The Spirit Gate (24 page)

Solitude shattered, she turned to see a man of perhaps
thirty years, on his knees in the grass. He wore a fine but plain linen tunic
the color of cream, and a small, shapeless velvet hat the same green as the
cesia’s border of
trees. Beneath his finely trimmed beard—dark
brown with warm red lights—he
was smiling, and his pale gray eyes regarded her with friendly curiosity.

“You’re shai,” he said. “And
in Apprentice’s
garb. That means you must be Kassia.”

She nodded, having no idea what words might be appropriate.

He glanced toward the altar. “What do you think of our cesia?”

“It’s beautiful. Probably
the most beautiful I’ve
ever seen. Ours . . . has not been this green for a very long
time.”

The gray eyes clouded slightly. “The Great Fires. They took even your place of
worship?”

“Yes.
And the Tree. We planted a new one, of course, as soon as we could, but, well,
the old one was quite ancient. It will be a time before the new one manifests
the full glory of Itugen.”

“As
it is with your Tree, so it is with Polia as a whole. But the glory of Itugen
is obviously manifest in you, or you wouldn’t be here as an Apprentice to Master Lukasha. He
has written of you. So far, you have exceeded his glowing words.”

Kassia flushed, unsure of how to take the stranger’s praise. “You have me at a
disadvantage, sir. You seem to know me, but . . .”

“I
am Mishka,” he told her and, after affording her a last appraising look, he rose and
inclined his head. “Until
we meet next.”

She watched him stride down the hill and return to the
palace the same way she had exited it. After a moment, she rose and followed
suit.

She breakfasted with Lukasha, Zakarij, Antal and Joti in
what they referred to as a “small
dining salon.” It was twice as large as the refectory at Lorant. After breakfast,
Zakarij went with Master Antal and Joti to the Mateu residence just north of
the palace on the opposite side of the cesia, there to receive an accounting of
the recent happenings in Tabor, and to collect the endowments gifted to Lorant
by the city’s
generous donors. Kassia and her Master, meanwhile, were led to a small chamber
off the royal council hall where Antal had collected a number of the Emperor’s household items and
personal possessions. Lukasha examined each one, considering in what way it was
used and when, and how close it might be kept to the king—considering also which
might make the best demonstration of the Web spell.

Finally, he picked up a glass candle holder and held it out
to Kassia. “This
should make a good subject. Come, Kassia, start by setting the spell on this.”

She took the candle holder and turned it in her hands. It
was quite an extraordinary object, obviously meant to do more than merely hold
a candle. It was in the form of a fantastic beast—a dragon or griffin—that seemed to be riding the crest of a frozen
wave. Atop its head was a crown of silver and within the crown was the well in
which the taper sat. Holding the glass beast in both hands, Kassia stared at it
until it she saw nothing but the gleaming griffin. She invoked Itugen and Mat
and the spirits of wind and light and the rainbow. She called upon Chanan the
Spider. She wedded the spell to the glass.

Before her eyes could quite come into focus, before they saw
the detail of beast and wave, the glass pulsed with a pale blue wash of light.
The blue pulse was followed by a brighter one of brilliant red, and that, in
turn gave way to a chaotic tumble of colors—shades of anger, distrust and fear. Astonished, she
turned to Master Lukasha and saw, standing in the doorway behind him, a tall,
golden-haired man wearing a robe of white silk encrusted with gold and jewels.
On his head was a soft conical hat that rose from a jeweled diadem. His eyes
were blue as deep winter ice and infinitely colder; Kassia shivered when they
met her own. She did not need the invested piece of glass to tell her that this
stranger felt the deepest distrust of both herself and Lukasha.

Her Master had turned now, too, and bowed slightly to the
other man. “Your
Grace,” he murmured.

Golden eyebrows rose. “Master Lukasha. I was seeking the king. Since the
door was ajar, I thought he might be here.”

“As
you can see, he is not. If you will excuse us . . . my
Apprentice and I have some rather important work to do.”

The man’s
eyes returned to send more chills up Kassia’s spine. “Your
Apprentice.” He came further into the room, rounding the table to come face to face
with her. “Her
presence here is . . . inappropriate.”

“Her
presence is required, Your Grace.”

“For
what?”

“For
the protection of the king.”

“All
that is needed for the King’s
protection is his belief in our Lord.” He made a gesture with one hand that Kassia took to be ritual in nature.
His voice—gentle
and musical—was
at odds with the vehemence in his eyes. There was an almost-smile on his lips;
it reminded Kassia jarringly of Zakarij.

“In
a spiritual sense, you are no doubt correct,” said Lukasha mildly. “But would you have him
go into battle weaponless? Or throw open the palace gates to any and all? There
are other forms of protection you would not have him eschew.”

“I
would have him eschew this. This is not protection. It will endanger his
immortal soul.”

Kassia dared to speak. “You don’t
even know what ‘this’ is. How can you judge its danger?”

“I
know it is pagan magic—demonism.
That is all I need to know.”

“You
forget, Your Grace,” said Lukasha, smiling, “our
king is also ‘pagan’, as you call it.”

“I
do not forget, Mateu. But perhaps he is not so pagan as you think. He has come
often to mass.”

Lukasha nodded. “I
have attended mass, myself. All worship rises to the same Throne.”

The other man shook his head. “There is only one God.”

“We
are in agreement, then.”

“You
give Him a wife.”

Lukasha’s
brow furrowed. “Do
you not also give Him a wife—a
mortal wife—and a
son?”

The jeweled man made the sign again—forehead to heart, shoulder to shoulder. Kassia
stiffened, thinking he set a ward, then relaxed when she felt no magic, but
only the anger he tried to conceal.

“Our
God has no wife,” he murmured.

“Ah,
a consort then,” suggested Lukasha.

Now, His Grace’s
cheeks suffused with color, but his voice never lost its reasonable tone. “You twist a spiritual
reality to the material. Hence, we have no ground for understanding.” The cool, pale eyes moved back to Kassia, sending a shiver across her
shoulders. “I
will say again that a woman has no place in the King’s council chamber. Most especially
this
woman.” He turned from them, then, and left the room.

Kassia expelled a captive breath. “Master, who was that man?”

“That
was the Bishop of Tabor. Benedict is his name. ‘Good words’ it means.” He glanced at Kassia.

“An
odd name for someone who has so little good to say,” observed Kassia, and felt
rewarded when her Master chuckled.

A moment later someone else was at their door—a servant who let them
know that King Zelimir was ready to receive them. Lukasha gathered up several
of the items Antal had left them—a
ring, a bracelet, a small mirror—and
followed the servant from the room. Kassia trailed him, still clutching the
candle holder.

“Excuse
me, Master, but shouldn’t
we vest the rest of these items before we take them to Zelimir?”

“There’s no time. Besides, he
may enjoy watching you do it.”

They were ushered across the vaulted audience hall in which
the king usually held court, and into a long, windowless room with a massive
fireplace at either end. Kassia stared at everything, almost unable to take in
the size and opulence of it all—the
cavernous rooms, the paneled walls, the mirror-like floors, the rich tapestries
and curtains.

The council chamber was similarly opulent. Beneath a huge
chandelier of wrought brass sat a long, black lacquered table flanked by a
dozen or more chairs, also of lacquered wood. The beauty of the room was echoed
in a series of large mirrors placed at intervals down the walls. At one end of
the table, before the impressive maw of one of the fireplaces sat an especially
elaborate chair—a
small throne.

She was still studying the room when a door beside the
fireplace opened and a man entered, dressed in the invariable green and cream
of the Zelimirid house. It was Mishka. But his green hat had been replaced by a
circlet of gold set with emeralds. Before Kassia could make sense of that
change, he moved to the head of the black table and seated himself in the
throne.

Kassia was unaware of what happened after that for a full
minute. She thought Lukasha bowed, and that she might have mimicked him. Then
the king spoke, and in a moment, Lukasha was introducing her to him.

The king smiled, enjoying her obvious confusion. “Kassia and I have
already met,” he said.

Master Lukasha regarded Kassia with surprise. “She didn’t mention it.”

Kassia started. “I . . .
I didn’t . . .”

“I
don’t think she
realized it,” the king said, still smiling. “I
wasn’t wearing a
crown or a robe. Without those things, I fancy I look like any other man.”

What was the appropriate response? Kassia wondered. Did she
protest that, of course, no Zelimir could look like any other man? Did she
testify to her own lack of perception? Was there an appropriate response?

Zelimir saved her from further comment. “I introduced myself
merely as ‘Mishka’. I hope she will forgive me the masquerade.”

His eyes were on her, warm, amused. She suddenly realized
that the bespelled candle holder was still in her hands and broadcasting her
embarrassment to anyone who saw it. She refused to glance down to see what
color embarrassment was.

Lukasha continued his introduction. “I have brought Kassia to court, my lord, that you
might see two things. One is her extraordinary talent. The other is what her
appearance means to our future. She is shai, lord, and she is empowered. I
bring her to you as proof that the realm has recovered in the hands of the
Zelimirs. I also bring her to offer you such protection as no other man could
claim.”

“Protection?” the king repeated. “What
sort of protection? I have guards. I have my loyal servants and counselors.”

Lukasha’s
expression was one of fatherly concern. “Mishka, they may not always be so loyal. Men of
politics have their own agendas in life; men of religion, their own missions.
Kassia has brought you something by which you can know the thoughts and
feelings of those around you.”

“A
candle holder?”

“Not
the candle holder, but what is
in
the candle holder—a spell that will
catch the thoughts of the person at whom you direct your eyes. Or which will
determine the strongest emotions in a room, be they your own or another’s. Place the candle
holder before the king, Kassia.”

She did as told, delivering the warded object to the table
before the royal throne. Zelimir glanced at it, then at her. The glass griffin
glowed a ruddy violet.
That
was the color of embarrassment. She suspected
her face was a similar color.

Zelimir was fascinated. “You’re
suggesting I could set such a thing on the council table and thereby be able to
see what is beneath my counselor’s
words? But how can I keep others from also seeing? Eventually, they might be
able to understand the message in the glass.”

Lukasha laid his objects out upon the table. “Any of these things
might be turned into a web for the thoughts of others. Choose something. Kassia
will give it the power to do this.”

“But
Master,” she murmured, “I
have always had Zakarij before to help me.”

Lukasha smiled at her. “You need no help, Kiska. You can do this yourself.”

She did do it herself, riding the tide of Lukasha’s confidence in her.
Zelimir chose the bracelet—a
much more discreet object than the ornate candle holder—and Kassia imbued it with the power of the web. He
placed the bracelet on his right wrist and, smiling, ventured into the audience
hall. He visited with several of the people there—servants, counselors, the Bishop of Tabor, who
lingered, awaiting the call for the King’s Council to be convened. Then, his face showing
bemusement, he returned to the council chamber to stand face to face with
Kassia.

“This
is an amazing thing, Apprentice. You are indeed a messenger of hope.” He raised her hand to his lips momentarily, allowing her a glimpse of
the bracelet before he lowered his own hand to his side. The stone flashed pale
green, then a muddy aqua, reflecting the emotions of its wearer and then, as he
directed his thoughts, Kassia’s
sudden confusion. “The
council will meet soon, and I must prepare. Thank you, Apprentice Kassia.
Master Lukasha, how may I learn the language of this jewel?”

“Practice,
Majesty, with your own emotions. What it tells you of yourself, it will tell
you of others.”

The king smiled at the jewel, which reflected a pale golden
light into his gray eyes. “Thank
you, Master Lukasha. I’ll
see you in chambers?”

Lukasha inclined his head. “Of course, Majesty.”

“Your
counsel is always appreciated.” The king reciprocated, inclining his head to the Mateu in a gesture of
respect, and left the room.

Kassia turned to her Master. His eyes were alight with
obvious pleasure . “You
are pleased, Master?”

He stepped to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I am very pleased,
Kiska. He has accepted the ward. He will wear it upon his person. Do you know
why he will do this? Because of you. He accepts your magic because he has first
accepted you. You heard him—you
are a beacon of hope for Polia. A symbol of her renewed vitality. He will come
to trust you. That may serve to save him from others that he trusts.”