Authors: Angus Wells
I could raise far more questions than I was able to answer; nor could my tutors satisfy me, save to pass down that learning they had had from their instructors, which was again, as with Cleton, much to do with dogma. I determined to explore these avenues for myself. I gained a reputation as an eccentric.
And there was Rwyan.
I could not forget her. Even were I not gifted with that talent that would soon make me Mnemonikos, but solely with the memory of mortal men, I should not—could not!—have forgotten her. It was as if her presence had blazed so fierce in that moonlit street, she was branded on my mind. Gifted with my talent, I could conjure her image precise. I could define the contours of her cheek and forehead, the angle of her nose, the shape of her lips. I could see, imprinted on the screen of my closed eyes, her hair, her eyes; and did, often, as I lay upon my bed or gazed from the window of our chamber. I knew myself in love with Rwyan and could not be with her. I think that sometimes our eyes may alight on one particular person and a spark be struck that kindles an undying fire that knows not the boundaries of distance or time, but burns unquenchable. Such is, I sometimes think, the curse of Truemen, or the gift, I know not which, only that I loved Rwyan in a manner incredible and unsuspected. I wondered if it were not easier to be as the Changed, governed not by the alchemical processes of love but by those simpler biological imperatives they inherit from their animal forebears.
I visited Thais still, but less often, and in the way that a man visits the gymnasium—to stretch and test his muscles. She knew it and said nothing, even when, at the height of
our passion. I would sometimes cry out Rwyan’s name. I thought of Rwyan. I
wanted
Rwyan. I spoke of Rwyan.
Cleton was the recipient of my longings, for both ours and the Sorcerous College frowned on such liaisons, deeming them impractical, a hazard to concentration and future duty. Had Rwyan been a cyprian or some city lass, there would have been no difficulties, for it would have been understood that such a relationship was foredoomed, save the woman follow me down my Storyman’s road. But future Mnemonikos and future sorcerer—no: both were callings that demanded a single-minded concentration. Such couplings were not expressly forbidden, but I knew that if the College learned of my intention—which was to pursue Rwyan, no matter the consequences, no matter the disapprobation—ways would be found to thwart me. Consequently, Cleton was sworn to secrecy.
It irked him, who saw it as infatuation and nothing more, a needless threat to my chosen future.
“In the God’s name,” he would cry, torn between frustration and irritation and amusement, “you’ve seen her but the once. How can you think yourself in love with her?”
And I would answer simply, “I am. I cannot explain it or help it, but I am.”
And he would tell me, “Daviot, heed me—ere long you’ll be a Storyman and she a mage. You’ll go your separate ways and likely never meet again. Forget her!”
And I would return him, “I cannot. Even be it hopeless, I cannot.”
And he would sigh, or groan, and clench his fist, mocking a blow, and mutter, “The God grant you come to your senses, for there’s no reason in you. She’s bewitched you.”
And I would tell him cheerfully, “She has.”
Even so, for all his argument, he would come with me to the Golden Apple, where we became as well known as at any of our favorite alehouses.
I saw her not at all for the remainder of that summer and came close to despairing as the season turned and the rains of autumn began. But that flame still burned, and I still clung to my hope as winter spread its cold cloak over the land.
Then, on the feast day of Machan, when the sky was a sullen gray and the wind blew knife-edged from the north,
skirling the first flakes of winter’s snow, I encountered her again. Cleton and I sat by the hearth, our cloaks drying on chairbacks, tankards of mulled ale in our hands. The day was already dark, and we must soon return to the College; I had thought it another fruitless venture. Then she entered the tavern, and it was as if the sun descended to walk the earth. She was with several of the Sorcerous College, both male and female, but I saw only her. She wore a cloak of dark brown wool, with a hood she threw back as she came in. Her hair was bound up. Her neck was pale and long and slender. I thought of how it should feel, did I press my lips to that intoxicating flesh. I rose to my feet and called her name. Her companions—none of them were blind—looked toward me. She turned her face and I saw her smile, and though she said my name but softly, it sounded to me a clarion. I quit my place and went to her, taking her hands. I said, “It has been so long.”
She blushed and nodded. I wondered why she looked surprised; embarrassed, even. Had she thought I would not wait? At her side a fair-haired woman smiled and said, “So this is the Mnemonikos, eh?”
Rwyan said, “Daviot, this is Chiara.”
I mumbled some acknowledgment, but my eyes were firm upon her face. No boat was ever anchored surer. I said, “Shall you sit with me?”
She nodded again and called some apology to her companions. I was at first disappointed that she asked Chiara to accompany us, but then remembered Cleton and bade the woman a warmer welcome. We went to the hearth, and I called for mulled ale.
I had rehearsed this often enough: I had so many pretty speeches prepared, so many reasons we should be alone, so many stratagems. All fled me as I gazed at her face, and had she not introduced her friend to Cleton, I think I should have sat unspeaking, content to stare, to drink in her beauty. As it was—as is the way of these matters—our conversation was largely of the commonplace. How did our studies go? How hers? What news of the Sentinels? Did her college believe the Sky Lords were defeated? Too soon she was reminded she must return, and we were parted, with no better a promise of another assignation than before.
I saw her only once more that winter and in much the
same circumstances, though I did then succeed, thanks to the aid of Cleton and Chiara, in steering her a little distance away, to the poor privacy of a corner, where I told her I loved her.
She frowned then and asked, “How can that be? You scarce know me, even.”
“But still,” I said, “I do,” and took her hand in both of mine.
I was terribly afraid she would loose my grip; afraid she would laugh or name me foolish. But she did none of that, only faced me with her lovely sightless eyes and pursed her lips as if she struggled with some doubt, or sought words she could not find.
I saw hope in her expression and gathered up my courage and whispered, “I love you, Rwyari. From that first moment I saw you, I have loved you. Shall you tell me you feel nothing for me?”
There are things I have done since that day I suppose men would name brave, but I think that was the bravest thing I have ever done. I felt in those moments I awaited her reply that all my life, all my future, hung suspended from the unspoken thread of her answer. It seemed to me there was no sound within the tavern save the drumbeat pounding of my heart, the tidal wash of my blood as I waited. It seemed a very long time, but I suppose it was only a little while before she lowered her face, gravely, and said softly, “No, I cannot tell you that.”
“You love me!” I fought the urge to shout as I said it. “You love me!”
She said, “Daviot, I cannot, either, tell you that.”
As a bird soaring aloft, free and triumphant, is felled by the hunter’s arrow, so my heart went down in ruin.
She could not see my face, save through the gift of her magic, but she heard my groan, felt the stiffening of my fingers where they rested about her hand. She said, “I do not tell you it is not so … or cannot be. But … Daviot, I’ve met you but these three times. You know nothing of me, nor I of you. And our Colleges … what should they say?”
Fierce, desperate, I answered her, “I care not what they say. I know only that I love you.”
She asked me, “How can you be so sure?”
“I am,” I said. “How, I know not; but I am.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled, and my spirits halted their descending arc. “And perhaps I am, too. But I’ll not tell you so certainly. Not till I know you better.”
So sensible: I did not know whether I loved her the more for it, or cursed her prudence. I knew I’d not relinquish my hope easily. I said, endeavoring a calm I felt not at all, “And how shall that be?”
I felt her fingers stroke my hand then. She answered me, “Not easily, but do we put our minds to it …”
“And all my heart,” I told her.
It was no easy matter, and had I not won Urt’s confidence it should have proven impossible. He it was, hearing me bemoan the difficulties of my thwarted affair to Cleton, who sought me out when I was alone to suggest a means of correspondence at the least, and trysts did the fates smile on us, thanks to that society of his kindred.
As with we of the Mnemonikos, so did the Sorcerous College employ Changed servants. Urt made it his business to seek them out, to learn their names and win their friendship. Rwyan and Chiara were tended by a Changed woman of canine stock whose name was Lyr. Urt made her acquaintance (she was not, he told me, unattractive) and persuaded her to join him as a go-between. Thus were Rwyan and I able to pass messages between us, to better organize those days we were permitted the freedom of the city, that we might meet more frequently—and, with the connivance of our chambermates, more privately.
I was joyous then, for all it dug that rift with Cleton deeper. He aided us because he was my friend and his loyalty was unquestioning, but I quite lost my taste for Thais and during my fourth year in Durbrecht refused to join Cleton on his visits to Allya’s house. I was determined to remain faithful to my love, which Cleton could not at all comprehend. Also, at every opportunity I was in Rwyan’s company, leaving Cleton either alone or with Chiara. I knew we drifted apart, but could not help it: I was in love.
The coin faced about, I was more in Urt’s company, for he was often my guide, bringing me to some clandestine trysting place where Rwyan waited with Lyr. The two Changed would go about whatever business they pursued, leaving Rwyan and I some few precious hours together.
It was our secret, a little portion of time stolen from duty and expectancies, and the sweeter for that. Perhaps, in our youth and innocence, we perceived ourselves as characters in some drama, tragic lovers. I do not know, for then we were too concerned with discovery to speak of the future, top busy with the exploration of one another to think beyond the present. We made the most of what we stole, and in the spring of that year, in a rooming house on the edge of a quarter, given over to the Changed and the poor, we became, truly, lovers. I will not speak of that, for it was a wondrous private thing (as doubtless it is for all who find their desires met and answered), and it told us in ways beyond words that for us there could be no others.
I was happy then as I had never been; but there hung above us that ignored shadow: I was Mnemonikos, she a mage. Soon—just as Cleton had warned—we should be sent out to pursue our callings. I should soon be a Storyman, itinerant, and she delivered to occult duties. We spoke not at all of that, but it lent our lovemaking an urgency that was edged with the poignant knowledge of impending parting.
And with the new year’s advent our meetings were made the harder for the renewal of the Sky Lords’ attacks.
They had not been defeated, as so many chose to believe. Rather, it seemed that twelvemonth respite had been for them a gathering of strength, for they came in terrible numbers, as if the calendar of the years were speeded forward and the Coming begun.
Skyboats were sighted early in the spring, few in numbers at first and destroyed before they reached our shores, but then in greater quantity, progressing deeper inland. We saw them again close to Durbrecht, and though none breached our defenses, the city fell once more into a mood of presentiment. Then, early in the summer, word came from the Sentinels of an armada. The Fend lay dark beneath the shadow of the massed airboats. They were too many even the augmented strength of our magical guardians might hope to defeat them. Durbrecht girded for the onslaught. The koryphon had not allowed his vigilance to slacken, and our walls were soon manned by his soldiers and the levies of the militia. The sorcerers readied. I wondered if Rwyan stood amongst them, within her College or on the city walls, but
only briefly, for we of the Mnemonikos College were called to the fight.
I was in class with Telek when the message came, and I saw the herbalist pale as the news was whispered. He nodded and turned to us. “The Sky Lords come in strength,” he said, “and we must fight. Go to your chambers and find your sturdiest gear. Have you weapons, fetch them. You’ll assemble in the quadrangle.”
We hurried to obey. I found myself both excited and afraid as Cleton and I swiftly tugged on sound boots and leather tunics, which were, I thought, poor defense against Kho’rabi steel.
“By the God,” Cleton declared, “but they must come in force are we summoned.”
He seemed not at all afraid, only enthusiastic. I nodded, thinking that my mouth was gone very dry, and therefore wondering why I felt such a desire to spit. I hoped I should not disgrace myself. Urt was there, fussing about us, and I caught his eye. He smiled, which I took for encouragement, and I said, “Do you take care, Urt.”
“I’ve no fear,” he said calmly, at which Cleton chuckled sourly and said, “With the Kho’rabi wizards overhead, I think you should.”
I said, “Likely you’ll be safe enough here. The cellars are sound.”
I think I spoke less to reassure Urt than for want of calming my own pounding heart. He seemed very little disturbed, and had I not been so engaged with my own trepidation, I think I should have wondered at his tranquillity. He said, “Ward yourself well, Daviot,” which prompted a sharp, shocked look from Cleton, for it was the first time he had heard my Changed friend address me by my given name. Urt added, “And you, Master Cleton.”
I essayed an unconfident smile and said, “We shall, fear not.”
Then I went out with Cleton into the crowded corridor, jostling my fellow students as we ran to answer our call to arms.