There must be a reason!
But he could find none. The intact portion of the lattice was perfect. The fault, then, must be Felicia’s.
No! Varzil stormed. I will not believe it!
At his sides, his hands curled unconsciously into fists. The muscles of his back and shoulders tensed as if for combat. His thoughts twisted as if straining at invisible chains.
Zandru curse it all.
His fists slammed down on the table and sent the lattice trembling. Powder sifted through the openwork structure and over his feet. A shard of crystal bit into the heel of one hand. The pain drew him back to himself, to the mental cry that still echoed in the room.
With a series of ragged breaths, Varzil struggled to rein his emotions under control. His mind cleared—
—just in time to sense the faint spark of energy from within the blackened area.
Realization shocked through him. He’d assumed that section of the device utterly destroyed, and to appearances, it was. Something in his agonized outburst woke a lingering resonance there ...
Heart pounding, he circled the table for a closer look. Heat and laran overload had twisted and melted the delicate framework. Blackened bits that had once been glittering crystals stared sullenly back at him. He knew better than to physically touch them. Once again, he sent out a mental probe, this time aimed at the heart of the ruin.
Silence answered him, a muffling of psychic energy so dense and complete, he might as well have tried to communicate with an operating telepathic damper.
Again, Zandru curse you!
Even charcoal would have been more sensitive to his thoughts, Varzil fumed. The very absence of any answering vibration only aroused his suspicions further.
There had been something in that section of the matrix, something whose remains, even warped and broken, still operated to keep it hidden. Only one type of device Varzil knew could produce such an effect. He had seen one before in the bird-thing which had almost claimed Carolin’s life at Blue Lake.
A trap-matrix. But such a device required a single, specific target ...
Could Felicia herself have been the intended victim? Felicia, who had not an enemy in the world?
Who? Why?
Mouth dry, Varzil lowered himself to the nearest bench. He slipped the ring off his finger, clasped it between both hands, and closed his eyes. Clear light pulsed gently from it. Something faint and far-off stirred across the surface of his mind, like birdsong on a frosty spring dawn.
Felicia ...
Varzil, my love ...
He wanted nothing more than to rush toward that voice, no matter where it might lead him.
Are you really there? he asked. Or is it my own heart that answers me?
I cannot tell. Her voice sounded small and forlorn, lost in some unimaginably vast space. I can barely sense you, and the Overworld pulls me more strongly with every passing moment...
“My love, what happened in the circle? How came you to this state, half in one world and half in the other?” Varzil spoke aloud to help focus his thoughts.
I remember... gathering up the circle... I was so excited... to be able to focus Marius’ Gift... She trailed off and for a long moment, Varzil feared he had lost her.
And then? Something went wrong? What?
The next instant, he sat in this room, only in a different position. Around him, he felt the warmth and movement of other people. His own mind linked to those of the circle, weaving their psychic energies into a single flow, like a braided river. Oranna’s mind moved from one person to the next, easing tight muscles, keeping heartbeats regular. Though his eyes were still closed, he knew the matrix glowed with light. It seemed to have a life of its own, amplifying and redirecting the energies which he fed into it.
With this, we can dissipate killing storms or bring rain to the worst forest fires ...
Gladly, he poured the united energies of the circle into the lattice. It sang with power.
More... and faster...
At the very border between mind eneregy and crystal, something flared, only a minute spark. Suddenly, the lattice did not resonate with the energy he fed it.
It pulled. It took.
It demanded.
He tried to resist, to slow the flow of laran power that now threatened to cascade beyond his control. The device should not be beyond the ability of a circle of six to control. Should he call for help? No, he could—he would master it!
The laran streams bucked and fought, swelling to torrential dimensions. Rivulets broke off like frayed threads, snapping and crackling. He held on, held on ...
Pain shrieked through him, not along his physical nerves, but the channels carrying his psychic power. Needles of fire like grappling hooks pierced him, held him. He twisted this way and that, trying to break free.
Horrified, he realized that his struggles only tightened the hold of the thing upon his mind. He threw all his power into a single leap, a single name hurled into the night—
VARSIL!
And then, silence.
Slowly, Varzil got to his feet. He felt sickened by what he had seen and felt, but even more by what he must do now. The trap-matrix had been carefully planned, placed in secret and with great skill. No outsider could have done it. Only someone intimately acquainted with Hestral Tower and Felicia’s own psychic signature could have constructed and triggered such a device. That meant the assailant must be a member of the Tower ... in all probability one of Felicia’s own circle.
“Truthspell?” Loryn repeated, one eyebrow lifting in surprise. “Surely that is an extreme action, when we have no proof there actually was a trap-matrix.”
Loryn had been unable to elicit the same reaction from the fused lattice array, and Felicia’s ring seemed to be attuned to Varzil’s mind alone. It was only Varzil’s word that the lattice had been sabotaged in a way that targeted its Keeper.
My word is not the word of an ordinary man. I, too, am a Keeper.
“Absent that hard proof, we must use what tools we have to discover the truth,” Varzil countered. “If I am wrong, I will most humbly apologize—”
“No, that won’t be necessary—”
“If I am right and we do not do this thing, then you harbor a scorpion in your midst. Once a man has plotted a death, executed it, and survived unpunished, he will kill again. He will find reasons to eliminate those who stand in his way.”
Whether they be kings or commoners... or fellow leronyn.
Loryn ran one hand over the side of his face, drawing the skin taut. Clearly, he did not want to think ill of his own people. The intimacy between a Keeper and his circle was of mind and spirit.
“I am sorry to have brought this crisis to Hestral, which has offered me the hospitality of a second home,” Varzil said gently, “In the short time I have been here, I have come to love you as my own kin. Yet to remain silent, to keep what I know to myself, would be a far greater betrayal of your trust.”
After a long pause, Loryn said, “You have done right. If I hesitate, it is not from any anger at you. If your suspicions prove right, you will have done us a great service. I will convene the entire Tower and question every one of us as you have asked. Truthspell will resolve the matter in a way which will leave no doubt.”
True to his word, Loryn assembled the workers and students of Hestral Tower that very night. He chose an hour when most would normally be awake. All work was suspended, even attending to the relays.
Varzil sat to the side of the room, watching and listening. The murmurs of curiosity and surprise, both spoken aloud and in thought, reminded him of the beating of wings or the fall of rain on a lake surface.
Frightened birds. Disturbed water.
An unspoken signal rippled through the company, leaving silence in its wake. Loryn moved to the front of the room and began to speak. The softness of his voice had the effect of intensifying the attention of every single person in the room.
“We stand here in grief today because of t
he loss of Felicia Leynier. Everyone here knows that two months ago, she was severely injured in her work as Keeper, in what seemed to be an accidental backlash. Recently, however, some evidence has come to light which suggests that this terrible accident might not have been mischance.”
He paused, letting the others absorb his words. Varzil, his senses attuned to the gathering, caught their stray thoughts.
A design fault? A flawed crystal? Did she make some error in judgment?
No one as yet suspected it might have been sabotage. Loryn went on in his calm, reasonable tone, explaining that in order to find a meaningful correlation between isolated details, the community must act in unity. Varzil admired how he brought them together, subtly eliciting their cooperation, without ever implying that the purpose of this investigation was to uncover a traitor in their midst. The innocent among them would think the questioning aimed at uncovering particulars which had no significance in and of themselves but might produce a pattern.
The guilty one ... the guilty would go along, for it was too late to object without the appearance of having something to hide.
“I have asked Varzil, who is tenerézu in his own right and the only one of us not present on that dreadful night, to cast the truthspell. In its light, we may put a rest to this dreadful business.”
Once again, Varzil sensed a ripple of emotion encompass the room, this time a fervent prayer. He unwrapped his starstone and held it aloft, speaking the ritual words which would trigger the spell. “In the light of this jewel, let the truth illuminate this room in which we stand.”
His starstone flared to life and so did the white gem on Felicia’s ring. Moment by moment, the eerie glow of truthspell seeped through the commons until the combined radiance bathed the faces of everyone in the room. Varzil could tell from the characteristic cool warmth on his skin that his own features also reflected that blue-white glow. If anyone knowingly spoke a falsehood, the light would vanish from his face.
One by one, Loryn called forth the members of Felicia’s circle. “Tell me what happened on that night,” he said, leaving it to each person to offer what he remembered.
Varzil listened with half a mind, reserving his concentration for the truthspell and scrutinizing the face of each speaker for the slightest change in the blue glow. There was none, not even when Marius Rockraven, sobbing, hid his face in his hands. Loryn, with the first trace of sharpness, ordered him to drop his hands so that everyone could see his face. Tears blotched the boy’s cheeks, and his stammered words sometimes verged on incoherence, but the light never wavered.
Neither Marius nor any of the circle added anything substantial to what Varzil already knew. The device had been tested in all its parts and had never shown any erratic response. No one had been overtired or unfit. Oranna’s testimony in particular reinforced the care and thoroughness of the preparations. Felicia had gathered the circle with skill. There had been no forewarning of disaster.
The members of the circle described what happened next in different ways, using their own personal imagery. Just as each individual in a working circle presented a psychic presence according to the distinct pattern of his laran, so each experienced mental events differently. One person described a clashing and tearing of metal, another a bolt of searing light. All agreed that Felicia had tried to hold the circle together as long as she could, and that was perhaps why she herself had been injured. The consensus was that without her quick-minded and selfless action, they all might have suffered the same fate. She had died to save them.
When the circle had finished their testimony, Loryn glanced at Varzil, as if to say, There is no villian here, only a heroine and the people who loved her.
Varzil indicated with his glance that the questioning should continue. He dared not, by look or thought, indicate where his own suspicions lay.
Hold the truthspell ... Listen and watch ...
A heartbeat and a breath restored his detachment. The next person to speak had little immediate knowledge of the project, only chance comments overheard at social occasions. One by one, the questioning proceeded, until it was Eduin’s turn.
Eduin stepped forward, positioning himself to face Varzil directly. In the blue-white radiance, his face looked set and grim, far older than his years. He held his shoulders proudly, almost defiantly.
“You all know that I designed and constructed the matrix lattice Felicia used for this project,” he said. “And it is not true that the device was without flaw. At first, in the early stages, it failed to integrate properly.” He went on to describe technical details relating to materials and connections. “Felicia herself discovered that the primary stone was a solitary, and hence incapable of resonating in a coordinated manner with the other components.”
“And the night of the accident?” Loryn asked. “What do you know about that?”
“I know no more than any of you, for I was not present. I had another commitment. I had already discussed this with Felicia, so my absence was not unexpected. I was not needed. She and I had completed all the testing. The lattice seemed to be in every way ready for execution.”
Eduin turned so that the entire company could see his face. “I know of no reason why my device should have failed. If there was some fault which I overlooked, then the responsibility must be mine alone. I stand ready to accept whatever consequences may come. My only regret is that there is nothing in my power to undo what has happened.”
Eduin spoke with such dignity and understated passion, that Varzil himself wondered if he had misjudged the man. Surely, if Eduin were guilty, if he had placed the trap-matrix within the lattice, he would not offer himself for judgment in such a forthright, public manner.
When the final questioning was over, Varzil dissolved the truthspell. The room emptied quickly. He slumped in the nearest chair, his mind too numb to think.
I must surely have been mistaken—I was confused by grief, exhausted by destroying the clingfire. I had not rested properly. How could I perceive things correctly under those circumstances?
Eduin, who had lingered to exchange a few words with Loryn, walked over. “I know this is a difficult time for you. Please believe me when I say that I harbor no ill will against you. We were boyhood companions together at Arilinn. We may not have always been friends, but we are now men and laranzu‘in, capable of setting aside childish disputes. I hope that when the grief has lifted from your heart, we may be again on good terms.”
Varzil thanked Eduin for his good will. “I do not know how much longer I will be at Hestral, but for the sake of my sister, Dyannis, whom we both hold dear, and for the years at Arilinn, I will do my best.”
40
The Midwinter which Varzil spent at Hestral Tower was the most dismal he could remember. Storm followed storm, so that there was little difference between night and day. As the holiday approached, a pall settled over the entire population. Little hints of joy hovered in the shadowed corners, like thieves in the night or children who had crept downstairs after being sent to bed. No one could summon the energy for merrymaking. Outside the walls, the village sparkled with holiday bonfires, song, and the spiced aromas of cakes and mulled ale.
On Festival Night, the people from the village made a little caravan, bringing baked goods and garlands bedecked with red-and-blue ribbons. They sang as they climbed the hill to the Tower, their voices ringing in the still cold air. The night was very clear, the stars a milky sweep across the blackness of the sky.
The company of the Tower had gathered, as usual, in the commons. Loryn bade the villagers enter and welcomed them courteously. They sang a few songs and some of the younger people joined in. Then several got out flutes and drums. Each of the villagers took a partner from the Tower for a simple reel or two. A grandmother with cheeks like ripe apples drew Varzil into the dance and then winked at him with such spirit that he laughed aloud.
After the dancing, Loryn raised his hands and blessed the villagers, wishing them a year of prosperity, their fields a
nd animals fertile, their children healthy, their borders safe.
“A man can’t ask for more than that, vai dom,” one of the village men said, tugging on his forelock as he followed the others from the hall.
After they had gone, a hush fell across the room.
“It is usual at this time to invoke Aldones and Cassilda, Lord of Light and His Lady,” Loryn said. “They, too, suffered loss. Grievous loss. Yet in their story, all men find hope.”
“Aye, that’s so,” one of the older men said to a murmur of agreement.
“Yet I think, in this season, it is not to Light that we must look, but to Darkness. To Avarra, Dark Lady of the Night. To Zandru, master of the hells. Even as our world spins into the deep of winter, when it seems that the warmth and light of the sun will never come again, when life itself is held in abeyance, so are we here, in the winter of the soul. The wolves of chaos roam the countryside. Hope dwindles.
“Hope dwindles, yes, and men pay homage in blood and fear to the powers of the darkness. But hope does not die. All things have their season, and from each season we draw a different kind of strength. Trees send out their deepest roots in the snow, and the sweetest cherries ripen after a hard winter. So, too, with men, for it is these times which harden us, and in these darkest of nights, we face what we most fear and conquer it.
“So at this time, I do not offer you Cassilda’s gift, the fruit of the kireseth. Instead, I bid you look to the winter of your own soul and the spring which will surely follow.”
Stunned past reply, Varzil waited as the other Tower workers filed out, singly and in groups of two or three, to find solace where they could.
“Loryn, whatever possessed you to speak like that? We are all grieving, it is true, but—” he struggled with his own sadness, “—but surely this is a time for fellowship and revelry. Even in the midst of sorrow, we need the rhythm of the celebrations.”
Loryn passed one hand in front of his eyes, as if to clear his vision of some invisible veil. “I—I do not know. I spoke as the words came to me. Perhaps it was Zandru himself who put them in my mouth for the purpose of generating despair.”