosef said. It was not properly his place to speak, but Sophio would indulge him—and therefore, so would the Council. “She told me, as she no doubt told you, that she took the water for the purpose of studying it, to discern its nature...to discern our nature. A worthy goal, though her methods cannot be condoned, and of course must be punished.”

  He saw Varanus’s eyes flash again; again she opened her mouth to speak, and again she thought better of it and merely muttered under her breath, looking away.

  “Above all, I would beg clemency, Eristavi,” he said directly to Sophio. “This transgression was committed by my student, one who is still young. As such, the responsibility falls on me as well.”

  “This is true,” agreed Reza of Samarkand. “You were responsible for her, Iosef. She is in your charge.”

  “It is not the first transgression,” added Caroline the Burgundian, the historian of European court intrigues, who, it was whispered, had engineered the alliance between England and Burgundy during the Hundred Years’ War. “You have been over-indulgent with her. She was permitted to enter the world before the end of her first century and to visit the home of her birth on the occasion of her grandfather’s death. Normally that would not be permitted, and yet at your request it was granted.”

  It was an exceptional thing to have done, Iosef knew. Normally newly initiated members of the Order were not permitted to leave the valley until they had lived a hundred years so that there was time for their friends, relations—indeed anyone they ever knew in their mortality—to die. It was a principle of security that no one who knew them could see them and realize that they had not aged. But in truth, Iosef was skeptical about it. With discretion and care, one could travel freely without such concerns; Iosef himself had traveled the world while still shy of his century, though he had been much closer to it than Varanus.

  “I know this,” he said. “I understand my mistake, but I still believe that Varanus has not acted with treachery, only well-intended ignorance.”

  “She may claim that she wished to study the water to better understand our nature,” interrupted Iese of Kartli, “but we cannot believe this. In my estimation, the only true reason to steal the water would be to bring the gift of life to the uninitiated. And that crime,” he added, leaning forward and slamming his fist against the table, “is treason of the highest order. It must be punished by death.”

  There were a few soft words of agreement from some of the other members of the Council. Indeed, it troubled Iosef to see how many seemed to agree with the suggestion.

  He turned to Sophio and addressed her directly:

  “Eristavi, I beg your mercy for my student. She did not act out of greed or malice or corruption. She acted in search of knowledge, which is the ultimate purpose of our order. How can we condemn her for that? No harm was done in the act. The water was not given to the uninitiated. She knows now that she was mistaken in her actions. She is contrite.” He looked at Varanus. “Aren’t you?”

  Varanus opened her mouth in anger, but again she had the sense to restrain herself. She looked away for a few moments and then looked at Sophio. She bowed her head and said simply, “It is true. I understand my...error. And I beg forgiveness for it.”

  “In light of this,” Iosef continued, “I believe that the best course of action would be to place her in confinement, where she may think upon her crime and reflect on how she shall conduct herself in the future.”

  “Foolishness!” Iese snapped. “This crime is treason. And to have committed it on the eve of your dep
arture, Eristavi.... The initiate’s arrogance is boundless. Let her head be cloven off, and her body burned to ashes tonight that you, my Prince, may depart on your sojourn without such concerns to trouble you.”

  “This is sensible,” agreed Thoros of Yerevan. “The punishment is suitable to the crime, and this act of trespass should not be allowed to disrupt our work. For that reason alone, death is fitting.”

  “My Lords, My Ladies, Eristavi,” Iosef cried, “let us not be rash. We do not lightly take the Living and return them to death and darkness. We have forgiven greater transgressions than this. Was not clemency given to many of those who aided Basileios in the civil war? Those whose crimes were few and light and who acted out of fear or were misled?”

  This did win him a few nods of agreement. Even Philippa seemed to agree, though it was very difficult to discern her thoughts on the matter.

  “Eristavi,” Iosef said to Sophio, “I beseech you, grant my student clemency. Place her in a cell for the duration of our sojourn, where in solitude and silence she may think on her mistakes and come to better understand our ways and their wisdom. When we return at Easter, then let her be released and examined again so that she may prove her contrition.”

  Iosef looked directly into Sophio’s eyes, pleading with her in silence. But Sophio’s expression remained emotionless.

  “There is wisdom in this, I think,” Margaret the Hebridean said after a lengthy reflection. “Much wisdom.”

  “What?” demanded Iese, staring at her. “You cannot mean that, Sister.”

  Margaret considered the matter again and replied, “No, Brother Iosef is correct. We should not act rashly. Sister Varanus has acted rashly. She has allowed her arrogance and her lust for knowledge to blind her. She, in her youthful folly, has acted without thinking. We must not follow her mistake, Brother Iese. It would be wrong to shed the blood of the Living before the Eristavi departs on her sojourn.” She looked around the Council room at the other elders, and her eyes rested upon Caroline the Burgundian. “You agree with me, do you not, Sister Caroline?”

  Caroline seemed surprised at the question but she simply nodded.

  “I do.”

  “The suggestion is a reasonable one,” said Xasan of Mogadishu, the Somali chemist and philosopher of society. He had long been the voice of moderation during the Council’s more extreme disagreements. “It is unseemly to shed the blood of the Living without fitting cause. And while this transgression is great, she is yet young. I agree with Sister Margaret and Brother Iosef. Let her be confined and reflect. She may learn from that. She will not learn from death.”

  There was a long silence and then Sophio slowly nodded.

  “I have considered the words of my councilors and I agree. Though her crime is great, Varanus has acted in ignorance.” She looked at Iosef, and her expression made clear that her next words were for him alone: “She will be given a chance to learn from this mistake. If she does, she will be spared. But if she continues in her error after this, she will die.”

  Iosef glanced at Varanus, expecting—indeed fearing—how she might react to such words. If she openly took to anger at what Sophio said, she might be killed outright. But she did not. Instead, her eyes were downcast, and she said nothing but a few quiet words to herself.

  “I thank you for your wisdom and your mercy, Eristavi,” Iosef said to Sophio. “And my student thanks you for them as well.”

  Chapter Eleven

  •

  On the next day, Iosef and Sophio departed on their sojourn, clad in simple woolen robes and thick-soled traveling boots and carrying long wooden staves to aid them on their journey. Sophio walked with her cowl down so that her hair might flow wildly in the frigid winter breeze, but as they departed in daytime, Iosef had no choice but to wear his up to shield his flesh from the sun. He also covered his eyes with dark glasses, and his face with a mask for the same purpose. He was yet young: the touch of the sun could kill him.

  Almost half the Order turned out to see them, which was incredible. Most Shashavani were so engrossed in their studies that the passage of time had no proper meaning. Save for those involved in the politics or the administration of the House of Shashava, it was likely that most of them would not realize that Sophio had departed until after she had returned.

  They descended from the Caucasus into the lowlands of Imereti and Kartli, through snow-covered forests and fields, and they followed the great Mtkvari River until it emptied into the Caspian Sea. There they turned south and walked along the frigid shore for days and days, making their way through northern Persia and toward the great wastes of the Karakum Desert.

  They went on foot, walking with a measured but swift pace. There had been no question of bringing horses, for in the dead of winter and with the absence of provisions, the animals would not have lasted long on the journey. But with their inhuman stamina, Iosef and Sophio had no difficulty walking for the better part of twenty hours a day, resting only occasionally to meditate, to speak quietly in one another’s arms, and to reflect upon their journey.

  There was no need for provisions, which allowed them to travel unhindered by baggage. Sophio was old enough that she had no need of sustenance, and Iosef, though still young, had almost reached his second century; he could subsist on nothing but water, if only for a few months’ time. It would be hard going, but perseverance was good for the soul.

  A few weeks into the journey, they stopped to watch the sun set over the sea. Iosef held Sophio in his arms, wrapping his cloak around her as if to warm her against the snow-flecked wind. It was unnecessary, of course—neither of them even felt the cold, save as a dull ache that had followed them since their departure—but it was a gesture, and gestures mattered even among the Living.

  “How are you, husband?” Sophio asked, gazing off across the dark, ice-rimmed water. She stroked Iosef’s cheek with her fingertips. “You are as cold as death.”

  Iosef chuckled. “As are you, my love. It is winter and we are wearing sackcloth.”

  “It is good Svanetian wool,” Sophio replied, smiling slightly. “Warm and strong. I daresay it will weather the journey better than we.”

  “Perhaps,” Iosef said. “Certainly better than I will.” He gently kissed Sophio’s cheek. “But I would walk these wastes naked so long as I could walk them with you.”

  “Mmm,” Sophio murmured. She leaned her head back and rested it against Iosef’s shoulder. “Unseemly, but I do not think I would mind that. Perhaps we should make the rest of the journey in the nude, you and I.”

  “How very ascetic,” Iosef replied.

  He kissed Sophio’s soft lips and held her there for a time, savoring the taste and feel of her, holding her against him until they were like two pillars of ice slowly merging into one whole. After a time, he released her and spoke again:

  “Perhaps we should remain here in the world and become stylites.”

  Sophio laughed, her voice light and gentle. Already the weight of the centuries seemed to have lifted from her. She was still stoic with age, but somehow the warmth of youth had returned to her. It was the side of her that she allowed only Iosef to see; but removed from all others, she showed it now almost constantly, rather than in moments of solitude.

  “We should spend our lives seated atop pillars?” she asked, amused at the suggestion.

  “As husband and wife, we are one flesh,” Iosef said, running his fingertips along the back of Sophio’s hand, along her arm, and up the back of her neck. “So we would require only one pillar.”

  Sophio laughed again and smiled at him.

  “You and I together in the world,” she said. “This is paradise.” She looked off toward the sun as it finally died beneath the horizon of water, leaving the world in a growing snow-swept darkness. “I could not have imagined how free so short a sojourn would make me feel. It is as though a chain has been taken from around my throat. I c
an breath again. I can feel again. It is...wonderful, my love.”

  “I am glad of it,” Iosef told her, holding her close. “You are my whole world, Sophio. It was agony seeing you in pain, my love. But now it brings me such joy to see you free of it.”

  Sophio nodded slowly and said, “I think I did not realize how much my mind had been clouded until now.”

  “That is all past,” Iosef said. “We are in the world, and the House will keep until your return. Here there are no worries, only solitude and silence.”

  Sophio studied the darkness of the sea for a while.

  “I should not have resisted the world for so long,” she said. “I see that now. I had forgotten the relief of it. Even Shashava and the Companions sojourned at times while they ruled. Even Shashava could not withstand the weight of rulership without escape. What arrogance to think that I could.”

  “Not arrogance, my love,” Iosef told her, kissing her temple. “Courage. That very courage that I admire and adore above all things.”

  Sophio turned in his arms and knelt before him, her eyes shining in the darkness like those of an animal. Her lips parted in a smile that was both beautiful and terrible to behold.

  “There is a part of me that wishes simply to leave,” she said. “To take you and walk the world forever. To leave the House of Shashava as Shashava has left it.”

  “We can,” Iosef told her, stroking her cheek. “If you wish it, it shall be so.”

  Sophio pushed back Iosef’s cowl and ran her fingers through his hair as she looked into his eyes.

  “How ever did I live without you, my love?” she asked. “How did I survive almost a thousand years before I found you?”

  “Because you are the greatest of us, my dearest Sophio,” Iosef replied. “Strong as iron, wiser than time, beautiful like the dawn. You are all and everything.”

  “We are all,” Sophio corrected. “You and I. For we are one flesh.”