Lesson of the Fire (42 page)

Power and powerlessness, beginning and
end.

More than eight years had passed since Sven
had begun his apprenticeship. He stood before the altar with nearly
fifty other first-degree apprentices, most excited to receive their
green cloaks. Heliotosis’ icy breath tugged at their black cloaks
and dragged the heat away from their bodies as the sky spat icy
rain at them, but they endured it without complaint. It was nothing
compared with the years of apprenticeship and grueling tests of
their magical and mental abilities.

Nightfire stood opposite the apprentices on
the other side of the altar, the wizards who lived and taught at
the Academy spread out around him. There were also several
graduates who had returned to attend the ceremony and wizards who
belonged to the families of those assembled for promotion. Their
cloaks were every color of the myst.

The master of the Academy spoke. “Today we
recognize the graduation of forty-eight apprentices to the rank of
wizard. It is a time of endings and of beginnings.

“Long ago, when this temple was new, before
Weard Darflaem discovered magic, the Mar made sacrifices at this
very altar. It began as sacrifices of food — a symbol of the Mar’s
willingness to trust the gods to provide for their needs. By
surrendering more food than they could afford to lose, the Mar
placed their lives in the power of forces beyond their control and
comprehension. If the gods did not answer these prayers, the Mar
would die. As eighth and seventh-degree apprentices not yet worthy
of your first taste of torutsen, you were forced to have faith that
your instructors — who could slay you with a thought — were wise
and merciful, and wished for you to prosper and learn.

“As the Mar grew less dependent on the gods
for their basic needs, the sacrifice of food lost meaning. Live
animal sacrifices replaced food gifts. A Mar could not capture a
deer or rabbit alive unless the gods brought fortune and wisdom to
his hunt. The flesh of the sacrifice was not burned, as before, but
roasted and given freely to a neighboring family. The gods became
providers again, and the Mar tradition of hospitality was born. As
sixth and fifth-degree apprentices, you tended the mundane needs of
the entire Academy, giving generously to your instructors and
fellow apprentices without expecting them to repay you.

“Over time, the Mar forgot the truth behind
the sacrifices they made out of habit. Some priests argued that no
sacrifice without surrender was worthy of remarkable intervention.
They demanded human sacrifices — children, friends, wives, those
dearest to the Mar. A supplicant was made to suffer great emotional
loss to receive an answer to his prayers. Though it was a dark
chapter in Mar history, we can learn something about ourselves from
it. As fourth and third-degree apprentices, the lessons you
received were almost universally harsh — demanding so much of your
time and energy that it was no surprise to see tears on your faces.
You grieved over lost sleep, over surrendered time with friends,
and over the term breaks you sacrificed to long tomes and elaborate
projects.

“By the time the dark period of human
sacrifice ended, Weard Darflaem had received the gift of magic.
Within a few generations, wizards became the rulers of Marrishland
and set about learning the secrets of magic — inventing the
applications that are now standard instruction for apprentices. As
second and first-degree apprentices, you learned those applications
and many more. You observed less experienced apprentices and
brought bad behavior to the attention of your instructors for
disciplinary attention.

“After many centuries, Marrishland’s
magocracy emerged. In it, the Mardux ruled the duxes. The duxes
ruled the magocrats. And the magocrats ruled the mundanes. Wizards
do not seek to bribe mysterious gods with gifts of food. The wizard
seeks to become like the god or goddess he or she serves. As new
wizards, you will shed the trappings of a mundane Mar and swear
your allegiance to your immortal patron.”

Nightfire joined the other observers beyond
the ring of statues. The graduating apprentices removed their boots
and walked to the altar as one body, stripping off their cloaks and
clothes as well. Even though all of them knew the ground had been
purged of Dinah’s Curse, including konig worms, there was some
hesitation as they removed their boots.

When the apprentices reached the altar, they
threw their clothes on it until the pile flowed over the sides and
created a wall of cloth around the table. Naked in freezing air,
the graduates diffused slowly, walking toward the statues of the
gods they were choosing as patrons. Sven let his peers reach the
altar ahead of him and tarried at the center of the clearing,
waiting to see which statue each would choose.

Most migrated to the more commonly declared
patrons — Her, the goddess of the sun; Heliotosis and Swind, the
gods of the north and south winds; Sendala, the goddess of
fertility and the blue moon, and her twin brother and consort,
Niminth, who ruled the green moon and the loins of men; Fraemauna,
the goddess of wisdom and the yellow moon; Cedar, the god of
plants; Seruvus, the god of water and the Oathbinder; and Marrish,
the father of the gods, the Lord of Wind and Fire, the god of magic
and storms. Marrish and Fraemauna were especially favored by those
who intended to continue their educations.

One, however, picked Domin,
the god of death and the dark moon.
Arn’s
father is in charge of cremating those who die in Domus Palus. He
always spoke of learning the trade. He does not fear Domin as much
as most Mar do.

None of the apprentices picked Dinah, but
that was not unusual. Rumor had it that only three new greens had
sworn themselves to the Bald Goddess since Sven’s arrival at the
Academy more than eight years ago. Sven had his suspicions, but it
would have been impolite to ask.

Two merely prostrated themselves near the
center of the clearing, signaling that they were not worthy to
boast the patronage of a god. They would instead swear to follow
the path of one or more of the heroes that lit up the night sky —
whether it was a single star, a constellation, or all the bright
dead in the sky. Those who swore fealty to the stars would never be
allowed to join the priesthood, but they were often favored as
military officers.

When almost all his peers had chosen patrons
for themselves, Sven climbed onto the altar and lay on his back on
the mundane trappings they had left behind. It was a measure of the
severity with which the audience treated the ceremony that no one
speculated aloud about what he intended it to mean. At last, the
rest of the apprentices must have finalized their choices, for
Nightfire spoke. There was no hesitation in his voice.

“Do you swear to live your lives in the
service of your patrons?”

Every apprentice swore to the Oathbinder and
to his patron that he would. In the cacophony, no one could hear
Sven’s oath clearly.

“Seruvus and your patrons have heard your
oaths. Woe to the wizard who breaks his oath or betrays his patron.
Rise, apprentices, and go forth as wizards.”

Sven stood up even as Nightfire and the
other instructors made the rounds with green cloaks and new boots.
Then Nightfire came to Sven, wrapping him in a bright green
cloak.

Sven welcomed the garment. For its warmth.
For its dryness. For its protective weight. For the power it
represented. For the rank it bestowed. He welcomed it, summoned his
magic to return heat to his numb limbs, and joined the procession
of new wizards as it returned to the Academy.

* * *

Sven interrupted his master. “You never
asked why I lay down on the altar, instead of picking one
patron.”

“Seruvus knows why you did it,” Nightfire
began, but the Mardux kept speaking.

“I had a dream, master. I chose the altar
because it was the center of the clearing. I swore my oath to nine
patrons.”

“And you thought nothing of the hubris of
claiming nine gods as your own?”

“I did not claim them, master. They claimed
me. Remember how I began my apprenticeship, recall the events
leading up to Tortz. All of my patrons accepted my oath and took
pains to show me they had accepted it.”

Warning clouded Nightfire’s response. “Omens
are wishes wanting fulfillment. Much wrong has been done by great
men in response to an omen.”

Sven paid no heed. His passion, his belief
rose again. “If any of my patrons had failed to give me a sign, I
might have believed as you do, master. I have Seruvus’s memory, as
you well know, but my patrons withheld my other gifts until I
passed their tests.”

He stared at Nightfire’s blank expression,
and then continued.

“For volunteering myself as payment of
Rustiford’s debt, Marrish granted me great magical power.”

Nightfire gestured dismissively. “Above
average, I would say. You make much of what you have, but you have
those gloves of yours to thank for most of your victories.”

“As a reward for returning to Rustiford as a
teacher, Her granted me the gift of moving speech.”

“You have a certain charisma, especially
among the idealists of your generation, but you did not lack it
before you graduated. Have you forgotten the slaves in the house
you befriended so easily?”

“My courage and generosity at Zerst earned
Niminth’s blessing. They named me war leader the day after I
arrived.”

“You saved the entire town with your magic,”
Nightfire said, his voice more quiet. Sven was not really
listening. “Magocrats have led in war for centuries for the same
reason.”

“Because I sought to aid villages beyond
Zerst, Sendala sent me Erika. Because I defended Bera’s Unwritten
Laws when Brand took me prisoner, Swind granted me miraculous
skills as a teacher. For defending Tortz even though it might mean
my death, Heliotosis granted me the gift of weather that always
favored my cause.”

Nightfire seethed, not even bothering to
refute his arguments, clearly thinking them ridiculous.

“Because I did not use the people of Tortz
as weapons but, rather, championed them, Fraemauna granted me her
gift. She whispers no words of wisdom into the ears of my enemies.
And because I did not abandon Tortz when Brand did, Cedar granted
that my allies should multiply like wild rice.”

“Are you finished?” Nightfire asked
irritably.

“The night before my inquisition at Tortz,
my patrons sent me a new vision. This time, they told me I am the
Guardian. They promised I would unite Marrishland, subdue Dinah and
prove to the world that the Mar are the greatest of all
peoples.”

Sven inhaled deeply.

“This is why I am here, master, and this is
why I need you to swear to serve me and acknowledge that I am the
hand of the gods.”

Nightfire stood and walked around his desk,
stopping not a head’s width from the Mardux. His voice was as quiet
as Swind’s whisper, and he sounded like an old man for the first
time since Sven had known him. “I will not take that oath, Sven
Takraf. It is not the place of the arbiter to swear fealty to
anyone.”

Sven’s face registered his surprise, but it
vanished as quickly as it showed. His posture changed, becoming
less regal and more sinister. The light slid across his face,
darkening his good eye.

“Then the arbiter must be removed.”

Nightfire pushed down Sven’s shaking
arms.

“Whether you swore an oath to the mundanes
or to nine divine patrons, killing me now serves no purpose. I am
no threat to you so long as you can command the power of the
Council to change the Law whenever and however you wish.”

Sven opened his mouth, but Nightfire’s stern
gaze forced it closed again. He went on.

“The Mass approaches Domus Palus, and Weard
Wost marches against the Protectorates. If you are the Guardian,
then your patrons will see you and your people through these dark
times. If you are deluded, the knowledge I live to protect will be
preserved, and there may yet be hope that the Mar will escape a
dark age. If you kill me, and it turns out that you misread your
omens, Mar civilization will be at an end. All Marrishland will
burn because of you. Are you so certain of your vision that you
would rather kill every Mar in Marrishland than consider a
contingency plan to save your people in case you are terribly
wrong?”

There was a very long pause as Sven
considered this, weighing Nightfire with his one good eye.
Nightfire stepped back, blocking the light entirely from his
student’s face.

At last, Sven stripped off the gloves and
stuffed them in his utility vest. “I spare you, Nightfire, because
even now, I can still learn from you.”

“I have some soup.”

The Mardux shook his head. “Not today,
master. I must ready the Mar to repel the Mass.” He gathered the
myst and vanished into the Tempest.

Nightfire sat down, hands shaking. Within
the hour, he rose to give orders to transport the library to Wasfal
Palus, where the Academy would wait in exile until this war was
over.

Chapter 35

“
It is very difficult to avoid
master-servant relationships even in the most egalitarian
organization. Leaders rely upon their apparent superiority to
maintain authority over their followers. Without leadership,
civilization dies. However, a leader who forgets he is not superior
to his followers becomes a threat to civilization, instead. These
are the tyrants.”

— Weard Hakan Ebutor,

Power Structures

Erika watched her daughter read the magical
primer her husband had written during his early years as a teacher
at Nightfire’s Academy. The green-eyed girl spoke each word as she
read just as her father did.

Does she have Seruvus’ memory, as well?