“You are becoming paranoid, liebchen,” Korbinian said to her, leaning against the door between the two soldiers. “Surely, these men are friends. Only the most loyal would have been allowed to guard your Russian, whether it is done for his protection or his confinement.”
That was true. Varanus released the weapon and stood as tall as she could before addressing the soldiers:
“Open the door, please. I would like to see Lord Iosef.”
“My apologies, Sister Varanus,” said one of the soldiers, “but I fear we cannot do that.”
“Cannot?” Varanus asked, bristling at not being called by her proper title, though she reminded herself it was likely oversight rather than insult. “I find it unlikely that you cannot open a door.”
“The Council has ordered that Lord Iosef see no visitors except on official business,” said the second soldier. “I am sorry, Sister, but you are not authorized.”
Ekaterine put her fists on her hips and said, “Well that is simply nonsense!”
“I wish to see my mentor,” Varanus told the soldiers. “I am worried about his well-being and his safety.”
“You are not authorized,” the soldier repeated. “The Council—”
“The curious thing about the Council,” Varanus interrupted, “is that we have just come from having tea with two of its members, Joan of Brittany and Djata of Mali. You may have heard of them.”
The soldiers shifted position uncomfortably and glanced at one another, uncertain how to respond.
“They were really quite pleasant,” Ekaterine added cheerfully. “And you told such wonderful war stories. I especially enjoyed the one about the grenade!”
“Yes, thank you, Ekaterine,” Varanus said. She looked back at the soldiers. “In fact, gentlemen, half of the Council is now composed of people with whom I served during the recent unpleasantness. They were elevated precisely because their loyalty is beyond question, and I would think that mine is as well.”
“It is not your loyalty that is in question, Sister—”
“You doubt Lord Iosef?” Varanus demanded. “What nonsense! Open the door at once!”
“Sister, you are not authorized—”
Varanus huffed angrily and said, “Very well, if you will not grant me entry, I will go speak to Lord Reza about the matter. I helped save his life, you know. I am certain he will grant me your ‘authorization’, but I suspect he will be angry at having to be bothered about it!”
The soldiers exchanged looks again, and one of them held up a hand as Varanus turned to go.
“Wait,” he said. There was a pause, and then he opened the door. “Five minutes.”
Varanus went to the doorway and looked at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Five minutes?” she asked. “No, I think not. I will speak to my mentor for as long as I deem necessary.” She turned to Ekaterine. “Keep these gentlemen company, will you? I would prefer to remain undisturbed.”
“Of course!” Ekaterine replied. As Varanus went into the room, she heard Ekaterine clap her hands with delight and say to the soldiers, “Now then, let me tell you all about scones!”
Varanus suspected she would get into trouble for doing this, but she did not have the patience to ask for permission. If she was summoned to account for her actions, she would simply explain the concern she felt for her mentor’s well-being and ask her friends on the Council to intervene. She knew that Djata, Joan, and Zabel at least would speak in her defense, and she hoped that Reza would take her side as well.
The main room in Iosef’s chambers was dark, lit only by a few candles and by the feeble moonlight from outside. It did not take her eyes long to adjust, however, and she saw Iosef seated midway into the room, reading a book by firelight. At the sound of her approach, he put the book down and stood.
“Good evening, Varanus,” he said, turning to face her.
“Good evening, My Lord,” Varanus replied.
She took a moment to study Iosef’s face. She saw that he had recovered from his ordeal, at least physically. His body was whole and healthy again. The flesh no longer clung tightly to the bones of his narrow face, nor was his skin like tanned leather any longer. He was, mercifully, the same man who had left them four months ago. But in his eyes there lurked deep sorrow and anguish. It was a sentiment Varanus recognized and which she herself had felt in the time following Korbinian’s murder.
“How are you?” she asked him.
“That is a question I have become accustomed to hearing,” Iosef replied. He smiled slightly, but there was no humor in it.
“Truly,” Varanus insisted. She had no interest in pleasantries and reassurances.
“I am....” Iosef paused and took a breath. “I am in pain. A part of me is gone, and I will never have it back. I feel empty, Varanus, like a hollow man.”
Varanus took Iosef’s hand and said softly, “I know. She made you complete. Now you have been broken in two, and you do not know whether you wish to be mended or simply to crumble into dust.”
“Yes,” Iosef said, after a short pause. “Yes, I would say that is correct. You know such loss yourself.”
“Surely my loss cannot compare to what you are suffering, Sophio being torn from you after two hundred years,” Varanus replied, “but yes, I know a portion of it.”
“I will persevere,” Iosef said, looking away. “It is not right that I should trouble you with it.”
“It is no trouble,” Varanus insisted. “I should like to ease your pain, if I may. No one should ever experience such a thing.”
Iosef smiled, though with difficulty. “It is not fitting that a mentor should lean upon his student for support. Reassurance is the mentor’s duty.”
“Duty be damned,” said Varanus, giving Iosef a genuine smile of her own. “It is a poor student who disregards the good of her teacher.”
Iosef’s smile became a little more certain, and he said, “You are the best of students, Varanus, and I am thankful for it.”
“One does one’s best, My Lord,” Varanus answered.
Iosef glanced toward the windows and the dark sky, and his face fell again, no doubt with more thoughts of Sophio. Varanus would need to pull him away from such melancholy, and what better restorative than work? And besides, she had no wish to leave him alone if it could be helped. She did not fear that he would do anything foolish, but she still did not trust that all of Margaret’s followers had been dealt with. She would not see Iosef returned to them alive, only to have him killed in the House of Shashava!
“My Lord,” she said, touching his arm, “if you will indulge me.”
“Of course,” Iosef answered, looking back at her.
“I have some questions of a philosophical nature that I would like your advice on.” She motioned to a chair. “It may take some time. May we sit?”
“Of course, Varanus,” Iosef said, sounding relieved.
“I do have many questions,” Varanus emphasized. “Perhaps Ekaterine and I should move into your rooms for a few days. And to keep you company.”
“No, Varanus,” Iosef answered, “I do not think that will be necessary. But...the sentiment is appreciated.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Varanus said. “Of course.”
* * * *
Iosef went to the Council chamber the following week, as Philippa instructed. He had been questioned by her three more times and by certain other elders as well. He did not know if they were satisfied with his answers, but none of them were pleased by his news. When he arrived before the Council, the very air in the room felt grave.
He saw several councilors missing. The traitors who followed Margaret were gone, of course, and also Marie of Toulouse, who, he was told, had been murdered by them. In their place were new faces, elders he recognized to varying degrees: Joan of Brittany, Djata of Mali, Zabel of Ani, Nikoloz of Guria, and Hild
egard of Bremen. All of the Council members looked at him curiously when he entered, but they said nothing.
The Council was just concluding some matters of administration, principally a question of supplies being addressed by Sister Hildegard, who as an abbess during her mortality had transformed her convent into one of the wealthiest religious institutions in northern Europe.
“So if we continue with the present system of rationing for the remainder of the month,” Hildegard said, “we will not only enjoy sufficient stores to last until spring, but we will be able to repay the villages in kind for the sacrifices they made on our behalf during the recent misfortune.”
“A sensible enough suggestion,” said Reza of Samarkand. “All those in favor?”
There was general agreement from the Council, and Reza nodded to Hildegard.
“Now,” he said, “for our next matter, I require your indulgence, Sister Philippa.”
“Oh?” Philippa asked, sounding surprised. “What have I done now?”
“Our peers and I have spoken a great deal about a matter of importance these past few days,” Reza said.
“Without consulting me,” Philippa noted.
“For a reason that shall become clear to you,” Reza assured her. “As we have been informed by Brother Iosef, our Eristavi will not be returning to us. She has fallen at the hands of an enemy working in league with the same traitors who attempted to usurp Shashava’s throne and who drove our house into bloodshed and disorder. And while I am skeptical as to the alleged identity of Sophio’s killer, I do believe Iosef’s claim that she is dead.”
Iosef bristled at the way Reza spoke the words “alleged identity”. No doubt most of the Council questioned the validity of his words. It was only to be expected, but following the anguish of Sophio’s death, such disbelief made him angry.
“The time has come to appoint a new Vicar of Shashava to reign over us and guide us until Shashava or the Companions return,” Reza continued. “I have spoken to the rest of the Council, and we are unanimous.”
“I see....” Philippa said cautiously, perhaps anticipating another coup like the one that had just been put down. Though could it be a coup if the majority of those governing accepted it?
“You are now the eldest among us,” Reza said, “younger only than certain scholars who have already refused political authority. And moreover, you showed great foresight in anticipating the danger of unrest in Sophio’s absence when the rest of us did not. You guided the loyalists who took shelter in the countryside, and you worked well with the Strategos to safeguard our people and made possible the retaking of the castle. And above all, you led the Council in exile when it would have been easier to fall to despair. In all, very admirable work. Precisely the work of the Vicar of Shashava.”
Philippa looked surprised. “Do you mean to say...?”
“Sister Philippa, we are agreed that we wish you to assume the mantle of Vicar and to take the chair in Sophio’s place. It is a hard task and a great responsibility, but we are agreed that you are capable of it.”
Philippa was silent for a time, blinking on occasion as she pondered the offer. The other Council members waited patiently. At such an age, they were used to long periods of contemplation on such matters, when others of greater youth might have become restless by the lack of response.
Presently, Philippa bowed her head, stood, and said, “Brothers and Sisters, I fear that I must humbly refuse.”
Reza began to speak but suddenly found that he had no words to use.
“What?” asked Joan the Breton. “Sister Philippa, this is a great honor! And you are the most capable for the task. Why should you refuse it?”
“Brothers and Sisters,” Philippa said, “I have come to realize that the burden of rulership is simply too great a weight for any of us to bear alone. Let us not forget that Sophio, the oldest and wisest among us, who knew Shashava and the Companions centuries before we were born, was brought low by it. Even she. It was simply too much for any one person to withstand. And she was elder to all of us. If she could not manage it, I know that I cannot.”
“Then what would you have us do?” asked Rusudan of Tbilisi. “Exchange the post every few decades like some trinket?”
“No,” Philippa replied. “No, I say we abolish the post altogether.”
“What?” asked Djata of Mali. “You suggest anarchy, Sister?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Philippa said, holding up her hands for patience. “There must be a government for the House of Shashava, and that government must be just and ruled by wisdom. But save for the chaos of Margaret’s insurrection, this council both maintained order and properly administrated the needs of the House for months without the presence of a Vicar. Let us make the Council the supreme authority over the Shashavani Order until such time as Shashava or the Companions return.”
“There was a council to govern after The Three departed,” Reza said. “It fell to infighting and violence.”
“It fell to infighting because the members all sought to be Vicar of Shashava,” Philippa replied. “If we are all agreed that only a council will have the authority to rule the Shashavani, then any who seek to become a tyrant will be unable to claim the Vicarship to legitimize their rule. It is the best we can hope for in the absence of one of the truly old.”
“And if there is a deadlock?” Joan asked. “There are ten of us. If we are divided evenly, what then?”
“I would trust that on matters of great importance, we would be capable of finding compromise,” said Xasan of Mogadishu, “but it remains a valid question. Who is to cast a deciding vote?”
“Regarding that....” Philippa extended a hand toward Iosef and beckoned him forward. “As you know, despite his youth Iosef has served the Council well over the past century. He has kept us informed of developments in the outer world, and he has carried out such tasks in it as we have required of him.”
“Because he was the Eristavi’s student,” Reza reminded her.
“Yes,” Philippa said, “and so he remains. Iosef is young, but he is wise and loyal, and he is the only student taken by Sophio in her thousand years. He has proven that he is of value to the House of Shashava. I suggest that we make him our secretary to keep us apprised of matters both in the House and in the outer world. And if there proves to be an issue that we cannot resolve through compromise, let him cast an eleventh vote for it.”
“Iosef has just returned from the wilderness where Sophio died!” exclaimed Xasan. “I do not say that he is in league with the enemy—”
“Though it could be so,” added Zabel.
“Though it could be so,” Xasan agreed. “But even if he is not tainted by contact with the one that killed our Prince, how are we to say that he is even capable of such a burden so soon after the death of his wife?”
They spoke as if Iosef was not there to hear them, which was not surprising. The very old often spoke of the young in such a way. It was not quite being dismissive and not quite forgetting.
“You would offer me the throne of Shashava,” Philippa said with a laugh, “but you do not trust my judgment in this?”
“Let us ask Brother Iosef whether he even wishes such a post,” said Nikoloz of Guria. He looked at Iosef. “Well? Do you feel yourself capable of this responsibility so soon after your lady’s death?”
Iosef was silent for a moment and forced himself not to look away at the mention of Sophio.
“If the Council has such faith in me, I will do it,” he said.
Let such service be a lasting penance for having brought Sophio to that place and for failing to protect her there. It was a foolish thought, but it would not leave him.
“Good, that is settled,” said Reza. “The question then remains, do we trust him with the task? I think in this matter we must be in complete agreement before any such position is granted.”
�
�Oh, I have no doubt that we shall reach consensus,” Philippa replied. “Though I fear it may take us all night.”
* * * *
In the end, it did. Daybreak had almost arrived when the Council had finally heard all points of view, addressed all concerns, and queried Iosef on more matters than he could clearly remember—most of them unrelated to anything at all, save in the mind of the questioner.
He returned to his rooms in silence. His new appointment was prestigious and very honorable, but he could not delight in it. Indeed, he could not delight in anything after what had happened.
He walked onto the balcony and stood there, watching the sky as it slowly lit with the fire of dawn. He would have to escape into the darkness eventually, but he had time before the sun arrived. The oblivion it offered was a temptation, but Olga had been right: he was all that remained of Sophio now. He had to continue no matter how heavy the burden.
The cold winter wind blew past him, stinging cheeks that could no longer feel it and whispering Sophio’s name in his ear. The wind had always done that, every day since Sophio’s death.
Perhaps it was madness.
Iosef reached into his pocket and felt the metal disk that he had taken from the tomb. He pulled the amulet out and looked at it, feeling the ache of sorrow. It was, in its own way, the last bit of Sophio left. They had found it together. Now, it was all that remained of her: a metal trinket of uncertain origin, taken from the place that had become her tomb.
Slowly, Iosef sank to his knees and bowed his head. For the first time in two months, he felt his will to release his anguish overpower his body’s disinterest in such a mortal habit.
Iosef placed his head in his hands and, for the first time since Sophio’s death, he wept.
The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Three: A Long-Awaited Treachery Page 34