The Spirit Gate (41 page)

She hesitated only a moment; the list of names could wait.
She murmured a hurried Locator, followed it with the Traveling spell. In a slur
of insistent darkness and light, she skated to a dark, wooded hillside in
Khitan.

The breeze was unseasonably chill and bore the scent of
recent rain. There was solid granite beneath her feet and a vault of stars
overhead, and somewhere below in that black gash only a few feet away was
Zakarij. She called to him at first, hoping he might hear her, but there was no
reply. Next, she sat down at the edge of the narrow crevasse and felt about
with her feet, hoping to find some way down, but there was no foothold there.

Fear building, she scrambled to her feet and called fire to
her fingertips, holding her hand out over the cleft. The fire gave her a
mellowly lit view of a steep descent; beyond about five feet, there was
darkness. She let loose of the flame, pitching it gently to let it float
downward, guiding it through the maze. When it had descended some ten feet, she
sent a second ball of light after it. A moment later she saw him, lying about
fifteen feet below her in a tiny slit of rock. Her heart sank, there was no way
she could fit into that same space, no room to work her spell. His eyes were
closed, but before she could quite despair of rousing him, they fluttered open
to stare at the flame that danced in mid-air just above his face

“Kassia!”

She couldn’t
hear his voice, but his lips formed her name and she felt the explosion of his
relief. He tried to rise, failed twice, and finally managed to pull himself
into a half-sitting position.

“Can
you climb out?” she asked, knowing the answer before she saw the careful negative
gesture of his head. Her mind scrambled for a solution. There was only one she
could think of. “Listen,
Zakarij. Are you wearing the necklace? The elementals?”

He nodded slowly.

“I’m going to start a
Traveling spell up here. I need you to try to match your equation to mine—do you think you can
do that?”

“I . . .
I can try.”

She heard him that time; the sound of his voice relieved
some of her anxiety. “Good.
Hold the elementals in your hands. Look at me. Watch my lips so you get the
cadence right. I’m
going to try to build a mandorla in the air above you. I think it might work. I
don’t see any
reason why it wouldn’t
work.”

She wasn’t
sure whether she was babbling or just trying to be encouraging. She thought
Zakarij smiled.

“All
right then,” she said and carefully drew a mandorla about her feet. Then she turned
and described a second one down in the crevasse just above the spot where
Zakarij lay. It was a shaky construct, narrow and wobbly looking, but the rings
were complete, and they crossed just so, leaving Zakarij centered at their
heart.

“Now,
Zakarij. The incantation.”

They mouthed the words together—the invocations, the elements, the catalysts. As
she opened her lips to pronounce the final name, Piscis, the name of the Fish,
a sharp noise behind her brought her head sharply up and around. A man stood
behind her not more than twelve feet away on the ridge of bare rock. A Tartar.
In the light of her blazing mandorla, she recognized him easily. It was the
Gherai Khan.

Panic struck her like a physical force, nearly driving her
to her knees. She raised her hands and threw out an ill-conceived defensive
spell, at the same time uttering the final catalyst. Between her and the
Mongol, a wall of fire roared up out of the rocks, licking toward heaven. The
Khan half turned, shielding his eyes with one hand, making a hasty and oddly
familiar warding gesture with the other. That was the last thing Kassia saw
before the rocky hillside dissolved in a swirl of liquid motion.

Moments later, she was surrounded by familiar, curving
walls. She was at Lorant, in her own studio, in the locus of her dais, with
Zakarij prone but conscious at her feet.

Within the hour he was bathed, bandaged, dressed in fresh clothes
and fed on a hearty stew of Shagtai’s
devising. All through Kassia and Shagtai’s medical ministrations, Kassia related what she
had found in Marija’s
journal; by the time Zakarij’s
energy had renewed itself, he was more than ready to expend it in a search of
the library.

The vaulted room was nearly empty and lay in semi-darkness
when they entered. Beyla, who had absolutely refused to go to bed with such
excitement afoot, tagged along in silence, respectfully trailing the three
adults among the tall shelves. The handful of readers who were hard at study
that evening barely marked their passage as they made their way toward the rear
of the huge chamber. In the gloomy corner they formed a square about the little
altar, then Kassia knelt to look at it.

“Under
the altar,” she murmured. “She
found it under the altar.” She ran a hand around the base of the structure. There was a definite
seam between white and pink stone. She glanced up at Shagtai. Awaiting no
further request, he moved immediately to grasp the top of the altar while
Kassia hastened to whisk its ceramic adornment away before it suffered
destruction.

The altar was surprisingly easy to move. Shagtai rocked and
wrestled it for barely a minute before he and Zakarij were able to lift it from
its foundation. The marble plug upon which it sat pulled from the floor,
leaving behind a hole roughly two feet square. Kassia, still on her knees,
called up a soft flame by which to peer within. In the recess, barely a foot
down, was a wrapped package. She was reminded of her discovery of Marija’s diary and prayed
this find would be as fortunate.

oOo

In his private rooms, Damek read and reflected on how much
more peaceful his life was when Lukasha removed his two so-called apprentices
from Lorant. The woman wasn’t
around to annoy him, her child was with Shagtai and so not constantly under
foot, and Lukasha was not requiring him to support her naive and amateur
efforts to achieve aspirancy. He had nothing personally against Zakarij, except
that the young man had shown the impossible bad taste to be attracted to
Lukasha’s White
Mother.

Gods, the woman was little more than a village witch, but
the Master was completely taken by the simple shai magic that clung to her like
dew to a rose. Damek wondered if Lukasha had even noticed the growing affinity
between Aspirant and Apprentice. It seemed unlikely. He wasn’t nearly so sensitive
to those things as Damek was, despite his much-vaunted wizardry. That innate
sensitivity was surely what had drawn him to make the younger man his
assistant, though Damek possessed not so much as a shred of occult talent.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted. The words on
the page he was attempting to read refused to engage him. The story in his head
was infinitely more interesting to him at the moment. It had been a pleasant
story up until the advent of Kassia Telek. Why in Mat’s name the wretch hadn’t been swept away in the flood with her benighted
father and husband was more than he could fathom. That would have been just
punishment, he would have said, once. Punishment for all the ill the shai had
brought to Polia over the past decades. She suffered as all her kind suffered.

Alas, Kassia Telek’s
fortunes had improved dramatically, to Damek’s cost—improved
so much she might, if Lukasha had his fondest wish, form a liaison with the
king.

Perhaps
, he mused,
Mat has, in His great mercy,
presented her with an opportunity for salvation
.

Or perhaps God and Goddess were extracting payment from her.
If her desire was to be a Mateu; might divine punishment not decree that she
become Zelimir’s
concubine? If she desired Zakarij, might in not be her destiny to bear children
to another man?

Ah, there was a satisfying music! Yes, let that be the God’s will for Kassia
Telek and Damek (the Unimaginative!) would be content, indeed. Then his story
would continue happily, things would return to their sweet progression, and
Zakarij would be rescued from his ill-considered cravings.

Damek was at the point of forming those thoughts into a
prayer, when a sharp, quick rap sounded at his door. Grumbling, he rose and
went to answer it. It was a second year Initiate named Hieronim, who blinked up
at him through startled eyes (as if he’d
expected someone else to answer his summons) and stammered, “Sir, th-there’s something happening
in the library. I just thought you should know. Apprentice Kassia, Aspirant
Zakarij and, um, Master Shagtai have taken apart the little pillar at the
western wall and found something underneath it.”

Damn. Damek cursed himself for even calling the blasted
woman to mind. “Found?
Found what?”

“I
don’t know, sir.
A package of some sort. Should . . . should you come, sir?”

Irritated, Damek shooed the boy away. “I’ll come at my own
pace, thank you, Initiate. Return to your studies.”

The child bobbed in obeisance and started to scurry away.

“And,
Initiate—”

He swung about with wary eyes. “Sir?”

“Shagtai
is a tender of kites. He is not a Master of anything. You are never to accord
him that title. Is that understood?”

“Sir.” The boy bowed again and hurried away.

Damek turned back into his chambers. He would not hurry to
the library, though the desire to see what the wretched shai had dug from under
the altar was already burning in him. He moved to his wardrobe and removed a
long, loose coat with which to cover his shirt and pantaloons. He absolutely
refused to appear as though he had come running the moment the word was given
him. He pulled on the coat and regarded himself in the mirror. Behind him, in
the middle of the room, a fantastic image was forming.

With a shriek of sheer terror, he whirled to face the
apparition. It was as if a spectral window had opened, letting in . . .
He swallowed, his heart pounding. The face in the window was familiar.

“Master
Lukasha!”

“Damek.” The Master smiled. “I’ve startled you.
Forgive me. I must speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency. I’ve sent Kassia to
Lorant to find an object of great value.”

“Ah.
Yes. She has apparently found it.”

The Master’s
smile grew, underscoring Damek’s
annoyance. “Has
she? I should not have doubted her. You’ve
seen her then?”

“No,
but I’ve heard
reports of her activity. She and Zakarij have apparently been dismantling the
library looking for something. A package, Hieronim said.”

“Zakarij,
you said—Zakarij
is with her?”

Damek narrowed his eyes, trying to read his Master’s face through the
smudgy brightness of the spirit window. He seemed agitated.

“So
Hieronim said. Is something wrong?”

“Everything
may be wrong. I sent Kassia
alone
to Lorant; Zakarij is
supposed to be in Khitan province. I can’t imagine how they came to be together.”

Damek could not resist a knowing smirk. “Surely you can see how
enamored he is of her. I don’t
wonder he disobeyed you; she exerts a strong influence on him, you know. I’ve seen it coming.”

Lukasha made an impatient gesture. “It’s
of little importance now. What is important is that they have found the book.”

“What
book, Master?” Damek asked, praying his Master would confide in him. His prayers were
answered.

“A
Bible belonging to the monk, Honorius. In it, he apparently kept a record of
his work with the Traveling spell. There is a list of names, a list associated
with a level of power denied us until now. I must be able to harness that
power, Damek. The life of Polia may depend upon it.”

Now the hair stood up on the back of Damek’s head and arms. “What’s happened? Please, I
beg you, Master. Tell me. I am your most faithful servant. I would have you
confide in me as you once did.”

Lukasha was silent for a moment, his bright image wavering
slightly in the ghostly window. Then he said, “You
are
my most faithful servant,
aren’t you? You
have never betrayed me, though I hesitate to say you have always obeyed the
spirit of my commands.”

Damek reddened. “My
only disobedience has been in areas concerning Kassia Telek. I promise you, I
shall never disobey you—in
the spirit or the letter—again.”

“Things
are not well with our king, Damek. My hopes that he and Kassia would form a
natural liaison have proven futile. The Bishop of Tabor uses some dark magic to
manipulate him, and further, to manipulate the darughachi, his noble advisers,
even Chancellor Bogorja. He has even the power to incite the Gherai Khan
against our southern borders. Even as we speak, the Gherai nibble at Khitan
province.”

Damek swallowed, nodding. “Ah, I see. Where you sent Zakarij to observe.”

“To
do more than that—to
provide a barrier to the Bishop’s
designs. I must assume he has failed.”

“Why
have you come to me?” Damek asked, struck, suddenly, by the strangeness of the conversation
they were having. “Why
did you not simply locate Kassia and come here to oversee her search?”

Lukasha hesitated, then said slowly, “I would not want Kassia to think I didn’t fully trust her with
this undertaking. And . . . it is imperative that I be available
to Zelimir at all times.”

“Do
you? Trust her fully?”

“Yes,
Damek, I do. But I also trust you. I trust you to go to her and to tactfully—and I meant
tactfully
—find out if she has
found this monk’s
Holy Book and if it contains the list of names.”

“And
then?”

“Go
to my studio. I will appear to you there. I must know what she has found.”

Damek did as Lukasha bid him. He always did as Lukasha bid
him . . . eventually. He hurried down to the library only to
collide with Kassia and her train of companions in the great hall. His eyes
went immediately to the large, partially wrapped package in her hands.