Eolyn (19 page)

C
hapter Twenty-Three

Eolyn could not contain
her joy at the turn of events. At last, she would visit Achim’s home! And she did not have to give up her place in the Circle to do so.

Her excitement did not diminish her sensitivity to the mood of her companions, all of whom perceived the King’s City as a dark cloud on their collective horizon.

Mage Corey, in particular, had never been so distracted. His vexation broke to the surface constantly. He had grown cross and impatient. He even retreated from his incessant vigilance of Eolyn.

Though she appreciated the unexpected freedom, the maga soon discovered she missed Corey’s company. One afternoon, feeling the landscape somehow incomplete without him, Eolyn sought out the mage and invited him to join her walk.

Corey hesitated. For a moment, Eolyn thought he would refuse. But then he grinned and threw a cloak around his shoulders. “It’s not every day you step forward with an invitation, Sarah.”

Spring had advanced into early summer, with warm southern winds pushing back the cold breath of the north. Cultivated fields adorned the fertile hills in sunlit shades of green. Apple and cherry trees shed their fragrant blossoms to begin the slow swelling of flowers into fruits. Songbirds worked tirelessly at feeding their nestlings, and dragonflies buzzed low over sparkling streams.

“You must be pleased we are visiting the City of Moisehén,” Mage Corey said. “Perhaps you will find your friend.”

“I have many friends now, Mage Corey. The finding of this one does not carry as much weight as before.” Eolyn spoke truthfully. She had put off her departure for weeks now, not because she feared traveling alone, but because she did not want to say goodbye. For all its mysteries and deceptions, the Circle had become her home. “But yes, I am pleased. Even if I don’t find him, at least I will know the home of his youth.”

“Is he a mage, this acquaintance of yours?”

“He had just finished his studies of Middle Magic when we last saw each other.”

“Did he plan to continue under Tzeremond?”

“I don’t know.” Eolyn hedged on the truth. She knew where Corey’s questions were leading. Only a small number of students completed their training in High Magic under Tzeremond. If Achim was ever anointed High Mage, Corey almost certainly knew him.

“The study of High Magic under that wizard changes a man,” Corey said. “He will not be the boy you once knew. You must be very careful, Sarah. Do not be too quick to trust him.”

The frankness of his tone disturbed her. “We were close as children. I have faith he remembers our friendship well.”

“If he mastered magic as taught by Tzeremond, he will find the seam of your ward and unravel it for all to see.”

Eolyn’s words caught in her throat. For several moments, the only sound was the rhythm of their feet against gravel.

“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” she managed to say.

“Sarah.” Mage Corey placed a hand on her arm, forcing her to stop and look at him. “In a matter of days we will enter the citadel of military and magical power in this kingdom. Every member of the Circle understands the dangers of that place except for you, and I understand the unique risk that will accrue to each person who follows me,
except for you
. That you have some ability is obvious, but it has been impossible for me to assess the extent of your gifts. I would much rather leave you behind, for I do not tolerate unknown risks. Yet Thelyn has inventoried all of our members. During his visit, he wrote each face upon his memory. So the face that does not arrive with us in the City will be the first one he looks for when the new purges begin. I will not abandon you to that fate, but I must know who it is I have taken under my wing before we enter that place.”

Eolyn searched Corey’s expression, the fine lines of his face. Though she sensed sincerity, she did not dare trust him. “I am Sarah of South Moehn, just as I told you. I know a few tricks that my grandmother taught me, and nothing more.”

Corey’s features hardened, but then something broke behind his expression. What Eolyn saw in that moment caught her off guard: sadness, coupled with the realization of what it might mean to him to lose her. Unsettled, she averted her gaze.

Mage Corey touched her chin and brought her eyes back to his. “The problem is this, dear Sarah: Just the sight of you inspires images of the Magas of Old.”

“They cannot burn me for my appearance.”

“You do not know what they can do. They will stop at nothing in their quest to extinguish all memory of that noble and ancient line of witches.” He released her and turned away.

Confused by the mix of signals that just passed between them, Eolyn let him to retreat into pensive silence.

The sun lay low on the western horizon, casting an auburn glow over trees and fields. A cool breeze penetrated her summer cloak, making her shiver.

Mage Corey extended his arm and bade Eolyn to come to his side. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pointed to the crystalline surface of a nearby stream. “Do you see how the dragonflies move across the water? The pair of them there, locked together in flight?”

“Yes, Mage Corey.”

“That is how we will be in the City of Moisehén. You are not to leave my side during the time we are there. You will not perform with the rest of the dancers in the Ceremony of Primitive Magic, and you will stand with me, in representation of Aithne, during the Fire Ceremony. As for all other events, public and private, you will accompany me unless otherwise instructed. I will not take you to the city unless you give me your word on this.”

Eolyn’s anger at this ridiculous proposition was tempered only by the nascent realization that perhaps Mage Corey truly desired to protect her. Still, she would have thrown these terms in his face and marched off on her own, had not a clear advantage of his plan occurred to her.

Achim,
she thought.
Mage Corey can lead me to Achim.

“Very well,” she said. “It will be as you wish.”

The caravan departed Selen and snaked its way westward through verdant hills. Woodland birds followed their progress, darting with eager chirps between scattered trees and groves. Sporadic, lazy showers drifted over the landscape, leaving in their wake a golden light that illuminated the wet earth with crystal colors of Dragon. At nightfall, the company made camp beside clear brooks, and the musicians brought out their instruments to complement the subtle sounds of twilight.

Mage Corey paced their travel so that on the morning of the seventh day, they crossed the final ridge of Selen and began their descent toward the low undulating plains of the ruling province of Moisehén. From a distance, the city and fortress of Vortingen shone like a polished stone over grazed and cultivated fields.

As the caravan drew near, the city grew into slated rooftops and stone spires. The castle occupied a ridge above, its fortifications built upon sharp cliffs that descended from the flat summit. Only the northern face of the mountain remained free of construction.

Eolyn suspected this was the sacred site Ghemena had told her about, the Stone Foundation where Dragon had crowned the warrior chief Vortingen and charged all his descendants with the protection of Moisehén. She asked Mage Corey if her excursions with him would include a visit to the Foundation. He found that very amusing, the thought of a woman setting foot in such a sacred place.

When at last they arrived at the city wall, High Mage Thelyn rode out to meet them accompanied by Renate, who no longer exhibited the frightened pallor that had consumed her in Selen. The Council Member escorted them to a campsite set aside for the Circle, complete with its own water well and recently supplied firewood. Located just outside the main gates, the site provided ready access to the city, as well as easy vigilance of the Circle for anyone who might care to watch from the high ramparts.

Soon after the Circle set up camp, Renate met with the women in their tent. Savoring the stiff, peppery tea Rishona had prepared for the occasion, Eolyn listened enraptured as Renate told them elaborate stories of her stay in the King’s City. The mistress spoke at length about the complicated preparations for the festival of Bel-Aethne, describing with some pride the many debates that went into resurrecting the different stages of the festival.

“It has been a difficult task, but we managed to organize almost everything in keeping with the most important customs of old.” A faint smile touched the corner of her lips. “The Fire Ceremony of the Middle Mages inspired the most discussion. I could hardly envision it without direct representation of Aithne, and even Tzeremond acknowledges she had some role in bringing the sacred flame to our people. In the end, we decided to use nine women dancers, each paired with one of the Middle Mages. Several of you will participate.”

“We are going to invoke the sacred fire?” Milena’s hazel eyes went wide.

“No, Milena. You hardly have the skill to do such a thing. You will dance. Then you will stand next to the mages when the sacred fire is invoked, just as Aithne stood next to Caradoc in support of all his endeavors.”

“But Aithne didn’t just stand there,” Eolyn interjected.

Everyone’s attention turned to her. She faltered under the sudden scrutiny.

“What I mean is, all the legends concur,” she said. “Aithne and Caradoc created the sacred fire through their act of perfect union. It was the magic of both—not one or the other—that brought light and warmth to our people.”

Adiana’s pale brow lifted in amusement. “So you want an act of perfect union during the Fire Ceremony? Tahmir will be rather upset. I’ve heard you’re to dance with Corey!”

A hot flush rose to Eolyn’s cheeks.

“Adiana.” Renate’s admonishment fell ineffective against the women’s laughter. The mistress turned on Eolyn with a severe expression. “Sarah, you would do well not to voice your unusual interpretation of Bel-Aethne in this place. The wizard’s spies are out in force, as I am certain Mage Corey has informed you.”

“Well if there’s to be no perfect union during the fire dance, how about during the High Ceremony?” Adiana said. “I’ve heard that in the old days, the Third Night of Bel-Aethne was a riot of sensual indulgence.”

“For the love of the Gods, Adiana,” Renate said, “where do you find your stories? In the great tradition of the Old Orders, the third night of Bel-Aethne was the climax of an elegant ceremonial cycle…”

“There, you see?” Adiana’s blue eyes flared in triumph. “The
climax
.”

Renate raised her voice over everyone’s renewed laughter. “And we will repeat this cycle just as the Old Orders did. We will begin with the rites of Primitive Magic on the first day and proceed to the Fire Ceremony of the Middle Mages on the second day. On the third day at midnight, the Celebration of High Magic will be completed with the union of two partners in the white light of passion—”

“
Two
?” Eolyn’s indignation was lost among the cheers and applause led by Adiana.

“An act that invokes High Magic because it transcends time,” Renate insisted, her shoulders as stiff as her voice, “yet remains Primitive because it is accessible to all regardless of training. The King will stand in representation of Caradoc, and the High Mages will choose his Aithne.”

“Oh.” Adiana’s playful grin fell into exaggerated disappointment “Well
that
sounds rather boring, unless…” An easy smile spread through her rosy lips. “Unless one of
us
gets to be Aithne. They say he’s handsome, you know. The most powerful mage and king to ever walk these lands.”

“Does that mean he can go all night?” one of the women quipped.

“Sounds like a perfect union to me!” another replied.

“How do you think we might get on that list, Renate?” Adiana asked.

“I doubt you’d qualify,” Milena interjected. “Tzeremond’s mages will pick a virgin for sure.”

Adiana shrugged. “Well, it’ll be his loss then. No virgin of Moisehén can entertain him as well as I can.”

“I can’t believe you are discussing this as if it were some kind of jest!” Eolyn’s anger cut harshly through their banter. “The third night of Bel-Aethne should commemorate one of the greatest mysteries of our faith! In the old days, every man had the opportunity to become Caradoc, and every woman Aithne, and the fire of their love was renewed a thousand times over to illuminate this land. But Tzeremond…” She thrust her finger in the direction of the castle. “Tzeremond would have all of this erased from our memory! Now only one bed will be illuminated, and poorly at that. The Gods will not be pleased.”

Eolyn’s outburst ended in surprised silence. Even Adiana, who never lacked for a clever retort, only opened her mouth and then shut it again.

“In the traditional rites of Bel-Aethne,” Eolyn continued, “the magic of our mages and magas was turned over to our people. Everyone was allowed to taste the passion that bound Aithne and Caradoc. Everyone felt the joy of magic running through their veins. But Tzeremond and his mages do not want us to remember this. They will not tolerate a living reminder of Aithne’s power. This is why they deny the sacrament to all but the Mage King. They seek to transform one of our greatest traditions into nothing more than a ritual seduction, at best. Quite frankly, it’s disgusting.”