The Spirit Gate (18 page)

When Gavmat and Matim had reseated themselves, Damek rose
again and intoned, “The
Circle will now hear the rebuke of Kassia Telek, Apprentice.”

Kassia glanced at Master Lukasha. He smiled, nodded and
leaned close to her to murmur in her ear. “Light the votive in the shai way, Kassia. I’ll prompt you after
that.”

Holding herself with all the dignity she could muster,
Kassia went to the altar. Eschewing the taper, she held one hand over a votive
and called a flame to its cold wick. She heard the stir among the Mateu of the
Circle and took care to remove from her face any hint of satisfaction. As she
faced them she saw that Lukasha had stood up in his place to her right.

“Kassia,” he said, his voice commanding, “tell
the Circle why you came to Lorant.”

“To
become an Initiate.”

“Why?”

“Because
magic is studied here.”

“Such
magic as you are obviously already conversant with.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Kassia,
do I seem like a weak-minded man to you?”

She only just stifled a chuckle. “No Master, you do not.”

“An
easily manipulated man?”

“No.”

“I
evidently seem so to your accusers.” He turned his eyes to the Circle. “I leave it to those of you who know me to decide if
I am as these two Initiates have portrayed me—weak, easily confused, malleable.” Several of the Mateu smiled at that. “Now, let me explain to you that Kassia Telek is an
Apprentice because I brought her here,” he said, and proceeded to tell of how he had seen her as a refugee, how
he had watched her battle prejudice and witnessed her attempts to use her
inherent talent to earn a paltry living. “I saw a talent on the verge of being extinguished
from lack of nurturing,” he told the Circle. “You
saw her light that candle. How many of you remember the pains you took to
accomplish that seemingly small feat when you were Apprentices?”

The Mateu were nodding, glancing at each other as if sharing
a common memory.

“Yes,
you recall it. The struggle for control of the alien elements. The careful
subtractive incantations.” He gestured at Kassia. “She
does it without a thought. That, brothers, is what I could not see go to waste
in the streets of Dalibor. So, I brought her here by my design, not at her
whim. I placed her where her natural talents indicated she belonged, among
those who were on the verge of Apprenticeship. And when she proved herself able
to comprehend that a spell was a living force instead of a static equation, I promoted
her to Apprentice so I could work with her closely and nurture that tremendous
gift. Now, brothers, it seems to me that Initiates Gavmat and Matim have raised
two issues: One, their merit as potential Apprentices, and two, Kassia’s merit as an actual
Apprentice. Very well. Let us establish merit. Zakarij . . .” He turned to the Aspirant in a swirl of white skirts.

Zakarij rose. “Yes,
Master.”

“Tell
the Circle what spell you learned earlier this week?”

“I
learned to control flame.”

A whisper of sound circled the cesia and rustled the leaves
of the great Tree.

“As
Kassia did just now?”

“Yes,
sir.” Zakarij’s
tone and expression conveyed none of the passion that lesson had evoked. “But without the wick
and candle.”

Again a breath of sound swept the holy place.

“Show
us please.”

Obediently, Zakarij raised his right hand, palm up, his lips
already moving in the invocation. He focused his eyes on this hand and breathed
across his palm. The flame sprang into bright being, reflected in his
bottomless gaze. The Tree seemed to bend its branches to him.

“How
have you done this?” asked Lukasha. “Did
you use subtractive equations?”

“No
sir. I called directly upon Itugen and the spirits of fire.”

“You
have aspired for seven years to become Mateu, Zakarij. Did you learn to perform
this magic in that seven years?”

“No,
Master. Kassia taught me.”

Lukasha turned to Kassia next. “I have already shown the Circle the annotations you
did for me. There was a particular spell among your work that I asked you to
perform for me. Will you tell the Circle what that was?”

“You
asked me to create a fire within a globe of water. You called it a Battle.”

“You
will perform the spell for us now, Kassia.” Lukasha produced a glass
spell ball from the depths of his pocket and held it up. Water sloshed within
it. He pulled from it the tiny bit of cork that had kept it from spilling and
moved to hand it to Matim.

“Is
this water in the globe?” he asked.

Matim sniffed the liquid, then rolled a drop onto one
finger, which he touched tentatively to the tip of his tongue. “It is water.”

Lukasha handed the spell ball to Kassia. “Notice,” he said, as he did, “that
the glass contains no pigment. No element to aid in the spell.” He nodded to Kassia to begin.

She, with a confidence born of Lukasha’s faith in her,
murmured her incantations and called upon her flame. It flared within the
water, amazing all watchers. While the light still burned in its liquid prison,
Lukasha asked Kassia to explain the spell.

“One
must invoke fire and air at once,” she told him, “and
bid water surround the one, which must surround the other. The air becomes at
once a wall and a fuel to the fire.”

The Circle’s
amazement was complete. While they politely watched as the two protesters tried
and failed to prove extraordinary merit (though Gavmat did manage to levitate a
cobalt blue spell ball), Kassia knew she’d won her cause . . . and two inveterate enemies.
The realization was not so disturbing as it was depressing.

The Circle deliberated for all of ten minutes before
deciding that, whether or not the two youths were ever promoted to Apprentice,
Kassia clearly deserved to be.

Vindicated, Kassia went back to her work in Lukasha’s private library,
sharing it with Zakarij most mornings in companionable silence, ignoring Damek
if he should enter, stopping now and then to try an incantation which, likely
as not, Zakarij would ask her to teach him. Lukasha monitored her work
frequently, asking for demonstrations of the spells or elucidation on the notes
and shedding light on points of Mateu philosophy, religion or science. In the
late afternoon he would instruct her in the care and use of implements; she
learned how the spell balls must be cleaned and stored to keep them from
impurities and how the cherished ancient pages must be set about by spells to
keep them from growing dry and brittle.

He seemed pleased with her work. She was pleased, herself,
and waited patiently for him to allow her to do more with the old texts than
simply renewing their care ward every other day. During the times she was in
his studio—whether
in his company or Zakarij’s
or alone—her eyes
would wander again and again to the locked cabinet and her heart drew closer to
it with every day.

Once, alone in the studio about a week after her review by
the Sacred Circle, she found herself irresistibly drawn to the locked and
warded doors. The desire to lay eyes on the old manuscripts was strong—so strong, she thought
surely Master Lukasha, in session with the Circle, must feel it. Why was he
waiting so long to try her again? She realized she’d reacted poorly to them before, but that was then.
She no longer felt so tentative. Her confidence in her own skills grew with
every passing day. Surely, she was ready.

Perhaps
, she thought, as her eyes stared unfocused
at the gold filigree about the locking mechanism,
perhaps I could to
prove to him that I’m ready for this. Perhaps if I were
to decipher one of the spells and perform it for him . . .

The thought was attractive. After all, both wards and locks
were set to dissuade thieves, not curious Apprentices. She meant no harm to the
pages; she merely wanted to study them. And, in the same way that Zakarij
reasoned they might use their Master’s
studio for their own practice, she made to herself the obvious argument that
she was Master Lukasha’s
Apprentice and surely complete access to whatever she needed to further her
education came with that station.

She put her hands against the cabinet doors, thumbs and
index fingers forming a rough triangle about the lock, and felt of the mechanism
within. Gold. The tumblers in the little lock were of gold—calculated to keep a
keyless Mateu out, but hardly proof to the shai. Her mind touched the wards.
Those were set to foil thieves who had no arcane skills or knowledge. She might
be able to circumvent them if she tried. She was at the point of attempting
that when a tickling sensation in the back of her mind alerted her to another
feature of the wards—they
would warn the one who set them if ever they were breached.

A cold surge of adrenaline sent Kassia hastily away from the
cabinet and back to the implements she was supposed to be preparing for a
ritual blessing.

The very next day, Master Lukasha removed her from her
remaining classes, announcing that he and Zakarij could certainly tutor her in
history, religion and geometry. It meant she saw the jealous Initiates very
little, though she continued to make time for Ari’s lessons. Her life at Lorant now revolved around
the offices and studio of her Master. She hardly minded, for even Beyla was
welcome there when Damek wasn’t
around. Lukasha’s
seemed fond of the boy, and often took time to tell him stories or teach him
amusing spells.

One afternoon as the sun tipped over to the west, Lukasha
took Kassia up to his studio, set wards upon the stair and installed her in the
locus of his dais. There he asked her to create for him a very special spell.

“Imagine,” he told her, “that
you are at the center of a spell ball. The walls of this ball, however, are not
glass. They are the four primary elements held in perfect balance—squared. This is what
you will perform for me.”

“The
elements in perfect balance?” she asked. “A
squared spell? Is it possible?”

“You
rebuked your accusers with a Battle that was, in reality, a Triad of elements.
Can it be so difficult to add earth to the spell?”

“I
don’t know. I’ve never tried. How
could earth be blended with the other elements?”

“It
is written,” Lukasha told her, “in
a very ancient tablet called simply ‘Of
Doorways’.”

“May
I see the text?”

Lukasha studied her for a moment, then went to that
tantalizing cabinet. Kassia wondered, as he unlocked the doors, if he could
feel her touch upon the wards. He said nothing, however, but only removed the
folio and returned to her. He extracted one page and held it out. She took it
gingerly, feeling a soft tingle penetrate her fingers, acutely aware of the
texture of the woven paper.

There were four spells on the fibrous sheet. Spells always
appeared in groups of four to symbolize the four primary elements. In this
case, the analogue was complete; the four spells were one, each created a
sphere of a single element, while together, in the precise balance—or so the equation
indicated—they
might coexist, creating a void around the sorcerer that was equal parts Mat and
Itugen. A perfect Square.

“This
isn’t in the old
script,” she noted, belatedly recognizing the ease with which she’d deciphered it. “This is something more . . .
modern. Less symbolic.”

“Indeed.
It was found among the papers of Marija of Ohdan. You understand how it works?”

“In
theory, but . . .” She glanced at him uncertainly. “Can
anyone
do this?”

“Shall
we find out?” Leaving the page in her hands, Lukasha stepped back and signaled her to
begin.

She pored over the series of incantations for several long
moments. Fire, yes—that
was the easiest, but according to the text it was “a warding shield.” That indicated it should
form the outside layer. The spell she had cast before the Circle had place fire
at the heart of the sphere in a bowl of air and water. That was obviously not
the intent of this spell. She pondered the four separate equations. How did
they weave together? Air supported fire, water supported air—where did earth fit
in? Did the spell need a stone at its core? An earth element perhaps? Which
one?

She recalled the Triad. Flame within air, within water . . .
within an orb of glass. Glass, whatever else it contained and whether colored
with cobalt, copper, gold or silver, was yet composed of earth elements. Kassia’s breath stuck in her
throat. She had already performed a squared spell without realizing she had
done so.

She let that knowledge sink in for a moment, savoring the
deep thrill it gave. Had Lukasha known what she had just realized? She chided
herself. Of course he did, he was a Mateu. She turned her attention back to the
spell at hand. It struck her forcefully then that this spell was that one
turned inside out.

Without comment she left the dais and went to the cabinet in
which her Master’s
implements were kept. Removing a glass spell ball, she returned to the dais.
She had all but forgotten Lukasha, was barely aware of his watchful presence as
she held the piece of earth in her two hands and began to set her spell.

It was harder than she expected; she found she must
concentrate on every step, every element, lest she lose her sense of them as
she slid them carefully into place. She had two false starts, once losing
control of air and having water and fire meet in a hiss of steam. Again, fire
escaped her and leapt from the surface of her elemental sphere to lick at the
painted ceiling. She forced herself to think, after that, going back again to
the Triad that was not. In that spell the glass ball was an enclosure, a shell.
In this spell it was a core, a foundation—like the earth itself within its envelope of water
and atmosphere. Her mind made a final leap and grasped the bridge between the
two concepts. The spell ball was more than a container and again, more than a
foundation. It was a fulcrum, a balance point, a portal.