Firewalk (2 page)

“High Lord Terendal has two sons,” Kayli said slowly. “But the eldest is wed already, is he not?”

“Terralt is five years wed, with two sons and a daughter, and another child in the making,” Elaasar said, nodding. “But it’s Terendal’s younger son, Randon, who has been named Heir.”

Kayli sipped quietly at the
cai,
saying nothing. Whatever she’d heard about Agrond’s politics had been long forgotten in the intensity of her studies. For the year since her Dedication, the outside world had ceased to exist for her.

“It’s a complicated matter,” Elaasar said slowly. “Terralt is an acknowledged bastard, but Terendal always favored him and so have most of the lords of Agrond. He’s been the High Lord’s right hand for ten years now. Everyone expected him to be named Heir. Randon’s a rogue of sorts, charming enough, but found more often in taverns and brothels or in the saddle than in court. But a few months ago Terendal sent envoys to me, the first delegates to cross our borders in decades. He wanted peace and trade between Agrond and Bregond and offered military support against Sarkond—I’ve long believed that white our patrols watch the Sarkondish borders, the raiders pass through the northwestern portion of Agrond and attack from there—if I’d agree to a marriage between one of my daughters and Randon, whom he’d name as Heir. After long negotiations I agreed.”

Kayli nodded. Her father would have been foolish to do otherwise. There was no greater alliance he could hope for, unless it was with Sarkond itself, and that would never be. Besides the much-needed military support, peace with Agrond would mean the opening of valued trade routes to the east, a great influx of new goods, plus access to the merchant caravans, which would in turn carry Bregond’s goods to new markets. Why, the great trade river itself, the Dezarin, ran through the southeast part of Agrond not far from Tarkesh, the capital.

“While we were negotiating the terms of the marriage,” Elaasar continued, “Terendal fell ill. He continued to fail despite the attentions of his mage, who I’m told is a fair healer. He signed and sealed the final agreement on his very deathbed, his councilors witnessing while he proclaimed Randon Heir. Now Agrond’s in an uproar, factions splitting off. Randon’s got some support, mostly among the guilds—as I said, he’s a charmer—but Terralt’s got a far larger following among the nobility. He’s formally challenging Terendal’s choice of Heir.”

“I rejoice at the good fortune of our country in securing such an alliance,” Kayli said quietly. “But still I do not understand—”

“Why I chose you?” Elaasar sighed. “Your mother and I felt you alone were suitable for such a marriage. Jaenira’s wed and Fidaya promised. Laalen is frail and her lungs labor even in our good dry air. She’d sicken in the wetlands of Agrond, maybe die there. Danine, Melia, and Kirsa aren’t of child-bearing age yet, nor are they old and wise enough for such an important match.”

“Surely Kairi is the best choice,” Kayli murmured, “being water-Dedicated and three years older than myself.”

“Kairi,” Elaasar corrected, “would be wholly unsuitable, as you should know, daughter.”

Kayli stared blankly for a moment until she realized what her father meant. Kairi was an Initiate; she’d already undergone the great and solemn ritual in which a chosen priest had Awakened her body and her gift. Doubtless there had been other lovers since that time, too; the currents of magic and desire ran closely together. More, Kairi would have been long taking the powerful temple potions which inhibited conception; she would not be able to bear the needed heir for some time, if ever. And with the throne of Agrond in dispute, there was little doubt that Randon’s bride must be virgin in order to present Randon with an heir of unquestionable legitimacy.

Kayli closed her eyes. Legally, she had the right to refuse. Her father had formally relinquished her to the temple; he had no legal claim on her now. If she refused, the Order would stand publicly behind her decision. But by placing her own wishes above the welfare of her country, Kayli would betray the precepts at the very foundation of the Orders. Her father was right; there was no other choice. No use to protest. No use to bewail the death of her dreams.

“I will prepare to leave immediately,” Kayli said quietly. “I have few belongings to gather. May I have a little time to take leave of my mentors?”

Elaasar laid his hand over his daughter’s on the table, squeezing her fingers.

“Take what time you need,” he said kindly. “I’ll ride ahead with half the guards and begin the preparations at home. As long as you leave by midday, you should arrive home safely by dark, but wait no longer than that, or delay your departure until tomorrow. The decision to make peace with Agrond is not popular among all our people, and I’d see you safe within walls before dark. With luck, the escort from Agrond will arrive within a sevenday or so.”

A sevenday. So little time to take leave of everything she had ever known. Or perhaps too much time—time enough for regrets.

Kayli stood, bowing formally to her father.

“I will be ready to leave by midday,” she agreed. That was a lie in one sense at least, and they both knew it, but what else was there to say? “I look forward to seeing my family again, if only briefly.” That, at least, was true.

Elaasar gave her a short bow in return, respecting her need for temple formality at this moment. He left quickly, kindly giving Kayli the empty waiting room and the time to compose herself before she must face others. When Kayli opened the door, however, she found Vayavara waiting for her.

“Novices are packing your belongings,” the priestess said impassively. “Come. The High Priestess wishes to speak with you immediately.”

Kayli stifled a sigh. She was still barefoot, dressed only in her plain robe, her skin sticky with sweat and grimed with smoke from the forge, and ashes in her hair. It was hardly respectful to appear before the High Priestess in such a manner. But the High Priestess must know already what had transpired.

Although High Priestess Brisi had personally taken Kayli’s teaching in hand since her Dedication, Kayli had entered her private chambers only twice: once when she was accepted into the temple, and once when the High Priestess had summoned her to announce that she had been selected for Dedication to the Order. Those had been the greatest moments of her life.

Now she was returning to these rooms only to give up all she had gained.

Brisi was waiting,
cai
already poured. The High Priestess smiled when Kayli bowed, then motioned her to sit beside her. Kayli sat, involuntary pride and regret warring in her mind. She’d always sat at Brisi’s feet as a novice.

“I spoke with your father when he arrived,” the High Priestess said without preamble. “It pains me to lose you as a novice of the Order. Your gift is strong, very strong, but more importantly, your determination and your hunger to learn are great. It is rare to find both strengths to such a degree in our novices. You would have risen far within the temple. I had it in my mind to train you as my successor.”

A fierce pain stabbed at Kayli’s heart. High Priestess Brisi was not given to praise of her novices, but the mere fact that she’d personally taken Kayli as a student had been a great honor. Kayli wanted to weep.

“Nonetheless the marriage that your father has arranged is crucial to Bregond,” Brisi said calmly, “and service to our country is the only purpose of this Order and all within it. I have been asked to release you from your vows to the Order.”

Kayli slid the temple ring from the middle finger of her left hand and held it out silently.

Brisi smiled and took Kayli’s hand, folding her fingers back around the ring.

“I have refused,” she said.

Kayli was shocked to inner stillness. Her duty—but if the temple would not release her—she must—but—“Novice Kayli, discipline your thoughts,” Brisi said sternly. “You discredit your teachings.”

Kayli took a deep breath and cleared her mind.

“Forgive me, High Priestess,” she murmured. A slow, cautious hope began to glow in her heart.

“You must leave us,” Brisi said plainly, crushing the frail hope. “You must marry the Heir to Agrond as your father has said. But most of our priests and priestesses leave the temple in time to serve Bregond as mages, and the Order does not release them. Therefore, Novice Kayli, I do not release you. In serving Bregond, you remain in service to the Order. You will continue your studies on your own, and I do not doubt you will be a credit to us as you are to your family and your country.”

Once again, Kayli was shocked to silence. Novices never left the temple for any appreciable length of time unless they renounced their vows or were, as Kayli had expected to be, released from those vows. Even Initiates remained at the temple until their training was complete and they ascended to the rank of priest or priestess.  How could she continue on her own without a teacher? How could she continue at all, un- Awakened?

“Your eyes are scrolls written in a child’s simple words,” Brisi said gently. “Come with me.” She rose and led Kayli to a nearby table, where a large chest lay open.

“Your novice journals have been wrapped for the journey,” Brisi told her. “After your Initiation, as you learned the greater rituals, you would have copied them from your teacher’s grimoire—mine—into a grimoire of your own, as I copied from my mentor before me. My grimoire is in this chest for you to copy as you learn. I trust you to gauge your own progress carefully and not too ambitiously. When you have completed your own training, return my grimoire to me. In the meantime I have the use of the temple originals.”

Such a monumental gesture of trust awed Kayli.

“I pray I will do justice to this honor,” Kayli said softly. “But my Awakening—”

Brisi nodded.

“I am loath to see you Initiated without passing your first firewalk,” she said, “but have no doubt that you would have succeeded. Kayli, do you know why we allow a novice to select the priest or priestess for his or her Awakening, even a new Initiate?”

“No, High Priestess,” Kayli said, confused. Vayavara had told her that the fire magic in her own heart would seek and find the proper priest, but it was rumored among the novices that that was only dogma, that it was the Flame Itself and not the priest, who was merely Its vessel, who Awakened the Initiate. Bowing her head, Kayli repeated what she’d been told.

“Both are right, and neither,” Brisi said gently. “The truth is that it is the Flame within
you
that Awakens you. Close contact with the mage-gift of another Awakens your own, together with the kindling of your sexual energies, as a spark from a fire may light a new flame. This is why all Dedicates to the temple drink the morning tea that calms and suppresses those energies, that they may not be Awakened before they have learned the techniques to harness their magic. High Lady Ianora of Agrond was a mage, and it is likely that her son bears at least a spark of the mage-gift; and by rumor he is at least
a practiced
lover,” Brisi added wryly. “It is likely that he can Awaken you.”

Awakened by a stranger not of her choosing—somehow it seemed worse than marrying that same stranger and taking him to her bed. But even so, to continue her training!

“You know the required preparations for Initiation,” Brisi continued. “I have packed the necessary herbs, potions, and ointments. Your father is sending with you your family’s midwife, Endra, who trained in one of the healing Orders herself, and a Bregondish priest as well, that whatever outlandish wedding ritual Agrond requires, you may also be properly blood-bound. If you begin your purification when you leave for Agrond, you should be ready for Awakening on your wedding night. If your Awakening takes several days, be patient. As Agrond will require an heir promptly, I doubt,” Brisi added wryly, “that your new husband will be less than attentive.”

Kayli bowed her head.

“I will remember what you have told me, High Priestess.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Brisi took two pouches from the chest. “This potion will increase fertility. Drink one sip morning and evening until you conceive, and mind you miss not a single dose, young one!”

“Yes, High Priestess,” Kayli said obediently. She’d begin taking the potion that very night. The sooner she conceived, the fewer demands would be made on her. Perhaps if she conceived quickly, the toad would leave her to her studies until his heir was born. Jaenira had once confided to Kayli that her husband, Lord Alkap, hardly passed a word with her for weeks at a time.

“The potion I give you, as is my duty to our people,” Brisi said quietly. “This I give as teacher to novice. It is a speaking crystal.”

Kayli’s fingers shook as she drew the small, irregular crystal from the pouch. Speaking crystals were rare, created only by the most powerful magic. More man the value of the gift, however, the gesture of faith in her ability warmed Kayli’s heart. Speaking crystals could be used only by those whose gift had been Awakened.

“You will require guidance long before you master fire-scrying, so use the crystal when you need my advice,” Brisi told her. “The ritual is detailed in my grimoire.” Her face softened just a little. “Perhaps you will feel less alone in a strange place.”

Kayli tucked both pouches back into the chest. At last she raised her eyes daringly.

“High Priestess,” she began slowly, “how have you done so much in the short time since my father arrived? Was this somehow known to you before?”

“‘This’?” Brisi said gently. “The Flame has called you to a great destiny, young Kayli. Such a calling, in one form or another, was not unexpected. Do you think that because we live within walls that we close our eyes and ears as well? One does not learn, my student, by barring doors, but by opening them. Now, give me your
thari.”

Kayli obeyed The High Priestess held the dagger up to the lamp, examining blade and hilt minutely. At last she nodded and stepped back to Kayli, holding the hilt of the
thari
in born hands, blade outward. Kayli clasped the blade of the dagger between her palms, her eyes joined with Brisi’s. The blade grew warm, then hot between her palms, but she had held the unquenched steel in her hands when it glowed white-hot from the forge, and she did not wince now.