The Makers of Light (5 page)

They watched him, expecting him to speak, and a minute or two passed in uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for them, at least. People had always dreaded Mentor Dominick's silences. They preferred Nigel with his furrowed brows and loud, stern voice, or Oliver with his thin face and nasal muttering. Or Ardelia, who screamed their transgressions while she whipped—anyone who gave a sign of what he or she felt, be it sheer boredom or righteous anger—anyone who, despite being a Mentor, showed signs of being also a human.

Then, when Dominick expected someone to finally speak up, attack him, do something, they seemingly forgot about him as a woman wavered, slid down the wall on which she had been leaning, and fainted. They forgot basic common sense, too. Some screamed, some pulled back, others crowded around her so tightly that they would probably suffocate her.

Fear, uncertainty, and doubt. So often did these three overwhelm the minds and quintessences of those confused and wandering, so often did they lead to grave mistakes with unrepairable consequences.

Dominick did not doubt. He strode towards the fallen woman, and perhaps because of a lifelong habit, most people pulled away so that he could pass, despite him now lacking a brown robe. Only a younger woman with the same wispy brown hair as the one on the floor stood before him.

"Stay away from my mother, Mentor!" she hissed, her face twisted in desperation.

Dominick said nothing, wasted no time. He only gripped the young woman's collar and shoved her to the side, drawing his knife with the other hand. The young woman gasped as the knife shot down towards her mother—and then the mother gasped, too, for Dominick had cut her tight shirt and she had started breathing again.

"Bring me cold water," Dominick ordered as he checked her weak heartbeat, "and food. When, in the name of the Master, has this woman last eaten?"

"Long ago, in the name of the
Master.
And not too recently in anyone else's name, either, I am afraid."

Dominick did not turn towards this new voice, for his patient's heart fluttered and he concentrated on massaging it. This was as much as he could do. A Mentor knew some of the workings of a body but was not a healer. He might have just saved the woman from her death, but he could not fix her further. "Is there a healer here?"

"Not today, I am afraid, my son. But today the Mother has blessed us with food, at least. We will have to rely on it, and on the Mother's mercy."

"
My son.
" No one called him that but Maxim. No one else had the right. He turned now, towards a thin, white-haired woman with watery eyes. She should have looked old and fragile, but despite the wrinkles and thin limbs she emitted vitality that made her seem much younger. She looked tall, too, even though her head barely reached his shoulder. She knelt on the floor beside him, ignoring the fact that her fine dress wiped the mud someone's boots had brought in, and waved an ammonia-drenched handkerchief beneath the woman's nose.

"There, Amanda, dear. There, it is all fine now. You shall have some hot soup and then we shall see if you can walk, dear."

Amanda raised her head as the door to the hall where they were all gathered opened and a maid stepped inside, pushing a cart laden with a steaming cauldron.

"Mistress Hannelore," she whispered, "our James ..."

Hannelore shook her head. "James will have his share. Is that what you did again—you did not eat at all so that your grandchild would eat more? There is enough soup today, Mandy. There will be enough to bring home to James, too."

Dominick stepped back as the Order of the Mother gathered around the cauldron. Now even those faces that had looked dull or unreadable before were wearing fervent expressions. Some looked embarrassed, others openly eager. All hungry.

So it had come to that, too. He had not known. He knew that, with the Factories failing, food, like everything else, had become scarce. He also knew that fifteen days ago Mierber had imposed a coupon system on its citizens, regulating and limiting the amount of food that people were allowed to buy per day, no matter how much money they had. But he had not made the connection between this and hunger. The coupon system did not apply to Bers, nobles, and Mentors. Did not apply to him.

They seemed to remember that, to notice him, in a while, after a long silence interrupted by nothing but spoons clattering over bowls. There were whispers now, and looks in his direction. He ignored them, until he met Hannelore's shrewd, sharp and yet kind, not-sharp-at-all, eyes. He stepped towards where she sat in a soft rocking chair—just a tiny rich old woman at first glance, but Dominick knew to read people.

"Thank you for your hospitality, madam," he said with a nod.

She nodded back. "You did not eat."

"I did not need to."

She inclined her head. "Most of us do need to eat, unfortunately; it is an affliction that comes with being human."

Dominick met her eyes again. "You did not eat, either, and your house is reached by strange pathways. May I ask, madam, if you, too, suffer from the afflictions of humans?"

The old woman laughed, a quiet laugh, almost like little bells tinkling in the wind. "Such an almost direct question, my son. Will you make it entirely direct and ask if I were a
samodiva?
"

The room grew very silent at that, eyes piercing Dominick's back like daggers.

"I will." He sighed. "I see no reason for circumvention. Are you a
samodiva
or are you a witch, madam? What is this place? The paths that lead to it are not easily found. How did I come here?"

Hannelore sighed, too, then smiled, but it was a smile full of sadness. "How did you, indeed? Only you know your own pathways."

At that, Dominick almost laughed. "You sound very much like someone I know. Have you by any chance met Mentor Maxim?"

"Yes. I have. Long ago, when I was young and silly, when I still lived in another house and easily shared the names of my friends, it was to him that I made Confessions. I am old now, my son, and perhaps even wise. And I have probably met more Mentors than you have."

"Madam." This was the only word of thanks he could give her without the rest realizing that he had indeed thanked her. Careless. It was so careless and foolish of him to share the name of a friend amongst enemies who had Master knew what intentions or means to achieve them. It was embarrassing to have the possible leader of these enemies warn him. Young and silly, indeed.

And what had gotten into him to ask her if she knew Maxim, anyway? She reminded him of Maxim, in a way, but she was not a Mentor, and Mentors and commoners did not mix too much and rarely befriended each other. Perhaps she had foolishly mentioned a friend's name before Maxim once upon a time; perhaps she had betrayed a friend before the authority figure whose present mentioning was poking into a bitter memory and was an insult ... Foolishly shared? Betrayed? People were supposed to share the names of reprobates with Mentors. It was
good
if they did. What was he thinking? This woman was but a reprobate herself.

Yet, a reprobate she might be, but she resembled Maxim more than most Mentors Dominick had met did. She was a reprobate who was like a Mentor—only on the other side. This was a thought so aberrant that it might as well have just made Dominick a reprobate himself, but it got stuck in his mind and refused to go away.

Well, he was in the dark forest. To find those lost, he must walk where he might lose himself. Where, as Maxim had said, only a true Mentor could walk and come back.

"I am sorry." He looked into the old woman's eyes, ignoring the whispers behind him. "My own pathway this might have been, but it met Calia and Gerard's pathway, too, and here it meets more pathways still. It might all be a coincidence, but I do not believe that it is. Now that I am here, how does one find this place?"

"Brother."

Dominick winced inwardly. It was the man who had made sure that all knew Dominick was a Mentor. His soft, quiet voice was right next to Dominick's ear, but Dominick had not felt him approach. So, a man who could sneak behind your back easily.

"Oh, Brother. Isn't it enough to know that the Mother herself has led you here? That you followed the pathway of her grace? That even if you tried, you could not lead anyone else here, either, because the Mother has to lead everyone herself?"

"No ... Brother. It is not enough. Besides, I do
not
know this."

Voices were raised behind his back, no more whispers, but loud voices, almost shouts. Perhaps someone would throw something at him soon, or even throw something at someone else despite the lack of an obvious reason for that. Useless reprobates, with attention span that could not cover two things at a time. Useless humans. A moment ago, their minds must have been fully occupied with food, but now they remembered the Mentor—and, one basic appetite satisfied, they sought to satisfy another, that for destruction.

He should be careful. His contempt must have shown on his face, or the gray-haired man must have sensed it in another way. He cast Dominick a glance full of sharpness, then his eyes glazed with kindness one more time.

"Brother. You should know that the Mother was with you, for otherwise you would not have found a way. No one knows the ways, or chooses the ways. We follow where the Mother leads. You have a lot to learn, dear Brother. You have to learn how to be humble first."

"He can learn nothing, he is a Mentor! Mentor, Mister Gabriel Flint, do you understand?" Another voice, from the crowd.

Then, "Leave him alone, he saved Mother! He has learned something, obviously!" The wispy-haired girl.

"We can learn
from him.
Mentors have Magic of their own. He might be willing to share it if tortured." Gerard, as could be expected.

Then other voices, clatter, shouts, until Gabriel Flint raised a hand. The shouts subsided to murmurs, people watching Dominick, Gabriel Flint, and Hannelore, who sat on her chair and had not said a word. Dominick pretended to ignore them, and he did ignore their threats and dirty glances—at least, he was not afraid of them. You did not become a Mentor if you were easily frightened. Alternatively, soon enough you either stopped being easily frightened or stopped being a Mentor.

He pretended to ignore them, but he watched them. He watched and listened, and knew that Hannelore was the one in charge but the crowd heeded Gabriel Flint, too, which Hannelore did not necessarily approve of. Interesting. Dominick had not often reflected on reprobates out of the context of bringing them to the right path, and today he had learned (even though he was not actually surprised) that there were more wrong paths than just one, that reprobates could be very different from each other.

"So, will you answer me? Who are you, madam, and what are the powers that serve you—or the powers you serve?" Dominick had used the silence caused by Gabriel Flint to speak before Gabriel Flint could speak himself, and he saw Gabriel Flint's eyes narrow.

"Why so many questions, Brother Mentor?" the man said. "Your own kind forbids questions and doubts."

There it was, the moment when he had to come up with an answer. The moment when, deep in the dark, devastating forest, he had to start building his own path.

"My kind? It must be obvious that I am here because I no longer adhere to the practices of my kind. I ask questions and expect answers from those who claim they know better than me, Mister Gabriel Flint. You people despise Mentors. But how are you different from them if you, too, forbid questions and doubts?"

Someone jumped at Dominick at that. Gerard, once again brandishing a dagger. Dominick did not even have time to unsheathe his before Gabriel Flint moved as fast as the wind, gripping Gerard's elbow and wrist in a way that made the dagger drop to the ground, pushing Gerard so that Gerard staggered away, propelled by his own attacking force.

"This is not a boys' game, Brothers."

No. Especially when a man who would more rightly be called old rather than young played it better—although not well enough to conceal his skills. Kind men did not as a rule repel attackers without seemingly giving it a single thought; kind men's movements were not full of precise, detached coldness. The question was, why had Gabriel Flint, who a moment ago had rebuked asking questions, stood up for Dominick now? What had Gabriel Flint stood up for exactly?

If the older man was going to say anything more, he did not have a chance, for suddenly Hannelore rose, her kindness now hidden deeply behind her eyes, her lips thin, a line cutting through her forehead. "No. This is not a game at all."

She made a step forward, and then, whether from emotion or from age, faltered. Dominick found himself reaching out to support her. She shook her head.

"No. I will be truly old the day I cannot walk by myself. Or the day I can no longer answer the right questions. I am neither a
samodiva
nor a witch. To borrow a term from fairytales, perhaps you can call me a priestess. I serve the Mother and care for those who seek to live according to her wisdom and kindness. And to answer your other question, my son, this kindness is what makes us different. Or should. If we truly are kind." She looked away from Dominick, towards Gerard. "If we do not torture. Tell me, Gerard, my son, why are you here?"

Gerard lowered his eyes to the ground, while beside him Calia stared at Dominick. She was angry and worried; Dominick could feel her. Because of the detector? So long after he had used it? It did not usually do that. Now that he thought about it, however, he could feel something else, too. A presence, something that had come to the room together with Hannelore, and it seemed to trickle inside his mind even as his mind tried to focus on it.

Then the leaves were green and sprinkled with snow, glittering in the blazing sunlight, and at that place the Factories were but a shadow of a dream, and he, the Mentor, was but a tiny speck of a strange world, neither loved nor hated. This time, despite the sunlight, it was cold, and somewhere in the air was a hint of darkness.

"What is this place?" This time, he had belief and strength enough to ask, but even as the words left his mouth, the blazing world faded.