The Spirit Gate (42 page)

“I
thought you were in Tabor, Kassia Telek,” he told her, then turned to
Zakarij. “And I
thought you were in Khitan. Why did you leave your post?”

“He
was driven from it,” said Kassia before Zakarij could respond. “I’m
here at the Master’s
bidding.”

“You
have found a book.”

“A
book the Master is waiting for.”

“So
he explained to me. Is it everything he hopes for ?”

Kassia looked down at the book in her hands, running her
thumbs over the warped wooden front cover. “I don’t
know. But when I know, the Master will also know.” She slipped past him and
headed across the hall toward her quarters.

Arrogant bitch!

“Oh,
Apprentice Kassia,” Damek made his voice sweet. “I
thought you should know that there was a fire while you were away. In the upper
village. Master Lukasha mentioned your concern about someone living in that
area.”

Kassia turned back slowly, her face nearly as white as her
hair. “Was . . .
was anyone harmed?”

“Well,
you know how those houses are constructed there—multiple stories, many rooms. It’s difficult to escape
a midnight blaze in such a warren of rooms. I heard it started in a nursery,
and that the babe . . . well, the mother tried valiantly to save
it, of course, but . . .”

He tried to look sorrowful, tugging down the corners of his
mouth when they wanted so to rise. Ah, the look on her face! It was worth the
near lie just to see it—to
have caused it.

Her hands trembling on the book, Kassia murmured, “Thank you, Damek for
telling me. I had hoped . . .” She turned away from him.

He could see that her shoulders shook as she moved into the
semi-darkness of the corridor to her rooms, grimaced as Zakarij moved to put
his arm about her and her son took hold of her hand.

Well, that was rich. The stupid creature had actually
thanked him for his dreadful news. He wondered if she would ever bother to
corroborate his story or if she would merely accept it, since it fit so neatly
with her need to feel oppressed. He hardly cared. He had needed the victory.

oOo

Under bright light in Kassia’s studio, Honorius’ Bible showed its extreme
age. The thick front cover was not only warped, but scarred, and dry to
cracking. The pages were yellowed, with broken, time-eaten edges. Struggling to
set aside her sudden grief at Damek’s
news, Kassia handled them with care, turning the book over before Shagtai and
Zakarij’s
watchful eyes and laying it naked-back-down on her desk. She lifted the front
cover gingerly. The rippled edge of an inset piece of veneer clearly hinted at
the cover’s
hollowness. One side of the inset showed a worn indentation. It was this Kassia
pried at with a fingernail, worrying it until it came loose, revealing an
interior compartment occupied by a thin packet of folded paper.

Kassia heard Zakarij’s
intake of breath as she lifted it from concealment. The single folded page was
more like fabric than paper—not
brittle like the pages of the Bible, but soft. It contained line upon line of
handwritten words. Names.

Kassia frowned. “What
language is that?”

“It’s archaic Polian. I
think I might be able to translate this, given a little time and some reference
books.” Excitement made Zakarij’s
voice a husky whisper. He pointed at the symbols on the page. “Look, this one’s Iron, and this, I
think, is Thunder.”

Beyla, whom Kassia had ordered to bed, slipped between the
adults and touched the pages with a tentative hand. “It’s . . .
sour,” he announced, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s been in that little
compartment a long time,” said Zakarij.

“No,
I mean the magic is sour. Isn’t
it, Shagtai?” He glanced up over his shoulder at the kite master.

Shagtai didn’t
reply, instead asking Kassia, “What
will you do with these names once you have translated them?”

“Give
them over to Master Lukasha, of course.”

“What
will he do with them, do you think?”

“He
will protect Polia.”

“Using
these? These are the names of things at twilight.”

“Does
that mean they can only be used for ill?”

“Mama,
listen to uncle Shagtai,” insisted Beyla.

She glanced at her son, her heart turning over in her breast
as he reminded her again of another child, another mother. “Beyla, you should have
been in bed hours ago. Please go now.”

He looked about to offer argument, then glanced at Shagtai
and drifted off to his room, unaware how his mother’s eyes followed him. Shagtai, too, disappeared a
short time later, though neither Kassia nor Zakarij, already absorbed by the
shred of soft paper, marked his departure.

Sometime later, Zakarij shook his head in frustration. “There are several
names here for each element and catalyst. How are we supposed to know which
ones to use in the spell?”

“Marija
said there was a key to the incantation in the back cover of the Bible.”

“There
is no back cover,” said Zakarij. “Did
she ever find it?”

Kassia grimaced. “I
don’t know. There
was no mention of it in the journal—but
then there are so many missing pages. Maybe there’s a clue in the Bible somewhere.”

While Zakarij performed a careful search of the yellowed
pages, Kassia turned the events that had led to them being here over in her
mind. “How did
you come to be in that crevasse?” she asked at length.

Zak glanced up from a scan of the Book of Isaiah, eyes
revealing puzzlement. “The
Khan was pursuing me. He saw me, Kassia. He saw me through a Matic shield.”

Kassia’s
surprise was complete. “What
elements were you using?”

“Air
and water—water
dominant. It was an opaque cloud shield. He shouldn’t have been able to penetrate it.”

“He
probably couldn’t,” said Kassia, “but
Benedict obviously can.”

“He
shouldn’t be able
to either. How can he split himself like that? What power is he drawing on,
that he can manipulate people so?”

Kassia closed her eyes, willing to memory her last confrontation
with the Gherai kagan, seeing again the fleeting gesture—forehead to heart, shoulder to shoulder. She
expelled a hiss of breath. Of course, of course, of course! “He’s not splitting
himself, Zakarij. He’s
channeling
himself, using someone else as a focus, an amplifier.”

“Who?”

“Pater
Julian.”

“Pater
Julian? Are you certain?”

“Almost
certain. When we get back go Tabor, I want to prove it.”

Anything Zakarij had been going to say was interrupted by a
cry from the parlor. Recognizing Beyla’s
voice, he and Kassia all but flew from the studio. The boy was standing before
the fireplace, both hands pressed against the carved facade below the
mantelpiece.

“Beyla,
what’s wrong?”

The boy turned to look at his mother, his face drawn into a
consternated pucker. “It
feels the same,” he said.

“What?
What feels the same?”

“The
magic. This magic is sour too.”

Kassia glanced at Zakarij and shook her head. “What magic, Beyla?”

“In
here.” He pointed at the raised mandorla pattern worked into the stone.

“In
here?” Kassia came to her knees beside him, laying her hand over the stone
design.

He nodded. “Behind
that circle.”

Her fingertips on the twin circles, Kassia tried to see the
design with eyes that went beyond the material. What she sensed awed her. “There’s a Shield on this
spot. It’s . . .
strong. And I . . . I think it’s Marija’s
magic.”

Zakarij knelt beside her. “How can that be, after so many years?”

“I
don’t know, but
Beyla saw right through it.”

Her son didn’t
seem terribly impressed with his ability. He was frowning at the mantelpiece. “You’re going to dig it out
now, aren’t you?” He raised his eyes to his mother’s
face. “I wish you
wouldn’t, mama.
It’s not good
magic.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Beloved, if it’s what I think it is, Master Lukasha needs it and
Zakarij and I must take it to him.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.
Now, you must go back to bed. I promise you I’ll be back before morning.”

His mouth drew into a pout, but he said nothing more. He
kissed her solemnly and returned to his room. Kassia turned her attention to
the mandorla, then, trying to draw from it its secrets. It wasn’t an easy task, but
since Marija had used a bit of earthen magic to shield the spot—a magic that resonated
in the mind of the living shai—Kassia
was able to follow its patterns, and carefully countered each one. At length
there was a dull knocking sound from within the mantelpiece that vibrated her
fingertips. A sorcerous tingle rolled up her arms. The piece of stone the
mandorla capped slid outward with a whispered scrape, allowing Zakarij to gain
a firm purchase on it. A firm tug was all it took to pull it completely free.

Kassia reached into the narrow hiding place and brought out
a flat leather parcel. Within was a slab of wood that was the mirror image of
the front cover of Honorius’ Bible. And within that, hidden beneath a veneer panel, was a small piece
of the linen paper, folded into careful quarters. Her hands shaking, Kassia
unfolded it and scanned the symbols and characters there.

The arcane symbols were accompanied by a paragraph of
careful script. It was in Latin. She reluctantly handed them over to Zakarij to
be read.

“Speak
of the Serpent whose venom oozes from the bowels of the earth and whose maw is
bottomless; let fly the iron Raptor who devours life and death, who carries
away souls on the winds of hell; tell of the Dragon who eats its own tail, who
leaves the hearth to scorch the earth; give mention of the all-devouring Fish,
whose great tail stirs the seas to hungry froth. These must be in their order;
take special care. For all is completed by the hellish name of the Fish.
Vessels you must have, to the number of the seasons. Let the golden one contain
the venom of the Serpent; let the iron one contain the feather of the Raptor steeped
in the blood of the kill; let the brazen one contain the ash of bone devoured
by the Dragon’s
fire; let the silver contain a thing possessed by a victim of the all-devouring
Fish. These you must set at the points of the compass, then you must speak.”

“The
hellish name of the Fish?” Kassia murmured, and Zakarij whispered, “Maelstrom.”

The name brought a tremor of cold fear to Kassia’s heart. She looked at
the two pages that trembled in Zak’s
hands. “What . . .
what are the other names, do you think?”
Dear
God, I don
’
t want to hear them
!

He took a deep breath and returned his eyes to the list,
where now the Twilight names seemed to leap out at him. “Abyss, the Serpent with the bottomless maw . . .
Shaitan, the Raptor of souls . . . Harmattan, the Inferno—also called the Dragon . . .” His voice oozed away into the silence of the room. He glanced up into
Kassia’s face. “What sort of
incantation is this, Kassia? It can’t
possibly produce good.”

“The
Aspirant is right.” Shagtai stood in the door of Kassia’s studio, arms folded across his barrel chest, his
face golden in the light of her spirit lamps. “These are the elements of Twilight. These are the
names that open the gates of hell.”

“I
don’t believe in
hell,” Kassia told him sharply, ignoring the chill that lanced down her back.

“Yet
there is one. Oh, it is not the hell of the Frankish Church, perhaps. But it is
hell, nonetheless. What is Abyss, but the pit of hell, and Shaitan, but the
wind of hell, and Harmattan but the flame of hell? If these names are used,
they will bring about Twilight, they will open the gates of destruction.”

Kassia fixed Shagtai with a direct gaze, ignoring the
hammering of her heart. “Are
you saying it’s
impossible to do any good with these names?”

He shook his head. “Not
impossible, but difficult. These are the keys to destruction. Only the purest
motives can control them. Only the purest hands can hold them.”

“Then
surely only a pure soul can summon them.”

“Not
true. They will come to the call of any sorcerer whose will is strong enough.”

“I
found a verse in Marija’s
book that said they are in the thrall of the one who calls them. Do you know
what she meant?”

Shagtai nodded. “There
are certain spells that belong to the first shaman in a generation who executes
them. Thereafter, only that shaman may give another control. I know of such
spells. They endow that shaman with much power.”

Zakarij laid the list and its key down on Kassia’s work table. “You seem to have an
opinion about what we should do with these, Shagtai. What is it?”

“Destroy
them. Destroy the names and the key. Destroy them now, before this goes any
further.”

Kassia shook her head. “I can’t
do that, Shagtai. Master Lukasha needs them.”

“No
one needs these, Kiska. These are evil.”