Unholy War (37 page)

Sorcery: Clairvoyance

Summer came to the valley below the Mandira Khojana monastery in a profusion of wild poppies that covered the high slopes. People brought food and other supplies, and the monks went down to the mountain villages to tend the sick and dispense their knowledge and wisdom, doing everything from repairing houses and bridges to acting as notaries, recording wills and contracts.

The days rolled by, warm beneath serene blue skies, even here among the peaks, but for Alaron and Ramita they passed in a blur of fresh accomplishments and body-bruising failures. Alaron could clearly feel the benefits of Master Puravai’s training regimen now, and not just in his body, but in his mind as well. He could exercise harder, and concentrate longer. And at last he was feeling at home among the novices.

Few of them spoke fluent Rondian, but they all had some words, and were eager to use Alaron to practise upon. He had learned their names early, and as the days went on, he made a few tentative friendships: young men he could laugh with during the physical rough-and- tumble of the morning training in the yards. Yash was still his closest companion; the novice in turn gained kudos for his friendship with a Rondian mage.

Like any group, there were conflicts at times, but they were swiftly dealt with by the masters. Sometimes their justice was harsh, often humiliating, but it was always fair.

Each afternoon, after a hurried lunch of soup and flatbread, he would leave the novices to their academic lessons while he went to the library, to wrestle with the Scytale and its secrets, trying to track down the complex chemical symbols by studying the medical scrolls that had been gifted to the monastery over the years by passing Ordo Costruo magi. Most days he made little to no progress, but by Junesse he had identified another seven symbols, and had narrowed down another thirty.

Late afternoon was the best part of the day, when he and Ramita studied the gnosis. They had both mastered all four of the elements now, and that alone felt utterly incredible. At the Arcanum he’d been taught such a thing was impossible. He wished Ramon was there to see him purify water, or make it dance, even breathe it now. He could call the wind and recharge the skiff’s keel all by himself – he had never even dared to dream of doing such things! He imagined himself going back to Turm Zauberin one day and amazing those tutors who’d called him a numbskull, and worse.

But best of all was just being with Ramita. The more he got to know her, the more he appreciated her pert wit and surprising sophistication. She might not have had his education, but she was intuitive and logical and dogged. He treasured their time together.

As they started on the other parts of the gnosis, the more cerebral parts – Hermetic, Theurgy and Sorcery – so the amount of mental work increased. He’d always been a fair mystic, able to link minds for better sharing of information, and he engaged that now so he could demonstrate and share the skill with her, as he and Ramon had once done with Cym. This time he had a much better idea of what he was doing and it speeded their progress markedly, but it came with additional facets: he caught glimpses of her feelings, her memories, her moods – never much, and they both shut it down as soon as they were aware – but it still happened, breaking down barriers they’d scarcely even been aware of. He saw nothing he didn’t like. Even the things he didn’t understand, like her religious devotion, and her self-effacing sense of duty, he began to find charming rather than annoying – but at times it felt too personal, on both sides.

Some days he could feel her pain, like when she remembered too vividly all she’d lost to be here, and there were times when he revealed too much, like his old feelings for Cym, or his moon-dreams about Anise in Silacia, but even those were receding as time passed. If they’d been at home in Norostein and Ramita was any other girl, he’d be giving her flowers and maybe asking to walk with her, but Ramita was Lady Meiros, a Lakh widow to whom truly terrible things had happened, and he had no idea how to deal with that.

Ramon would’ve called him a wimp. Perhaps he was, but he just tried to enjoy what they had.

Those rare evenings when he wasn’t so exhausted he collapsed, he relaxed with Yash, who taught him to play a board game called Goha which involved black and white stones placed in specific sequences or patterns. It wasn’t long before Alaron realised that the young novice fled whenever Ramita appeared.

‘I think you have an admirer,’ he teased her one evening.

‘Who? Your friend with the big stick?’ Ramita then blushed furiously and started giggling. ‘No! That is not what I meant to say! I’m sure his stick is the normal size! No – I mean—!’ She dissolved, and Alaron enjoyed the sound of her laughter.

‘Anyway,’ Ramita said when she regained her composure, ‘Zain monks are celibate.’

‘They’re still men.’

‘I’m a new mother – I have never been less attractive, of that I am sure.’

Alaron shook his head. ‘I think you’re very pretty.’

He’d spoken without thinking and at first he thought he’d offended her, but she took the compliment composedly. ‘Thank you, Al’Rhon – but I am a widow also, and it is not my concern to be pretty. I still mourn my husband.’

‘I know.’ She was still wearing widow’s whites, though Meiros was dead more than a year now. ‘Mourning periods in Yuros are usually a year,’ he said, trying to sneak up on that question, but her response took him aback.

‘In southern Lakh the widow is sometimes burned on her husband’s pyre – if not, she goes into a widows’ refuge. She may not marry again.’

He blinked, aghast. ‘That’s horrible!’

‘I think so too – but that is in the south, where people are strange. In the north of Lakh, where I am from, mourning is one year, and then the woman must be cleansed and purified by a priest, after which she may remarry.’

‘Your husband died just over a year ago.’ Then he bit his lip. ‘I’m just saying … I’m sorry if I’ve given offence.’

Her face clouded. ‘I know. But I am not ready for another man. I may never be.’

‘Why not?’ he asked, his tongue darting ahead of his brain. ‘I mean, it is right to mourn, of course, but—’

She interrupted. ‘There was a young man to whom I was promised. I loved him all my life, but he followed me north, and he murdered my husband. I loved them both, but one killed the other. Most days I think I will never love again.’

He looked away, remembering memories he’d inadvertently seen of hers, of a younger man holding her.
Sweet Kore … did she cuckold Meiros?
He couldn’t imagine it of her.
It must’ve happened before she was married …

‘I’m sorry,’ he said lamely, at last. He stared into space, trying to think of Cym or Anise, but that did no good at all.

She took his hand and pulled it to her. ‘Hold still,’ she said.

He looked at her curiously as she fished into a pocket and drew out a piece of orange string. She carefully knotted it about his right wrist.

‘What’s this?’ His voice took on a panicky tone. ‘Did you—? Are we—? Are we
married
now?’

She snorted. ‘Married! Of course not! You really are a barbarian! That might be how things are done in your homeland, but marriages in
proper
places take days of preparation and ritual, not a piece of string!’ She reached out and tweaked his chin. ‘It means that you are now my brother, Al’Rhon Mercer.’

‘
Your brother?
’

‘Yes. I just adopted you. This is a rakhi string. It signifies that you are my brother.’

He flushed painfully. ‘Oh … So what does that mean?’

‘Your duties are to protect me and guide me, and to find me a new husband.’

‘Oh.’
How did I get myself into this?
‘Um, what’s in it for me?’

She put on an affronted face, but her voice was amused. ‘It is a great honour, and a serious obligation, Goat! You get the privilege of calling me sister! And I have to give you a new string once a year, at the Raksha Bandan festival in Shaban – your Augeite. And I will cook you sweets.’ She beamed at him, though her eyes were serious. ‘I make very fine sweets.’

‘I see.’ He thought he did, too:
Brothers can’t marry sisters
. ‘And what do I call my sister?’

‘Didi. And you are my bhaiya.’

‘Didi. Okay, I accept. When do you want me to start looking for a husband for you?’

‘I’ll let you know.’ She waggled her head in a ‘right then’ manner, and dropped her voice. ‘Have you learned all you can here? Is it time for us to go on?’

‘Not yet: there’re still hundreds of scrolls I’ve not got to. And I feel like I’m missing half the clues this place could offer. I wish Ramon and Cym were here.’ Then something struck him and his voice trailed off …

‘You have an idea?’ Ramita asked. ‘Please, tell me.’

He pulled out the Scytale and laid it on the table. He pointed first to the runes, then picked up one of the leather straps. ‘In ancient time, the legions used scytales to encode messages. It had one strap that you wrapped around it in a certain way, like this, to make a link between certain symbols, so if you got an encoded message and you knew the right configuration, you could decrypt the message – so it looks like gibberish, until you work out what the correct symbols are.’ He unwrapped the strap to show her.

‘But the Scytale of Corineus has
four
straps, see? And there are these domes all along the length where the straps can be attached. That means there are
thousands
of combinations – and I don’t know even know what all the runes mean yet, just some of them.’

She waggled her head:
I think I understand
. ‘But you have an idea, bhaiya?’

‘Well, what I think is that there is a specific combination for any given person, based on things like their birthday, their affinities if they are a mage, and other things like that. The runes seem to be a code for unravelling what kind of person should be given what particular mix of the potion. I understand most of the gnostic runes, but the chemical ones are outside my knowledge – and I can’t find them anywhere in the archives here.’

Ramita looked thoughtful. ‘My husband didn’t speak of this.’

‘The Scytale wasn’t devised until well after the first Ritual – I doubt Meiros ever saw it. They say Baramitius tested different drugs on Corineus’ followers for years before the Ascension.’

‘Then he sounds despicable.’ Ramita tapped her fingers on the table. ‘To determine my affinities, Justina tested me: she asked me lots of questions, and made me use gnosis on different elements. Do you think this Scytale might do the same?’

‘Kind of: I think it helps you make a better, safer potion for that particular person.’ Alaron showed her the four elemental runes at the top of the Scytale, and the other four, symbolising the theoretical Studies at the other end. ‘Look, did Lady Justina show you these?’

Ramita cast her mind back. ‘Yes! They were the symbols on her board: Earth is my prime affinity. Well … it was! Do these even apply to us any more?’

‘I don’t know … but let’s just go with it for now. Look, if I twist both ends, like so, new symbols appear in each of the sixty-four holes, see? And if I clip the straps to these domes, these others are concealed … So if I was assessing you … the first layer of symbols include a feminine one, so if I take this strap and clip it to this dome … and these could represent age … you’re still young, so this one … but look, there are still six more things to determine, like this next one, which just seem to be colours, see: blue, brown, green and grey.’

‘Eyes,’ she said instantly. ‘Eyes are those colours.’

He slapped his forehead. ‘Eyes! You’re right …’ He looked at her. ‘Brown eyes. So …’ He felt a little surge of excitement as he went to move the strap and tried to click the next dome, but the brown symbol was too far around and the previous one popped out as he tugged. He let out a another frustrated grunt. ‘Damn! I thought we were onto something there.’

Ramita reached for the Scytale and he found himself about to snatch it out of reach.
I didn’t come half way round the world for her to break it …
Then he realised how ridiculous that was: the artefact was wrapped in so many spells it was practically indestructible.

He let go and she turned it over in her hard little hands, frowning as she poked and prodded it.

‘See, it won’t go,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know where the other straps go. It makes no sense.’

Ramita looked up. ‘You think that matching the characteristics of a person to these symbols will reveal a recipe, yes? In this recipe is it best to have lots of ingredients, or few?’

He screwed up his nose. ‘Well … it depends. I think it’s more likely that there’s a core recipe that’s got variants, than the other way around …’ He thought about that for a moment, then finished, ‘Yes, I think that’s most probably the case.’

‘Well, in that case I would think you would pin all the straps, yes? Then you will cover more of the red runes on the body of the cylinder and leave fewer variants?’ She clipped the domes down, this time leaving the panels representing Earth, female, young and brown-eyed uncovered. ‘See? That way I can cover them all and leave uncovered just the ones that are important, yes?’