Bene opened his eyes. He was aware he was drenched with sweat. He stared over at the boy cuddling Bethel, knowing as he did a moment of deepest foreboding and he even lifted a thin hand in warning. Then he let his arm drop as a precognitive shiver shook him. As he tried to order his thoughts, both he and the boy were distracted by noise at the front of the house. Bene rose. He signalled to the boy that he was to stay where he was.
The old man went outside to greet the group of men who stood waiting. He saw they carried Alfar. He fell back so the men could carry the body into the house, and as they did, Bene went back to Sarehl, crossed to him and knelt there with a protective arm about the boy. He saw bewilderment in the young, black eyes before Sarehl bent his head over Bethel.
~~~
Melas found carrying her fifth child easy because Bene ensured it was. The birth, however, wasn't. In the last three seasons Bene became a shadow about the house. Always there, he helped Sarehl as the boy struggled to care for the twins who were two cycles and Bethel who was a cycle. Sarehl was only ten cycles old himself, yet there was never a complaint from him over all that time.
The boy grew into the image of his father, Bene noticed, the only sign he was Melas' son being the mop of black curls. Sarehl was quiet, reflective and mature for his age, successful at school, and had only lately been accepted for training at the Antiquities Centre. Bene saw pride of acceptance in the boy's slow and gentle smile.
Bene was seldom seen in the market these days, or on the common or in taprooms. He rarely went to the Centre either unless it was to collect Sarehl. The boy tore out to him, words tumbling from him in excitement as Bene indulgently listened, the small hand tucked into his as he and the boy walked along the avenue.
However, when Bene was seen by fellow scholars, he didn't smile and wouldn't answer questions or allow himself to be drawn into discussions as he once did. His associates found him remote and unusually grim. His violet eyes were distant and his frame noticeably more gaunt and certainly frailer, the curly white hair and beard longer and looking more unruly than ever. The haunted expression on Bene's face increased with every day of Melas' confinement. He seldom left her alone.
When the birth was due, Bene gave Melas everything he had to ease the intense physical pain that was caused by the child's refusal to come. Bene communed almost constantly for two and a half seasons with the child's essence as she lay in the womb. Though Bene ensured the girl knew nothing of her paternity, or the violence of rape, she had an innate sense her conception was ungentle, her fear of it something the mage worked hard to soothe. Even though Bene assured her of full acceptance when she was born, still the girl was reluctant and hesitated. Bene kept gently encouraging her, until, with thoughtful pauses on the way, she did come, in the middle of the night, into Bene's hands held out in waiting. Tired and confused, she curled up on Melas' chest, her mouth tentatively suckling, the distinctive mark on her arm very faint.
A short time later Bene cast himself down at the foot of the bed. As he watched mother and child with eyes hazy with exhaustion, he noticed the child was now quietly asleep. Smiling contentedly, Melas opened her eyes.
"Alfar always wanted a daughter," she whispered. "He had a name for her." Bene didn't speak aloud, he just kept looking at the child.
"Myme Chlo," he mouthed, so quietly Melas barely heard him.
"Yes," she said, deeply surprised. "How did you know?"
"He told me once," lied Bene, omitting the child had told him her name months before. "I'll fetch Sarehl. The lad'll want to be with you."
Had anyone taken the time to look at Bene they'd have noticed how transparent he was. His work with Myme Chlo had drained him to such an extent, he felt he might never fully recover. He climbed wearily off the bed and going to the head of it, bent to kiss Melas on the hair, then stooped a little lower to touch the girl's cheek. He got no response. That made him smile. He turned, leaving to find Sarehl. With a gentle hand and an affectionate pat to the boy's head, Bene guided Sarehl to his mother's room.
~~~
A season after Myme Chlo's birth, Bene told Melas he needed to spend some time in solitude and contemplation, an urge, he assured her, that was usual for scholars from time to time. He reinforced in both her mind, and in Sarehl's, that all would be well. At dawn, Bene left Ortok. Melas tugged at his beard so Bene had to bend his head. She kissed him, as would a daughter a beloved father. Sarehl clung to him and had to be gently pulled back and hugged by his mother as the old man began a slow walk down the path.
As he wandered idly down towards the canals, Bene tried, yet again, to force his mind to relax. Its fiercesome driving of him over the preceding months had left him empty and not a little frightened, nor could he stop thinking of this girl-child who was a quixotic wisp; she could blow either one way in life or another. She was born of both light and dark, with talents that were awesome and terrifying. Even as he'd struggled to mould her, Bene had no way of knowing whether she'd bring grief or happiness, child of the dark that she was.
Bene shivered as he approached the canal. Watching the water flow sluggishly, he squatted down next to a bollard, his mind once more a battleground of guilt and remorse. He'd seen into the future once. He didn't feel he could accept that challenge again and retain his sanity.
He kept repeating in a whisper, "Action and reaction".
He felt a tug at his mind and irritably brushed it aside. He felt it again and hunched himself. Words finally penetrated his tired, turbulent mind.
"You're ill," said the voice, deep and concerned. "It's time for you to come home." Bene lifted his head.
"Dramas," he stated flatly. He heard the ghost of a laugh in his mind but didn't respond.
"I've been sent for you." Bene sent back a sharp negative that was ignored. "One's coming to replace you to watch the child. You can do no more here." Bene tried to argue but the voice was persistent and persuasive. Bene had no energy to dispute with anyone.
"Does he know what has to be done?" he asked querulously. "I'll need to speak to him."
"No need," came the amused voice. "He's already been instructed. Come now, Archmage."
As negatives and refusals jostled in the mage's mind, Dramas gently cut through them all, and, as he'd been told to do, he closed down Bene's mind. Dramas ordered the old man to rise and walk to the common. Bene automatically climbed to dragon back, very quickly because Dramas only descended and hovered low enough for Bene to obey without much effort. It was a measure of the mage's exhaustion that he didn't quibble or speak irascibly.
The mind block was only lifted as the dragon rose rapidly in the air. When Dramas settled on the ground on Yarilo and Bene dismounted, the dragon met the mage's eyes apologetically.
"I'll talk with you again, my friend, about mind blocks," Bene said severely, his eyes wandering beyond the dragon to the peaceful setting.
"I'm responsible for you," Dramas growled softly, his eyes changing colour. "You need rest."
"I'm tired," acknowledged Bene, ruefully looking back at his dragon. What he read in the huge orbs made him feel small and humble. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned away.
"You'll soon be yourself," rumbled Dramas reassuringly. Bene raised a hand in response but kept walking, his head down.
CHAPTER NINE
It was a restful landscape that met the eyes of any traveller or guest to Yarilo. The mages' hall was a vast jumble of buildings. Once you adjusted to how they rambled they had more uniformity than may at first be believed. On the first visit though, it was easy to get lost in the sprawling corridors that seemed to sweep both above and below ground, for endless distances. The grounds of the hall were vast, stretching well beyond normal sight.
The hall was a mass of differing styles and materials. Its charm lay in its bewildering variety of sandstone, bricks of red and brown, silverstone and greystone. The hall was multi-storied and festooned with ornamentation and towers decorated with balconies and delicate lacework. It was more a palace
than a hall, but the mages preferred to think of it as a hall of learning.
There were huge rooms for assembling all the levels of mages, as well as the many initiates. The main assembly room was decorated with silverstone columns over thirty feet high, these fluted with moulded bases and with intricately moulded capitals. The capitals were crowned with huge dragon heads carved from eglan. They were very life-like. Often a mage felt he was being watched.
Other numerous rooms were private apartments and suites, not to mention halls for different functions and rooms for utility purposes. There were many gardens, some of them private; there were galleries, terraces and open courts. There was an especially imposing, tall tower on the south side that commanded the approach to the central great cobbled court of the hall. It was there the Archmage dwelled when he was in residence.
There was an external staircase to the hall too. It was both very wide and long, with shallow steps and silverstone reliefs along each side, these carved with a regular pattern of rosettes, the forms of people and almost indistinguishable creatures. It was similar to the stonework, inlaid with gems that graced the great gathering room.
As mages walked the paths, they could look up at the hall and see an embellishment at regular intervals, each ornament brightly painted, and, as in the assembly room, the eyes of each ornament followed the walker from corner to corner. Edging these paths were narrow gardens carefully tended by the initiates and planted with flowers and herbs indigenous to Yarilo. Stretching away from them were more ordered beds interspersed with lawns and hedges and, in turn, these rolled away to distant groves of enormous and ancient laken trees. Beside these even the lakes and small river faded into insignificance. Near the steps leading up to the hall, were miniature waterfalls that tumbled into flowered ponds.
~~~
The hall and environs didn't seem unduly crowded. Most of those in evidence wore initiate green and brown robes, or lower level mage yellow and russet. There were no senior mages visible. This was because senior mages often invested themselves in invisibility, simply to be private. Bene, for one, found it preferable to wander unseen, claiming it helped him to think. On this day, after Dramas brought him home from Ortok, Bene needed peace and quiet to do exactly that.
The only problem with invisibility and preoccupation, though, was the inevitable collision with another mage who did the same thing. Deep in thought, his mind exhausted, Bene did bump into someone else in what had appeared to be an empty gallery. There were suddenly muffled mutters. Two men stood next to each other. One looked rueful, the other pained. Bene stared keenly at the other mage, then spoke to him with a definite note of affection in his voice.
"Autoc, where are you going?"
Autoc, like Bene, was tall, but he topped even the Archmage. Where Bene was frail, Autoc was gaunt and loose-limbed, with a shock of tawny hair that tumbled about his shoulders and a full coppery-gold beard. His eyes were startlingly bright, electric blue. When Autoc smiled his eyes danced.
"In the opposite direction from you, Master," he responded, straightening his gown. He looked hard at Bene. "When did you get back? I didn't hear Dramas arrive."
"It was early, Autoc, very early." Bene rubbed an elbow, adding, "I seem to have been gone a very long time." He was aware of Autoc's scrutiny and muttered testily, "What is it?"
"You've been gone only a short time in Yarilan terms, Master, but you look very much the worse for wear. What've you been doing?" Bene didn't answer. He rubbed his elbow.
"You're a rough fellow," he said, changing the conversation. Autoc took the hint, laughed and turning Bene round, linked arms with him.
"You're as tough as they come, Old One. Come now. Let's walk together - while we can," he added as an afterthought.
Bene looked across at him, saying enquiringly, "Oh?" Autoc smiled gently back at him.
"I'm leaving this evening, Master - for Ambros."
"For Ambros," repeated Bene softly. He stared deeply into the very blue eyes. Autoc held up a hand.
"Don't try to read me, Bene," he warned sweetly. "I'll throw you out, as you taught me to do." Bene started to laugh and shook Autoc's arm.
"No, will you indeed, you young cub?" Autoc began to chuckle. He walked in amicable silence until Bene broke it, asking quietly, "How long will you be gone?" Autoc shrugged expressively, his glance at Bene speculative. "You know more than you say, don't you?" Autoc's chuckle deepened.
"As you say, Master." Bene flicked at a piece of dust on his robe and gave an impatient sigh.
After a long pause, he said, "I'd go with you." Autoc's eyes lit up.
"I know you would, Bene, if you could, but you can't. Amril will take only me and he tells me he's to return to Ice Isle immediately afterwards."
"He tells you so?" Bene stood still, deliberating. "Have you been spoken or telethed?"
"Both, Master," was the quiet reply. Bene hissed.
"Where do you go on Ambros?" Autoc put slight pressure on Bene's arm to get him moving again.
"You know better than to ask me that," he responded gently. He noticed as he spoke how bent Bene's shoulders were and how drained the old man looked. Autoc could tell the Archmage suffered severe emotional stress. He added courteously. "I can't discuss this with anyone."
Bene nodded acquiescence and kept walking. Autoc led the way. Bene followed unresisting.
Then the Archmage paused, looked about him and said in a tired voice, "Why don't we go down by the lake? I've need of air and water."
Autoc obligingly changed direction. The two men reversed around the corner to stop at what seemed an impassable wall. Lifting up the creeper growing inside the corridor, Autoc gave a slight push, and as he did so, part of the wall moved. Once the men passed through, the wall resettled itself, and the creeper slipped back. Autoc and Bene found themselves on a narrow, high-walled path with no gate anywhere.
"Damn!" said Bene, standing still, his brow furrowed. "We're in the maze, aren't we, Autoc?" Autoc nodded, amused. Bene trod purposefully forward for a few paces then paused, turning back to Autoc. "Have I got this wrong?" he enquired.
"Keep going," advised Autoc, laughing at him. "I'll follow."
The two men kept moving one behind the other, turning corners and sometimes backtracking. Eventually, Bene strode forward and shot out of the maze to find himself beside a small lake. He gave a deep sigh. The lake was ringed with black and white selks, their young piping and peeping as they trailed behind the adults, ripples disturbing the surface of the lake.
"Charming time of the cycle," commented Autoc, coming to join Bene who sat on the stone edge.
Bene nodded absently. Neither man spoke for quite a while because Autoc respected the older man's desire for quiet. When Bene spoke, Autoc heard strain and tension in the deep voice.
"We lost too many in the last struggle. It was the end of the Second Age. You weren't on Yarilo then, were you?" Autoc shook his head. "I was very much younger. It's a long time ago, yet suddenly it seems as if it's real now."
Autoc saw moisture in the violet eyes, and, putting out his hand, he grasped the Archmage's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His voice was quiet and serious.
"Yarilo had no choice but to do what was done. You taught me that, Master. The Unseen don't give us choices where Ambros is concerned." He felt Bene's shoulder stiffen under his hand. There was a tinge of sadness to Autoc's voice as he added, "It's part of being a mage, isn't it?"
"Bah!" snarled Bene, but he didn't shake off the hand on his shoulder. Autoc looked pensively at the lined face and at the sorrow he saw briefly touch the Archmage's unusual eyes.
"You're badly out of sorts, Master. Is something worrying you?" Taking his hand away, Autoc thought for a moment. "On Ambros?" he added softly. Bene's head bent lower.
"Nothing, Autoc, nothing," he murmured. "Just an abiding sense of foreboding and weariness." He stared meditatively at Autoc. "How old are you now, Autoc?" Autoc looked quite surprised, then he gave his youthful and disarming grin
.
"A mere pup beside you, Master. I'm not even two hundred Ambros cycles. Not half," he teased, "your venerable age."
"Fledgling!" retorted Bene. He smiled reluctantly and gripped Autoc's hand. "You too may feel irritable when you're as old as I am." Autoc got to his feet. He didn't feel nearly two hundred cycles old, but he knew he was.
He said quietly, "No doubt, Venerable One. Shall we go for a meander? I think we have time."
Bene rose, with yet another deep sigh, stooped to stroke a blue selking that snapped at his fingers, then began a slow, contemplative amble through the grass. His robes swished as he walked.
"How do you feel about the balance, young one?" he asked unexpectedly, coming to a standstill and looking full into Autoc's startling eyes.
This time Autoc met the violet gaze unflinchingly, but with a considerable amount of awe. As he did, he realised again that he was indeed only a fledgling mage; it made him feel very humble, senior mage though he was on Yarilo. He may have been a master, but he knew he still had much to learn. He broke eye contact and smoothed the sleeve of his robe.
"We're taught it's a solution that ensures Ambrosian stability and progress," was his non-committal reply.
"And how is it satisfactory?" Bene had started walking again so didn't see the disturbed and thoughtful look Autoc gave him. Bene paused to snuffle at a bloom before moving again. He waited courteously for a reply.
"The power's linked and the balance currently maintained. Isn't that the objective, Venerable One?"
"What if the equilibrium moves?" Bene plucked a flower and held it to his nose. "Or the link is inadvertently broken?"