Chapter 14

Family Descent

Book One �" Divergence

Part I �" Novices

Chapter 14

September 1657

 

            Iyara walked down one of the less traveled halls of the temple and she came across a young priestess, Adia, standing before a door that led to the root cellar below the temple.

            “Oh Iyara,” Adia said with a smile when she saw Iyara. “Would you help me, please? The door to the cellar is stuck and I need to get onions for Clara.” Iyara returned the smile.

            “Well, I’ll certainly try.” She said to the priestess. Iyara tried the iron handle herself first but found that although the latch tripped, the door was stuck firm. “My word,” said Iyara, “What holds it so I wonder.”

            “Oft the when the weather is wet the wood swells.” Adia answered. “Let us try together,” she suggested. Together they pushed on the door while Iyara tripped the latch, but still the door held firm.

            “Oh what shall I do?” fretted Adia aloud. “Clara was most insistent about having onions for the evening meal.”

            “Becalm yourself, Aida,” Iyara said gently. “Go to the workroom and see if those working within have aught we can use to pry the door. Meanwhile I will continue to try and open it.” Adia nodded and set off down the hall. Once she had passed from sight Iyara looked at the door with her hands on her hips. She then tried pushing on the door several more times but still it would not move.

            She resolutely took a step back and made a word-sound “thunk thunk” as though knocking on the door. With a shuddered groan the door swung open. Iyara smiled in satisfaction but that smile quickly turned to a frown.

            “Iyara,” said a familiar, firm and unhappy voice. She turned to see Vela standing at the end of the hall; Adia at her side with a pry bar in hand. Vela’s persistent frown was set firmer than ever.

            “Adia, go about your business,” Vela said to the young priestess and then to Iyara, “Iyara come with me.” Adia hurried forward and mouthed a meek apology as Iyara passed her heading towards the elder priestess. Vela did not wait for the novice to catch up but turned the corner and marched down the side hall. Iyara hastened to follow.

            Without a word Vela led Iyara to her private study. She pushed open the door and stood aside waiting for Iyara to enter.

            “Sit down, Iyara,” Vela said as she closed the door. Then the elder priestess went to the other side of the table that she used as a desk and sat in her own chair. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and looked sternly at Iyara.

            “Well, daughter, here we are again,” Vela said.

            “Yes, mother,” Iyara agreed meekly.

            “I fail to understand why we have to continue having discussions on this matter. You have been told that the practice of the arcane art is prohibited among the priestesses have you not?”

            “Yes, mother,” Iyara answered with her eyes downcast.

            “Yet time and again you violate this precept and make use of magecraft. Why?”

            “I am a mage, mother,” Iyara answered, still not looking up.

            “No, Iyara, you were a mage,” Vela responded icily. “Now you are a priestess.” Then, with more compassion in her voice than Iyara had ever heard Vela continued more softly. “What does it say about a priestess’ faith when she refuses to seek the aid of her goddess but instead relies upon her own power or another power altogether?”

            “I imagine it must not speak highly of the priestess’s faith, mother,” Iyara answered.

            “No it does not,” Vela agreed. “I hope you come to understand this and accept it, daughter, for if you continue to violate our laws then you will leave us with little choice but to end your initiation.” Iyara looked up at last and met Vela’s eyes.

            “Oh no, mother, please,” Iyara pleaded, “I know I am called and must serve. I do try, really I do, but I have spent so many years training in the craft that it is difficult.”

            “Difficult it may be,” Vela said, “but it is a challenge you must meet and a habit you must overcome.”

            “I will, mother, I will.”

            “Good,” said Vela. “I hope we shall never have to speak of this again. You may go.”

            “Thank you, mother Vela,” Iyara said as she rose to leave and Vela only nodded in return.

 

            “I do not understand,” Catala said later that day as she and Iyara walked in the East Alley. “Why not simply refrain from using magecraft?” Iyara sighed and contemplated a way to explain.

            “When you wish to get from here to there,” Iyara began, “without thinking you begin to walk. It is how you were taught. To live we must breath but we do not think about breathing, we just do.

            So it is with my magic. I was raised around it, schooled in it, lived and breathed it since I was a child. Do use magic to accomplish a task is as reflexive as walking across a room.” She turned to look at the lively red head walking by her side to see if she understood.

            “Well that seems reasonable,” Catala said. “It would be like deciding not to breath.”

            “Just so,” Iyara said. “Yet I still do not comprehend the injunction against spell craft amongst priestesses. It is a tool like any other.” Iyara’s frustration began to get the better of her and she continued. “Within Clara cooks a dinner but uses pots and pans and does not rely upon the goddess to come and prepare the meal. When Vela goes out to work in the garden she uses a spade to dig a hole. She does not wait for the goddess to come down and scoop out the soil.”

            “Iyara,” Catala interrupted sternly. “That’s enough. I understand your dilemma now, but forget not that I am a full priestess of Ilmatar. Your speech borders on blasphemy.” Iyara is startled by the sudden change in the normally docile Catala and takes a step back.

            “I’m sorry, Catala,” she said.

            “I do not require an apology, Iyara. I just offer a warning.” She reached out and took Iyara’s hand. “We have been friends since we were children and I first came to this city and knew no other, but first, always first, I am a servant of the goddess. I may not understand all the ways of the priestesses, but I have never known them to serve falsely or to enforce rules without reason.” Iyara looked into the eyes of her dear friend and saw something new. Ever had she been Catala, childhood friend, but she saw now that, like herself, Catala had grown into a woman, a woman she hadn’t seen before. So startled by the revelation was she that the fleeting remembrance a conversation she had several months past with a mysterious priestess flitted away before she could grab hold of it.

            Catala squeezed Iyara’s hand and then released it.

            “Now tell me,” said the young priestess, “what news of Korrie?” Iyara looked at Catala again and once more she was her own friend.

            “No news I fear,” Iyara answered as they resumed their walk. “Truly , I am becoming very worried.”

            “As am I,” replied Catala. She brushed a stray red curl from her forehead. “I am very fond of Korrie.” Iyara smiled.

            “Very fond?” she asked teasingly, “I would have said quite besotted with him instead.” Catala’s cheeks a red nearly as bright as that of her hair.

            “Iyara!” Catala said in shock. Iyara laughed.

            “Oh, Catala, why so surprised?” she asked. “Did you think us blind that we did not see after all these years?” Catala sputtered.

            “We?!” she asked. “Who is ‘we’?”

            “Why, myself of course, and Shalhanna, certainly mother,” Iyara said. “I rather suspect father knows as well and possibly one or two of the staff at the academy.”

            “Oh my,” Catala said. “Oh my. But what about”

            “Korrie?” Iyara finished the question for her friend. Then she smiled softly expressing uncertainty, humor and maybe a little guilt. “Truth to tell, I am fairly certain he suspects as well.”

            “Oh no,” moaned Catala. “Oh he must think me a silly fool.” She stopped in the path and looked at Iyara. “Oh Iyara, does he think me a foolish thing?” Iyara could only shrug.

            “We have not spoken of it,” she said, “I only expect he knows. But I don’t believe you a silly fool. Rather” then she stopped abruptly. Catala noticed the pause.

            “Rather what?” she asked Iyara. Iyara frowned.

            “I ought not to say, for it is only a suspicion,” Iyara answered.

            “What do you suspect?” Catala pressed and Iyara sighed.

            “I rather suspect that Korrie is equally fond of you,” she said at last. Then she quickly added, “But I only suspect.” Catala smiled softly.

            “I really can’t imagine that he would think of me so,” she said shaking her head.

            “That surprises me not,” Iyara said. “You have too low an opinion of yourself, sister. You are quite special but see it not yet those who know you see it well.” Catala looked down at her feet light color still high in her cheeks. The she raised he head and continued to walk.

            “Your parents have had no news either?” Catala asked Iyara who shook her head.

            “No direct news. They did receive a letter from Estarin saying that Korrie had an episode, but he is recovered well.” Iyara’s frown of concern had returned. “It has slowed his studies for the elven healers believe the syndrome is reactive to the interaction with the aethêric so they have restricted his practicing of the craft for a period.”

            “Tell me, Iyara,” Catala said, “What is this aethêric? Many times have I heard it from you and Korrie and others at the academy, but I understand it not.”

            “Aethêr is the basis of all,” Iyara began. “All energy and all matter are formed of aethêr but it is not itself either energy or matter, but something different. Even the greatest of mages knows not precisely what it is; we know only how to manipulate it; one of the ways. It is the manipulation of the aethêr that we call magic. Through sound, gesture and transmutation of existing material and energy we can shape the aethêr.”

            “You say you know one of the ways,” Catala said. “There are other ways then?”

            “Oh yes. Telepaths, like the Dunesmen of the Desert of Winds are able to manipulate the aethêr,” explained Iyara. “Somehow, though not clearly understood, their thoughts are able to attune their own personal energy to the aethêric and through the manipulation of their own energies �" their auras, they sympathetically manipulate the aethêr.”

            “I see,” said Catala, “and are there other ways still?” Iyara nodded.

            “Divine magic, or miracles you might call them, are also manipulations of the aethêric only the priest or priestess petitions the gods and the gods manipulate the aethêr but how the divine do so is something none know.”

            “And you say the elven healers believe that Korrie is reacting to this aethêr and it aggravates the Rhadham Syndrome?” Catala asked and again Iyara nodded. “How is it that he is not always afflicted if, as you say, everything in the world is made of aethêr?”

            “In the world around us, the aethêr is not raw; it is as matter or energy in one form or another,” Iyara answered. “It is only when practicing the art that we come into direct contact with the primal aethêr. In Korrie’s case when he manipulates the primal aethêr, he reacts much in the same way you sneeze and itch when around a cat.”

            “Ah,” Catala nodded but any further questions were forestalled by the tolling of the temple bells. “It’s to the laundry for me,” Catala said. Iyara smiled.

            “I’ve a self-defense lesson with Kiara and Tessa,” Iyara said.

            “One needs must learn to defend oneself,” Catala said with a smile and hurried off in the opposite direction while Iyara headed for the training area at the back of the temple.