The Spirit Gate (9 page)

“Evidently,
Master Lukasha thinks you do, or he wouldn’t have put you there. Have you talked to him about
it?”

Kassia pecked at a star on her Induction robe. “He isn’t there. He got called
away to the court of the king. Damek is the only one I could go to about this
and he’s made it
very clear that Master Tamukin’s
first year class is exactly where he wants me.”

Devora shrugged. “Well,
then. It doesn’t
sound as if there’s
any more you can do for the moment. Just learn what you can where you can and
hope you get put ahead soon.” She thrust her hands back into her dough and began kneading it with much
spirit. “Now, you’d probably best start
supper. I’ve got
some chores Beyla can do, too. Where is he?”

Kassia stared at Devora, coloring from the tip of her toes
to the roots of her hair. Beyla! He was still up at Lorant, probably wondering
where in creation his mother had gone and why she hadn’t come to Shagtai’s workshop to collect him.

Devora awarded her with a wry shake of the head. “You forgot him, didn’t you? Well, supper
can be a little late tonight. Go on up and get him. Leave that Induction robe
with my sewing things. I’ll
see what we can do with it after we’ve
eaten.”

Chastened, Kassia hurried back through town and up the
forested hill to Lorant. Beyla, rapturously drawing in a kite that had outlived
its message, had only just noticed how late it was when she got there, but her
tardiness had not escaped Shagtai. As she left, arm around her son’s shoulders, he gave
her a disconcerting appraisal with his good eye.

“Keep
your head about you, Initiate,” he told her, then went back to his kites.

oOo

On Celek morn, Kassia donned the starred Induction robe
and set out for Lorant with Beyla in tow. Beneath what was, on her, a
knee-length tunic, she wore a skirt of simple midnight blue that Devora had stayed
up quite late to help her sew.

She was awed by the cesia at Lorant. It sat at the very peak
of the Holy Hill in a grove of majestic cedars, the most ancient and
spectacular one of all overshadowing its gleaming, polished altar. No incense
was needed here, for the cedars provided their own, and the gray and white
stones that framed the access points shone gold and silver in the dappled
sunlight. Between the accesses, which looked to the four points of the compass,
tiers of granite benches rose where the worshipers sat on Celek and where the
Sacred Circle met in fine weather.

Compared to this true House of God, the poor sanctuary
across the narrow valley was hovel. No wonder that the village priests looked
crushed to have to practice devotions there. It was like asking God and Goddess
to enter a shepherd’s
shed when they might worship in a royal palace. The comparison depressed her.

The ceremony itself was as bad as she expected it to be. She
towered over the other first year Initiates and caused quite a stir among
participants and audience alike. More embarrassing still, her sister Asenka was
in the crowd along with Fedor and Lenci. But perhaps worst of all was the host
of higher level Initiates, Apprentices and Aspirants, still glowing from their
own Commencement and Accession ceremonies, who gaped and pointed and whispered.

Kassia, the unwilling target of those stares and whispers,
was barely able to make it through the brief Induction, during which she, along
with her classmates, intoned the Initiates’ pledge (”I will, O Mat, to
learn Thy will . . .”),
and received a wooden paiza with the fish and star symbol of the Lorant
Initiate impressed upon it. “Kassia
Telek,” it styled her, beneath the ornate fish with its star-filled mouth, “daughter of Jedrus Telek
and Jasia Antavas of Dalibor, Teschen province. Widow of Shurik Cheslaf of
Ohdan, a mother, Initiate and shai.” She had never worn a paiza before, and it afforded her one of the few
moments of honest pleasure she took from the Induction.

Afterward, she searched the small crowd of people for Master
Lukasha, but he was nowhere in sight. Evidently, he had not made it back from
Tabor after all. Disappointed, Kassia accepted her sister’s warm wishes, took
her son by the hand and went home.

It was Beyla, as usual, who gave her another moment she
would remember without discomfort. They were just passing beneath the great
archway of Lorant’s
front gates when the boy squeezed her hand. “I’m
proud of you, mama,” he said. “I
think papa and Itugen must be proud of you, too. You’re much better at magic than at pots.”

Kassia laughed and swept her son into her arms. “Oh, let’s hope so, Beyla. Let’s hope so.”

oOo

Lukasha returned from Tabor road-weary and contemplative.
The two states didn’t
go well together. Tired, the sorcerer’s
mind refused to stay where he put it, instead leaping here and there and fixing
on inconsequential things—the
bright blue roof of the royal yam closest to Dalibor, the way the fleet of
kites over the gables of Lorant became a fleet of fishing vessels such as he
had seen on the deep waters of the Yeva river at Tabor. He would ponder the
developments in the Zelimirid court later when he was rested, when his mind was
prepared to be more obedient.

Damek was working in Lukasha’s private library when at last the Mateu set foot
in it again. He got himself a cup of hot tea (as black a brew as he could make)
and sat down to hear his aide’s
report. At its end, he’d
still not heard of what concerned him most just now and, so, prompted the other
man.

“And
what of Kassia? How did she fare her first week at Lorant?”

Damek’s
narrow face closed in on itself. “I
expect she did well enough. I have heard no ill reports . . .
except, of course, that the other Initiates are afraid of her.”

“Afraid?
Why should they be afraid of gentle Kassia?”

Damek uttered a sharp sound that may have been intended as a
laugh. “Gentle? I
might not have used that word. The woman is too arrogant by half—and stubborn. I
suppose that comes of her being three years widowed with no prospects. But its
her white hair that alarms them. They’ve
heard stories about the shai witches.” He shrugged as if it were of no consequence.

“Well,
then, I suppose we’ll
have to keep her clear of the younger students until they become used to her
presence. Where is she?”

Damek’s
expression became even more guarded. “In
class, at this hour.”

“Class?” Lukasha glanced at the time-scale just outside the window. “Whose class have you
placed her in?”

Damek toyed with his pen. “Master Tamukin’s.”

Lukasha stared at him in bemusement. “You put her in with the first year Initiates? What
were you thinking?”

“That
she was a first year Initiate,” said Damek dryly.

“She
is not the usual first year Initiate, and well you know it. She was born with
what our first year students must struggle to develop. She was tutored from
childhood in the mysteries they may never comprehend.”

“She’s untested. Untried. I
thought it best—”

“You
thought it best to make her uncomfortable here. Very well, Damek, I suppose she
may learn something from that; she can’t
be learning much in her classes. Has she complained about her assignment?”

“I
said she was stubborn.”

“That’s no answer.”

Damek wriggled, glancing aside. “She argued with me a bit when I took her to her
first class. After that . . . well, not in so many words. But
she is resentful. You can’t
help but see it. Ungrateful of her, considering that you inducted her without a
proper initiation. I dare say she would have failed the historical standard.”

“She
might have. But she would not have failed the Mysteries.”

“I
suppose you want to elevate her to another year.”

Lukasha opened his mouth to confirm that, then hesitated. “Not just yet, I think,
Damek. Let’s see
how she does where she is.”

oOo

She did terribly in Master Tamukin’s class. Oh, not that she didn’t understand the craft
or comprehend the mysteries involved. She understood them
too
well. Tamukin’s
simplistic explanations of complex elemental relationships annoyed her almost
as much as having to wear the ill-fitting Initiate’s robe in class every day. She quickly determined
that her young instructor had a poor understanding of the workings of Itugen.
Though he tried to sound as if he knew what he was talking about, the earth
elements were obviously a mystery to him. Still, Kassia held her tongue in
check, questioning, prompting, but never openly arguing with the Master’s interpretations.

When she bumped into Master Lukasha early in the new week
and he asked her how she fared, she bit back the words that wanted to come and
smiled agreeably and said that everything was fine. She would not complain to
him, she told herself, when it was through his kindness that she was here at
all. All she would say of her classes was that she found Religion and History
interesting and the Mysteries very easy.

Then, during a discussion of the elemental tables, Master
Tamukin told the class that deer bone was a heavy element. Kassia couldn’t stop herself from
correcting him. She tried to do it as politely as possible, but knew the moment
she opened her mouth that she’d
embarrassed the young Mateu terribly.

“I’m sorry, Master
Tamukin,” she said, “but
don’t you mean ‘light?’”

He paused in his recitation and blinked at her. “Excuse me, Initiate
Kassia?”

“You
said deer bone is a
heavy
element. I think you must have meant to say
it was a light element.”

“I
said heavy, Kassia. I meant heavy. Bone is heavy.”

Kassia tried to ignore the wide-eyed young faces that peered
at her where she sat hunkered on a low ottoman at the back of the room, smiling
to soften her debate. “The
bone of a predator is heavy. The bone of a grazer is light.”

Tamukin consulted
The Ways of Itugen
to prove
her wrong and ended up proving himself wrong instead. She was unsurprised when
he held her after class, prepared to accept mild censure and to apologize for
not waiting until a more private moment to mention his error. She was not
prepared for the words that came out of his mouth.

“I
think it would be best if you refrained from speaking out in class, Initiate
Kassia. It’s
frustrating the other children—excuse
me—the other
students. How are they to learn if you answer for them? More to the point, how
are they to have respect for their teacher if you argue with him in class?”

“I
wasn’t arguing,
Master Tamukin. You simply mis-spoke and I didn’t want the students to misunderstand. I realize I
should probably have waited until the break to bring it to your attention—”

“You
undermined my authority, Initiate Kassia. In fact, you undermine it every day.
You think I don’t
notice that censuring look on your face when I say something with which you
disagree? Do you think I am unaware how often you stop yourself from debating a
point with me? Do you think I don’t
know what it means when you ask leading questions or rephrase what I’ve said in ways that
are . . . more to your liking? I realize you consider yourself
somewhat of an expert in geomancy, but in a classroom, there can be only one
authority and in this class, that authority is me.” The young Master shook his
head. “I can’t imagine what Master
Lukasha was thinking when he put you in my class. You can’t learn anything from
me—you’re far too sure that
your own interpretations are right.”

“Master
Tamukin,” Kassia said, keeping her voice tightly controlled, “there is nothing to
interpret when it comes to the classification of elements. An element is either
light or heavy. In the case of the deer bone, I was right. You read it yourself
in
The
Ways of Itugen
. Was I to let the children believe something as fact that
wasn’t true?”

Tamukin’s
face colored. “I
realize you are in an awkward position here, Mistress Telek—you are not only older
than all the other students in the class, you are also older than your teacher.
But I
am
the teacher, Initiate; you are the student. I would appreciate it if you would
remember that. I expect you to hold your tongue in class from now on. If you
wish to contest what I teach, or ask questions, please do so after class.”

He dismissed her then, to go to Religion. She was late,
which got her into some small trouble with Brother Sisa, and she was distracted
in class, which drew still more censure. By the end of the day, she could take
no more; she got to Lukasha’s
parlor as fast as her legs would carry her, not even pausing to take off her
robe and put it in her classroom chest. She found Damek in the outer office
(guarding the door, she thought uncharitably), and asked to see the Master.

Lukasha’s
aide looked at her disdainfully, making her feel even more awkward in her child’s robe than she
already did. “What
is your business here, Initiate Kassia? The Master is busy.”

“I
need to speak to him about my classes,” she told him, clenching her fists behind the folds of her robe.

“Oh?
And what is wrong with them?”

“They’re too easy.”

Damek’s
face wrinkled with perverse delight. “Too
easy? What tremendous arrogance. I’m
sure it would hardly matter to Master Lukasha—”

“Damek,
you’re doing it
again.” Lukasha, standing just inside the doorway to his private library,
followed his voice into the room. Though it was full of gentle humor, Damek
twitched as if he’d
been stung. “Let
her come through into the library, if you please. Her opinions do matter to me,
you see.”

Heartened, Kassia afforded Damek a cool glance and followed
the Mateu through to his private chamber. He sat behind his writing table and
gestured for her to take a chair across from it.

”Now,
tell me, Kassia, why you are dissatisfied with your classes—by the way, hasn’t Damek done anything
about that robe yet? Surely there’s
been enough time to have another made that will fit you.”