The Law of Isolation (27 page)

He tried to make his voice cheerful. “I’ll only be gone a few months. Two, perhaps three to make the crossing, and the same to return. When I come back, I’ll have wizards with me. I’ll make sure you get the chance to meet them.”

His effort was successful; Kevessa brightened. “I’d like that, Father.” She tilted her head. “Do you believe their powers are real, now? Not trickery or manipulation of natural forces?”

“I won’t know until I see for myself and can make a full investigation. Natural forces—yes, I’m still sure of that. But I don’t know whether or not they’re the same forces I’ve been experimenting with. Or if others can learn to manipulate them the way the wizards do.”

“I hope so, Father. I do hope so.” Longing shaded her voice, stronger than any emotion he’d ever heard her express.

“What, do you fancy yourself learning to do magic?” Gevan laughed. “I’d think that would interfere with your dancing and balls and socializing. I can’t see the young men of Ramunna being impressed by a girl who could dump them on their backsides with a wave of her hand.” He chuckled at the image.

He’d hurt her, though. He read it in the way she turned her head away, though her voice was only slightly reproachful. “I do care about other things, Father.”

“Of course you do.” He tried to find something to say that would restore their easy companionability, but his imagination failed him. She kept her gaze focused on the scenery of the city passing by and remained silent. He subsided into silence as well. The uncomfortable quiet reigned until the carriage pulled up before Alitta’s home. When he stepped down and extended his arm to escort her inside, she remained stiff and formal, speaking to him in the briefest phrases politeness allowed.

He was glad to accept Alitta’s offer of the carriage to take him back to the University. It deposited him outside the building that contained his residence. It was dark and quiet; the other professors had long since retired for the night. The rowdy dormitories where students lived were located on the far side of the complex of buildings.

He climbed the stairs and made his way through gloomy corridors where the lamps had already been extinguished. At his door he dug in his belt pouch for his key, squinting to find the keyhole by the faint moonlight from the window at the end of the hall.

“Gevan Navorre.” The voice was quiet, but Gevan jumped and spun around. A figure in dark hooded robes stepped from the shadows by his door. “May I have a word with you?”

“Who are you?” Gevan choked out, his heart pounding. The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He was sure it didn’t belong to any of the other professors. But if the man were a criminal bent on robbing him, surely he wouldn’t address him that way. Or might he, to throw his victim off guard and gain entrance to his residence?

“Someone who could be your friend. Or your enemy. A valuable friend, or a dangerous enemy. Let me come in, and we can discuss which it will be.”

Gevan backed away and drew a deep breath to call for help. But before he could make a sound, arms wrapped around him from behind. A cold thin line pressed against his throat.

“Cooperate with me and my friend won’t harm you. Unlock your door and let us in.”

Gevan’s pulse rushed so loud in his ears he could barely hear the hooded man’s words. He fumbled his key with numb fingers, but finally managed to turn it in the lock. The door swung open. The man holding him shoved him forward, and the hooded man followed them in, swinging the door shut behind.

The hooded man went to the table where Gevan kept a lamp. A spark leaped to life in his hands. He adjusted the wick until it produced a steady golden flame and tucked the flint away among his robes. He gestured to his accomplice, who shoved Gevan into a chair and stood behind him, shifting his knife so its point rested against the nape of Gevan’s neck. The hooded man seated himself in another chair and pushed his hood back.

“I know you.” Gevan breathed deep to clear his head of the terror that threatened to reduce him to a quivering wreck. “You’re Yoran Lirolla, leader of the Purifiers.”

“My reputation precedes me.” Yoran smiled, pleasant and relaxed.

“What do you want with me?” Gevan thought of the last time he’d seen the Purifier, railing against him and the window-glass during his audience with the Matriarch. “It won’t do you any good to kill me. Others know what I’ve discovered; I’ve kept nothing secret.”

Yoran waved his hand. “Whatever objections I had to your work have faded to insignificance with the events of the past few days. The arrival of the strangers has changed everything. So much so, that I find myself considering alliances with those I formerly considered foes. A common enemy can do a great deal to unite those who, despite their differences, share certain concerns.”

“What concerns could we possibly share?” Gevan would have laughed if he hadn’t been so terrified. “I oppose everything you Purifiers stand for.”

“We both want what’s best for the people of Ramunna.” Yoran held up a hand to quell Gevan’s incredulous snort. “The Mother has entrusted me with the task of returning her true worship to this land so that she may pour out her blessings on it. I care for nothing but bringing that to pass. And as hard as you may find it to accept, I believe you also care for this realm. Enough to want to avert the disaster that will surely follow if the Matriarch’s plan succeeds.”

“The only disaster threatening Ramunna is the prospect of falling under the Purifiers’ control.”

“Please, Gevan, let’s set our religious differences aside long enough to see the bigger picture. I know the Matriarch has chosen you to sail to the strangers’ homeland and by persuasion or force bring a wizard to Ramunna.”

“How can you know that? No one—” Gevan faltered and silently cursed himself. He’d just confirmed that Yoran’s information, or guess, was correct.

“Nothing that happens in the palace remains secret for long.” Yoran leaned toward him. “A few days ago you declared that the Mother’s powers were mythical, that the ancient wizards were nothing but clever tricksters, and that you could learn to duplicate everything they did by natural means. Yet here you are, about to seek out a wizard at the Matriarch’s bidding. Have you abandoned the beliefs you proclaimed so ardently?”

“Of course not. My theory about the wizards’ powers was the best explanation for the evidence available at the time. New evidence has since come to light. Several of the strangers have given me eyewitness accounts of wizards using their powers that cast doubt on my theory. I’ll believe the evidence of my eyes and senses. I’ll see for myself if the wizards’ powers are real.”

“You’ll discover they’re real. But what if I should tell you that those real powers are by their very nature evil? That they originate not from the Mother, but from demons?”

Gevan’s lips twisted into a sneer he didn’t bother to suppress. “Then I’d think you even more deluded than I do already. Power is neither good nor evil by nature. Only the use to which it is put determines its morality. Demons are nothing but mythical imaginings, born of a primitive fear of darkness and the unknown.”

Yoran rose from his chair and began to pace. Gevan turned his head to follow his progress, and the tip of the knife dug into the back of his neck. He froze at the forceful reminder of his precarious position.

“I’m afraid demons are quite real, my friend. The holy writings are clear on that point. The Dualist heretics aren’t entirely wrong, you know. There is another power in the universe besides the Mother. The Lord of Demons seeks to destroy everything the Mother has created. Above all he hates humankind, and will do whatever he can to corrupt them and draw them away from the Mother’s path.”

Gevan stared at Yoran. The man was deranged. Could he twist around and knock the knife out of his captor’s hand if he acted quickly enough? No, it was hopeless. Even if he did, it would still be two against one, and Gevan had no particular skill in fighting. His enemies could easily overwhelm him.

Yoran went on. “The truth is revealed in certain secret writings of the holy Yashonna. All copies were believed to be destroyed, but the founder of the Purifiers discovered an intact document. For hundreds of years we’ve kept it safe and watched for the horrors of which it warns. Soon after the Mother removed her powers from the world, a dangerous new sect arose in Marvanna. They were an offshoot of the Dualists, but instead of merely worshiping the Lord of Demons, they offered themselves as living slaves to his creatures. Demons in the form of animals possessed them and gave them a mockery of the Mother’s powers. Thankfully, most of them were killed in the cataclysm that destroyed ancient Elath. But there were hints that a few escaped and fled across the sea. The Purifiers have always considered it our most sacred duty to guard against their return. And now that day has come. Do you see why I’m willing to offer you almost anything in exchange for your help?”

Gevan knew he should be cautious, but he had no patience to listen to more of the man’s ravings. “I see your beliefs are even more nonsensical than I thought.”

Yoran’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Gevan for a tense moment before he turned away. “Let me speak to you, then, in terms you will understand. The Purifiers
will
come to power in Ramunna, one way or another. Already more than a third of the people are committed to our cause, and the number continues to grow. The Matriarch’s attempt to oppose us is doomed to fail. Even if she gains the assistance of these demons, do you think any power, no matter how real, can quicken her old and barren womb to life?”

Gevan wanted to spit out a denial, but he wavered. The ancient writings were clear that, even at their height, the wizards’ powers had limits. And he had to admit, the thought of the mature, imperious Matriarch becoming pregnant seemed unlikely to the point of ridiculousness.

Yoran jumped on Gevan’s hesitation. “You see? It’s inevitable that her cousin will someday inherit the throne. And Malka and all her daughters are true followers of the Mother. I’ve met with her. She’s prepared to make the Purifier faith the official doctrine of Ramunna as soon as she comes to power.”

Gevan fought the sickness threatening to rise from his stomach into his throat. “If your victory is assured, what do you want from me?”

“If the demons reach our shores, they’ll wreak terrible havoc. By the time the people of Ramunna understand what’s happening and call for our help, half the realm could be devastated. It would be far better to keep them out altogether.”

He came to stand over Gevan. Gevan tried to tilt his head back to meet his eyes, but the knife stabbed into his skin. Yoran waved his hand, and the knife withdrew enough to allow Gevan to look up. “We’ll remember those who helped us, when we come to power. There are certain things I know you value. This University of yours, for instance. The scholarship practiced here is frequently decadent, and sometimes trespasses into forbidden realms of knowledge. We plan to disband it. But if one of the University’s scholars were to perform a valuable service for us, we might reconsider. We could allow it to remain open. The professors would remain free to teach and conduct research. Within limits, of course.”

Gevan paled as he understood what Yoran was offering. Could it really be within his power to assure the future of his beloved University? If there was any hope of keeping that beacon of reason and free thought alive under the tyranny of the Purifiers’ fanaticism, wasn’t it his duty to seize the opportunity?

Yoran put his hand on Gevan’s shoulder, his voice warming until it was almost affectionate. “Your own research could continue. After a great deal of prayer, as well as consultation with others of my order, I’ve come to the conclusion that the devices you create are perhaps not as blasphemous as I once thought. What are you doing, after all, but manipulating and arranging the materials of the world the Mother has created? You don’t seek to draw upon demonic powers with your inventions, do you?”

“Of course not,” Gevan whispered, his throat dry.

“Then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be permitted to carry on. You see, I’m a reasonable man. I can be persuaded to consider other points of view, if those who seek to change my mind approach me with civility and respect, instead of arrogance or hostility.”

“Or a knife to the throat,” Gevan said.

Yoran chuckled. “Point taken.” He waved his hand. “Step outside the door, Heshen. I’ll call you if I need you. Professor Navorre and I have reached an understanding.”

Gevan wanted to retort that any understanding was all in Yoran’s mind, but he clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to risk provoking the man into calling his thug back. Heshen sheathed his knife, bowed to Yoran, and exited.

Yoran turned back to Gevan. “Let me point out one more thing. If the demons come to Ramunna and flaunt their magic, your work will be overshadowed. It’s happened already. The moment she saw the strangers’ ship the Matriarch lost all interest in your little window-toy, didn’t she?”

Gevan wouldn’t give Yoran the satisfaction of letting him see that his words had touched him. But he couldn’t help but remember the blank indifference in the Matriarch’s eyes as she handed the window-glass back, in sharp contrast to the excitement with which she’d accepted it from his hands.

“You could be great, Gevan. You could be renowned as a brilliant inventor. With the approval and support of the Purifiers, the devices you create could become famous throughout Ravanetha. You would go down in history as the man who helped the Mother give her powers back to mankind. Think, Gevan. Is there anything you desire more?”

Was there? Gevan couldn’t think. Yoran seemed so reasonable, so different from the rabble-rousing demagogue Gevan had always seen before. He cleared his throat. “What would you want me to do?”

“Nothing against your conscience. Just find a way for the Matriarch’s expedition to fail. Destroy the maps, perhaps, or alter them so they don’t lead to the correct place. Even something as simple as being slightly less persuasive than you might otherwise have been. No one will be able to understand what you say to the false wizards, so no one will be able to report the truth to the Matriarch. Speak to them rudely, or offer them so little they refuse to come. Or if that fails, as it might if the demons are as determined to return and conquer these lands as I fear they are, you could go further. It would be an act of compassion to free the slaves from their demon masters. By all accounts their animal forms are as vulnerable as real animals. It shouldn’t be difficult to kill them.”