Unholy War (20 page)

The Scytale was made of brass and ivory, but other than a little wearing at the edges, there was no sign of any deterioration from age or use. On the outside were carved symbols, and holes displaying more symbols, which changed if the brass caps at either end were twisted. Four leather straps at one end could be wrapped about it and pinned to the outside in dozens of different combinations. It was an encryption device, deceptively simple and dauntingly complex.

A couple of years ago he wouldn’t have known how to even begin deciphering the most prized and secret artefact of the empire. For a start, he would never have believed himself adequate to the task. But he’d been through a lot since then, so he didn’t bother wondering if he was good enough; he just got on with it. And his intial hunt for the Scytale had attuned his mind to puzzles as never before.

He started with the known: he recognised some of the exterior symbols: the four etched into the brass beside each of the four straps were the runes of Fire, Earth, Water and Air: the base elements. And in the ivory below the cap was a shape that might have been a phallus, opposite a delta: they represented male and female. On the same level were a sun and moon, which usually meant age and youth. On the cap at the bottom were four more runes, symbolising the four Studies: Sorcery (a star), Hermetic (three interlocked circles), Thaumaturgy (a diamond) and Theurgy (a triangle containing a circle). The rest of the runes weren’t familiar, but that was a beginning. He began to play, creating hypotheses as he went.

One evening, Ramita came looking for him. She was tired, but determined to be up and about. She traced the name of Rene Cardien on a tract he’d been reading. ‘I met him, at a banquet. He stared at my belly button,’ she added with a giggle.

‘Please don’t explain that,’ Alaron laughed. Eager to share what he’d learned, he went on, ‘I’ve been studying the Scytale. Look, if I move the top and the base, different symbols appear in the holes on the outside. And if I pin these three straps to the outside like this, following the trail of runes of the same type, they cover most of the symbols.’

Ramita squinted and frowned. ‘So?’

‘Well, I’ve gone through and made a note of every symbol it’s possible to make appear. There are eight at each level of holes, and eight levels – that’s sixty-four different symbols. None of them are simple runes – they’re all complicated, the sort that signify mixtures of different chemicals.’ At her look of astonishment he said, blushing slightly, ‘I’m only guessing this, because I recognise two from college. One is an anaesthetic.’

‘An anastas … ? What is that?’

‘It’s a potion that decreases pain. And the other is supposed to make the mind more receptive to dreams.’

She frowned. ‘So you know two of the sixty-four?’

‘Yes – but that’s not as bad as it sounds. I think I’ve worked out what the Scytale does. It’s a recipe codex. I think it was created by Baramitius to store the recipe for the ambrosia – that’s the drink that imparts the gnosis. The Scytale stores that recipe: but I think there are variations, depending upon the nature of the person it’s being brewed for. There are probably hundreds of different variations on the one base recipe.’

‘Baramitius?’ She pondered the strange name for a moment, then brightened. ‘My husband once told me that this Baramitius took a lot of notes about the people who followed Corineus.’

Alaron sighed. ‘I wish he was here now. He’d understand this thing in minutes.’

‘I know,’ Ramita agreed sadly. ‘But you are clever too, Al’Rhon.’

He ducked his head. ‘I’ve heard that only a third of the people who took the original ambrosia gained the gnosis, and over half those who failed died. The rest became Dokken. I bet that original potion was very basic compared to this. I bet Baramitius worked on it for centuries afterwards to improve it.’

‘Can you work out what all the symbols mean?’

‘Maybe. Potions were never my strength. I wanted to be a battle-mage, not a healer.’

She looked disappointed, but gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand. ‘The rest will come.’ She didn’t seem to realise that she hadn’t let his hand go, and he saw no reason to remind her.

‘I hope so.’
I found the Scytale, and guided the lamiae to their new home, and I managed to go into gnostic trance at the Isle of Glass. I’m sure I can puzzle this out!

‘If you can work this out, I can get you the ingredients,’ she said. ‘I know a place where you can buy anything: Aruna Nagar market, where I grew up.’ They smiled at each other, then looked down at their hands. The levity left her face. ‘It is time for me to feed the twins,’ she muttered and scurried away.

*

Alaron’s father was the hardest-working person he’d ever met. Vann was full of sayings like,
Only hard work brings true satisfaction
– usually while he was doing three things at once, as if it would make him three times happier. For the young Alaron, that had meant a regimen of pre-dawn tasks, and after he’d finished school, whatever was required in the stables, the work shop or just running errands, followed by evening study – and that was all before he turned twelve, gained the gnosis and went to the Arcanum. He’d always resented it – none of his friends had had to work that hard – but now that he had time on his hands, he noticed that he was doing the same thing: filling his days with never-ending tasks.

As well as the morning exercise regime with the novices and trying to unpick the Scytale in the afternoons, he decided it was time he took his gnostic practise seriously too. Late most afternoons, around nine bells, when his concentration on the Scytale research started to waver, he headed for an alcove behind the terraced gardens where he could practise unobserved. He’d thought his activity had gone completely unnoticed, so he was surprised to be met one afternoon by Master Puravai, with Ramita behind him. She was clad in a simple cream-coloured tunic and leggings, her long hair was tied up, and she had a serious, nervous look on her face.

‘Brother Longlegs,’ Puravai greeted him with twinkling eyes, ‘may we join you?’

Alaron stopped in his tracks, feeling self-conscious. He didn’t want company – the gnosis was a personal thing and the Arcanum had been bad enough, where his every spell was analysed and criticised by the tutors, then sneered at by the other students. He really didn’t want an audience. But it would be churlish to say no – and Ramita was here, and he liked spending time with her.

‘The twins are asleep,’ she said, when he looked at her questioningly. ‘I’ve been trying to practise the gnosis like Justina showed me, but Master Puravai suggested that we should work together.’ The old monk backed her up by nodding at Alaron expectantly.

‘I – er, well, I guess so.’ Alaron had begun to trust in Master Puravai and his weird methods. One morning, all of the novices had been told to bind each other’s favoured hand behind their backs and do everything with their wrong hand. At first it had driven Alaron mad, but faster than he would have believed, his left hand had become more dextrous, and when they had been unbound, much to his surprise, Alaron found he was operating with both far more surely. Sometimes they had to do their exercises one-legged, or spend time sitting on their heads, or perform strange balancing exercises, but he was beginning to see that each came with some unexpected benefit, aiding coordination, control or dexterity.

So he made room for Ramita in the small garden, then turned to Puravai. ‘How should we do this?’

‘Firstly, what type of mage are you, Alaron?’ he asked.

‘Fire, with a little Earth; and Sorcery.’

Puravai studied Alaron’s periapt, a piece of amber Cym had given him which he had attuned to his gnosis. Then he pocketed it. ‘I will look after this, yes.’

‘Hey! I need that—!’ Alaron reached out, then glanced at Ramita and realised that she wasn’t wearing her periapt either. He paused. ‘What’s happening?’

The Lakh girl gave him a reassuring if tentative smile.

Puravai handed Alaron a bowl of water from the garden fountain. ‘Instead, use this.’

‘But …
I can’t.
It’s water! Only a gem can be used as a focus …’

Puravai’s eyes narrowed. ‘What have I told you novices about the word “can’t”?’

‘You don’t know what you are asking.’

‘Do I not? I, who worked with Antonin Meiros himself twelve years ago, opening up gnosis to him that he had never previously used?’

He taught Meiros?

He looked again at Ramita, who was nodding meekly.

Any minute now she’s going to say something about Destiny.

‘Think of it this way,’ Puravai told them. He produced a parchment and crudely sketched a man with two cross-shapes on either side of him, one arm of each cross touching him. ‘See, here is a typical mage. His primary gnosis, both elemental and conceptual, define him. For you, Longlegs, it is Fire and Sorcery – these two gnostic abilities are fused inside your gnosis, yes? For you, Ramita, it is Earth and Hermetic gnosis. These things are buried in you – deeper for Alaron, because of his training. You understand?’

Both nodded. Alaron had seen similar drawings before. The first thing every young mage did when they gained the gnosis was to undergo a test to determine their affinities: the elements and modes of operating that revealed their strengths and weaknesses. In the Arcanum the Magisters had used sketches like this to show them what their affinities were and weren’t. Thereafter, all their training was devoted to their strengths: developing and exploring the magic that came to them naturally. Strong affinities were admired, as that meant feats beyond what most magi could manage. Some – a few – had only mild affinities, like his Aunt Elena. That made them more versatile, but it also meant such magi were thought to be inhibited in their powers as they lacked what the Arcanum tutors called ‘clear affinity’.

‘Now,’ Puravai went on, ‘both of you are a little capable of reaching one other point of each cross. Alaron, for you that is Earth; Ramita, it’s Fire. Neither of you can reach Water or Air easily, if at all. Similarly, on the other cross – Alaron can reach a little Theurgy, Ramita a little Thaumaturgy. Other things elude you.’

‘That’s just normal,’ Alaron told him tersely.

‘Why should it be?’ Puravai asked with disarming simplicity. ‘What if, instead of a cross, that shape was an arc, with each aspect of the gnosis in equal reach? What if you could access every spell with equal facility? Would you not have a tremendous advantage?’

Alaron stared, while Ramita just looked perplexed. ‘Yes, I suppose – but it’s impossible.’

‘You are quick to say so, but Lord Meiros understood. He agreed that ideally a mage should be in balance, without preference or aversion to any aspect of their gnosis.’

‘But we link to our affinities from the moment we gain the gnosis.’

‘Because you are conditioned to do so. But what if that is the wrong approach? What if, instead of specialising immediately, you chose to be as diverse in your approach as possible?’

Alaron was just confused. ‘We can’t help our affinities. The gnosis is an extension of who we are.’

‘Is it?’

Alaron had to fight not to shout at the old man. ‘Yes! Everyone knows this!’

‘Then everyone is wrong. Think on this: people
change
. We form and reform ourselves all the time. But from an early age a mage is forced by your Arcanum system to anchor his …’ He smiled at Ramita and added, ‘Or her gender, makes no difference. So you are forced to anchor your gnosis in a certain way. From there on, that binding is made tighter and stronger, for as you have said, the affinities do reflect personality – but it is not in the way you mean. Let us imagine a hot-tempered young mage anchors his gnosis in Fire. But as he matures and becomes more reflective – more an Air-type, say – does he become an Air-mage? No, because his gnosis is firmly linked to Fire by now.’

Alaron considered this helplessly, but Ramita was head-wagging reflectively; of course, she’d not had a lot of training so far so he didn’t think her opinion mattered on this.
I know better.

‘The good thing,’ Master Puravai went on, ‘is that both of you are ideal candidates for this training. Lord Meiros agreed that most mature magi would be too set in their ways: he believed this requires someone young enough that their affinities were not fully imbedded, old enough to grasp the possibilities and open-minded enough to try. I believe that you both are highly suitable.’

‘I don’t know about this,’ Alaron said doubtfully. ‘It contradicts centuries of Arcanum teaching.’

‘Brother Longlegs, I travelled widely when I was younger. I have seen idiocy enshrined as wisdom in all corners of the world: mistaken knowledge taught as facts, remedies that are deadlier than the sickness, destructive traditions preserved and sensible ones lost, fools and charlatans revered as gurus and proven scholars ignored. There is always a better way of doing things, if we are prepared to seek it.’

Alaron glanced at Ramita, who met his gaze and said, ‘This is destiny, Al’Rhon.’

Arghhh!

Puravai saw the look on his face and smiled faintly. ‘Remember, Antonin Meiros unlocked his own gnosis from its Earth and wizardry foundations, after just two months of using the methods he and I devised. He did this after
centuries
of specialisation. I believe he was going to reveal our discoveries to his Order this year, had not death taken him.’ The old monk patted Alaron’s forearm. ‘Will you at least try?’

He gritted his teeth. ‘Okay, fine. Let’s do it.’

It won’t work
.

Puravai and Ramita shared a look, which irritated him more.

*

The first thing Puravai made Alaron attempt was a simple light spell, channelling through water instead of using his periapt. He’d never tried anything like that before. In the opposite corner of the garden, he set Ramita, primarily an Earth mage, a similar task: to channel using nothing but the air around her.

Neither could do it.

After three straight hours he was resenting the lost time and ready to give up; he could have been working on the Scytale or trimming his nails, or doing anything at all and it would have been more valuable than this utter waste of time. Even Ramita was frustrated, which was a mild comfort.