Magus Star Rising
Chapter Four

Strict adherence to ritual is primary.

Only then can the Way be achieved.

THE SCROLLS OF VANERA

A Secret Conversation

Iolyn stood in her private sitting-room, staring at a portrait of herself and her husband, Nunek. Their adopted Terran names, Claudia and Marcus, an affectation so popular with the high-born of-late, reflected brightly off the nameplate’s surface.

The painting was a stylized rendering yet showed a remarkable interpretive clarity. Despite the elongated limbs and exaggerated features, she and Nunek’s personalities shone through quite clearly. It was her favorite of the likenesses done of them and Iolyn had made it a point to patronize the artist.

But the expressiveness projected by the painting proved a little too powerful. Just for a moment, Iolyn felt a pang of guilt. Just for a moment. Then she remembered the beatings and the humiliations and her own ‘clarity’ of purpose. No, she thought as she turned away. My path is set.

She glided to the music stand at the far end of the room. A Jaen harp, all filigreed metal and carved plasti-stone, sat gleaming, its feathered strings almost invisible. The ornamental beast-head atop the harp’s three-foot spine glared at Iolyn, its expression almost disapproving. “When are you going to play me?” it seemed to ask. And it was true. It had been a while since last she evoked the clear, sharp notes from the harp. Even now, she touched the strings in an absent-minded way, plucking a clear scale. Soft, lilting harmonics floated throughout the room, the sound hanging in the air. The Jaen harpmasters urged the owners of their hand-crafted instruments to a lifetime of bonding with the harps via a consistent schedule of tuning, practicing and performing.

But as had been the case of late, Iolyn didn’t feel like playing this-sun. She wondered if she ever would again.

She sat on a cushioned divan positioned against the opposite wall and looked about her as if seeing the room for the first time. Outside light filtered in, muted by thick draperies hanging from the only window in the small room--a floor-to-ceiling casement etched with delicate abstract designs. A writing desk, chair, a vid-player, and small bookcase were the only other pieces of furniture visible. The ceiling was interwoven with fine off-world drapery, ballooning and billowing above her like clouds made of Terran satin while the atta-hair carpet felt almost liquid to the touch. The sitting-room surrounded Iolyn like a protective womb. Here, with its soundproofed walls, the buffering space of its outer anteroom, comfortable interior and absence of camera-eyes, Iolyn, in the prison of her own home, could be alone and free. At least once in a while.

Do Terran fems have such dilemmas? she wondered. She knew some surely must. Her studies had shown her no race, no culture was perfect though some were better than others. The handful of Terran women Iolyn had met were a varied lot. In the last moon and a half, she had interviewed four females under the carefully invented reason of researching a tome she was writing. This she had told her husband, the servants, her friends, and the interviewees. Which was partly true. Research surely, but for an entirely different purpose.

Each woman had been a distinct individual. A prostitute, an offworld tourist, a lesser official with the New Terra embassy in Frenati City, a laborer. Each had presented to Iolyn a varied perspective, an individual mindset of the Terran female. And, of course, her Head Servant, Behoola, with her unique situation and history, had also helped, albeit without her knowledge. Iolyn was certain that those particular viewpoints, along with all the other data, would be useful.

The Terran male she had talked to, however, proved to be more interesting than she had remembered from previous meetings. And why? He was certainly not the ‘cream of the crop’ as the Terrans might say. But he was the type of personality Iolyn wanted, one who might not be missed, one who fit the end result of her plans.

Yet, there was something about him. Of course, Iolyn hadn’t been in the company of many Terran males so his ‘uniqueness’ might merely be relative, but that intuitive feeling she sensed was something also necessary to her plans. He had agreed to meet with her again after she returned from retreat. Excellent.

She took the flexible mouthpiece of the glow-pipe sitting near her chair, put it in her mouth and inhaled deeply. The blue-smoke always relaxed her and cleared her head. Native medicinals were quite acceptable to Iolyn, normal, part of the Way. The glut of off-world drugs disgusted her. Even freza water. Until the Terrans came, it had simply been a favorite Senitte liquor, harmless enough unless one drank too much of it. But she had seen the almost-immediate change it had worked on the Terran, his alien makeup metabolizing the water into something quite different than a mere relaxant.

She supposed, if all went well, she would have to get used to it. In the Yharria, that type of life-style was prevalent. The Yharria... Iolyn leaned back, eyes closed. The grand bazaar seemed like a dream to her, a fantasy so close to being real yet just out of reach for one such as her. Ever since her grandmother had taken her there the images stored in her memory still held her in thrall. The strangeness, the danger, the freedom, the complete ‘otherness’ of what a life in the bazaar could be.

To live in the Yharria. Such an unthinkable act for a high-born. Iolyn smiled. That’s why her plan was so brilliant.

The entrance bell sounded. Iolyn touched the wall switch that unlocked the door to the sitting-room. “Enter,” she said softly. Her Head Servant, Behoola, peeked in shyly from the outer anteroom, her eyes downcast, her hands folded in front of her in traditional form of respect. “Does Mistress require anything?” she asked. “Shall we begin the travel preparations?”

The servants had returned, it seemed. Had the time gone by so quickly already? She had given her attendants the early mid-sun off so she could meet with the Terran in private. Only Kazrah remained as part of the agreement. “Yes, Behoola. I will be leaving at twilight after my husband returns.”

“Very good, Mistress. All arrangements have been made for your return in three suns.” Behoola bowed again. “The retreat will be very cleansing, will it not?”

More than you know. “Yes. As always. The meditative programs are quite rejuvenating, both mentally and physically. It is fortunate this retreat is being held in the high mountain communa. The setting will be both magnificent and conducive to spiritual healing.” Iolyn smiled at her favorite servant. It pained her to lie to her but the act was necessary. “Perhaps, Behoola,” she said. “The next time you may accompany me as you did two winters ago. The enclave is open to all beliefs.”

Behoola’s face lit up and then she hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth. Iolyn pursed her lips. “Is something the matter, Behoola? Speak.”

“My apologies, Mistress. But is it wise for just Kazrah to be going with you? He seems very competent but he has only been with the household such a short time. Surely, this may appear unseemly.”

Iolyn smiled and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Behoola was the head of the serving cadre and the main worrier as a result. “All is well, Behoola. I appreciate your concern but Kazrah comes with the highest references and it was his profession as a bodyguard that most impelled my husband and me to employ him. Especially with this pilgrimage to the mountains. Covering some distance through rough country, he will be a valued protector. I will be in good hands.” Iolyn paused, licking her lips. “And speaking of Kazrah, please tell him I wish to see him. I need to discuss some particulars of the journey.”

Behoola hesitated a moment before answering, “Yes, Mistress,” then backed out of the room and closed the door. Iolyn looked away, suppressing a momentary sting of shame. Behoola was her most prized servant and, at times, a friend and confidant, as much as high-born protocol would allow. Iolyn realized she would miss her.

Iolyn had acquaintances and contacts with other clan fems but those were not true friends. Her own clan mates were too restricted in their obeisance to clan law and protocol to provide any real special bonding. The friends she had made as a youngling were all in the same position as she was now. She hadn’t heard from any of them since she had married. Still, now that she thought about it, there were some things in her present life she would miss--the art groups, her educational and religious affiliations. There were many things to be attained by being the wife of a rich merchant.

To gain one thing, you must lose another, she thought. She remembered her grandmother, her yedo, telling her that, more than once as they had sat on the balcony of her family home, drinking Terran tea and watching the field hands work the vegetable plots. She hadn’t understood what her grandmother had been trying to say then, though, as an adult, the face value of her advice was quite clear.

Especially in Ioyln’s present situation. I still miss you, Yedo, she thought, her heart suddenly heavy. I could use your advice now.

A faint sound, like the rustling of coarse cloth, alerted her. She turned to see Kazrah standing in the doorway. “You startled me,” she said through a haze of blue-smoke. She touched the lock switch again, sealing the sitting-room. “I do not think I will ever get used to your sudden, dramatic entrances and exits. You remind me of the stories I have read about the Terran Djinns--vanishing and materializing in puffs of smoke.”

Was that a smile? “My apologies, Mistress.” Kazrah bowed, his hands steepled in front of his chest. But Iolyn wasn’t fooled. She saw the mockery in his eyes. “It is part of my nature and occupation to be somewhat secretive, also a characteristic of the typical bodyguard which should raise no suspicions from your servants.”

“Perhaps. As long as we keep these meetings short. It seems Behoola is wary of you.”

He moved in front of her, his features set like stone. “A perceptive one, that. She is one of the more intelligent low-borns I have come across. I see why you employed her. Do not worry. If all goes according to plan, I will not be around much longer.”

Vanera willing, neither will I, Iolyn thought.

The bodyguard cocked his head to one side. “And so?”

Iolyn took a deep breath. “I think it went well. I believe the Terran fits the part perfectly.”

Kazrah did smile then, something Iolyn had only seen him do once or twice. His teeth were inset with tiny, implanted gems which sparkled briefly in the light. His long, oiled hair was braided and pulled back in a tail, which trailed down his back. His features, angled and cold, seemed permanently fixed in a rigid stare. “A part?” he said, his voice a sandy rasp. “Do you still perceive this as a kind of theater, Mistress?”

“Is it not so? Do you not play the part of Kazrah the bodyguard instead of a member of the Ahnka?”

“A required, temporary role to advance the greater cause. However, as I have told you, the job can be done much more quickly and efficiently with none of this pageantry you seem so intent on. I wonder if you have gone too far to even suggest to the Terran that your husband might have Turned. To even engage Weller at all in this so-called ‘investigation’ might be dangerous. Again, there are other ways to accomplish our task.”

“No!” Iolyn felt a surge of revulsion. This was hard enough in any case but to defy the teachings of Vanera was unthinkable. The scrolls were specific on custom and ceremony. As far as Weller was concerned, Vanera willing, he would play a very special part in her plans. “The ritual will be observed. That is what I am paying you for.”

Kazrah looked away. “As you wish. But do the teachings of Vanera include the Ahnka? Is that shadow group too part of the Way?”

Iolyn shivered. The man before her was dangerous, as were all members of his criminal guild. Yet, she had accepted the risks this venture contained, both to her and to her clan. She knew he taunted her, as he had done many times. It was a game he liked to play.

“Yes. Vanera’s Way is open to all.” She would not waver. “The ritual needs certain participants, not unlike a play itself,” she said slowly. “You are one of those participants.”

“Yes,” he said, once more looking at her. “A necessary one. Who else could perform this task for you?”

She stared back, knowing he was right. “Vanera works in mysterious ways,” she said, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Who knew, that sun at the agri-market, that you would approach me and set these wheels in motion?”

“Who indeed?” The Ahnkan bowed again. When he next met her gaze, his countenance had changed. He was all business. “Do you still wish to wait for your husband?”

“Yes.” Iolyn took a deep breath. “He will be back at twilight. His business in Mediett should have been finished this early-sun. It would be out of character for me to leave before he returns. He demands my presence, in fact, but he will want me gone as soon as possible after that, I assure you.”

“Good. Your presumed attendance at the retreat will be sufficient cover for our purposes.” He paused, fixing his baleful gaze on Iolyn. “That is, if you have not changed your mind.”

Iolyn froze. The thought had crossed her mind. Did she truly know what she was doing? After all the thought and planning and the fear and anticipation that had gone with it, did she know? There were times alone, late at night when Nunek was away and her mind was naked and wide open... Yes, she wondered. What had possessed her to take this unprecedented step?

She had changed her mind at those times, again and again. But, in the light of early-sun, in the company of her husband, in the secret meetings with the Ahnkan, her resolve held. She would do this. “No. I have not changed my mind.”

The Ahnkan shifted subtly, moving his weight from one foot to the other. “Tell me, Mistress, why would a man like your husband, who, in many ways, treats you as an equal, also beat you and cause you so much pain?”

The taunting again. The Ahnkan knew very well that protocol among the high-born forbid Senitte fems from expressing anger or intense disagreement to any except members of the serving class. He was pushing her but she would not give him the satisfaction. “Yes. That is a good question. I wonder why you haven’t asked me that before although I suspect you might know the answer better than I do.”

She paused. Why did Nunek behave as he did? Or more importantly, why did she put up with such behavior? Tradition? Loyalty? The infamous high-born protocol? The Senitte culture in general? Fear? She and her husband had been married ten cycles and Iolyn still wasn’t sure. Too many variables existed now for a pat answer. Too much confusion brought about by post-Contact culture-clash clouded the picture.

A simple answer was that she and Nunek were members of rival clans, theirs being a political marriage of sorts. Nunek’s clan belonged to the Four, that combination of familial and religious groups that helped to initiate Contact with the Rim World Conglomerate and its parent empire, the Galactic Nexia. Iolyn’s clan, holding a long-running animosity toward Nunek’s, controlled a high degree of political clout in the western continent. For reasons convoluted at best, both clan heads had decided this would be a beneficial union, one not born initially of love but of necessity.

Or greed, more like it, Iolyn thought with a grim smile.

There was the fact that she could not have children. Such a condition was an insult to Nunek’s male Senitte pride. She knew he resented that ‘fault’ of her biology though she had tried every method known to make herself fertile. And she had sincerely tried to help Nunek as well, doing everything in her power to be a better wife in other ways. Both had found love for a while, it was true, though such feelings ended soon enough. There had been some mutual respect and cooperation but, in the end, she was, in his eyes, a member of an inferior and unworthy clan and the answer to why Nunek beat her and shamed her always seemed to be the same.

“Power? A sickness?” she said. “Some defect of character? I do not know. It is true he respects my business acumen in some matters but the cruelty... I have discovered this is not a singular Senitte form of behavior. It occurs in other cultures as well. And each one deals with it, or not, in different ways. It is not so simple.”

“True. Even so, have you considered that he does this because you deserve it?”

Iolyn felt a flush of anger, the warmth of it creeping up her neck. Momentary tears stung her eyes. The insolence! Kazrah was truly a piece of filth. But what did she expect from someone who, for all intents and purposes, was merely a common criminal?

No, that wasn’t quite right. From what little she knew about the Ahnka, very little associated with that guild could be termed ‘common’.

The Ahnkan looked thoughtful, perhaps realizing he had gone too far. “My apologies, Mistress. It is just that I see many things in my line of work. There is much hidden beneath the surface.”

Like me. And the solution to my problem. “I have no doubt.”

His tone changed, becoming suddenly more cautious. “The Ahnka employs women as equals. We do not discriminate.”

Iolyn allowed herself a chuckle. Equals in what? Crime? Immorality? “I do not think I will be joining the Ahnka any time soon.”

The Ahnkan nodded. “In a way, you already have.”

Iolyn looked down. A tightness seized her chest. Disgusting creature, she thought. May he burn in fire at the Great Ending! That I have allied myself with one such as he shows the depths of my desperation. And he knows that.

Now it was the Ahnkan’s turn to chuckle. “Yes. Well, I will keep an eye on the Terran.” He raised his hand at Iolyn’s protest. “My study of him has shown he has certain... weaknesses. With those under control, he will be no problem. It is just a precaution to make sure he fulfills the particular role you have chosen for him.”

Iolyn sighed in resignation. “Very well. Do as you must.”

“All will be well, Mistress. I have performed similar functions before with success. Rest assured.” With that, the Ahnkan turned toward the door. Iolyn released the lock and watched him make yet another of his ‘dramatic exits’. She knew the danger in continuing this charade but the Ahnkan’s real identity must be kept secret, at least for the moment. These private conversations must not be known to the servants and, most especially, to Nunek. So far, no one suspected anything although Behoola seemed to have some questions in her mind. Iolyn could handle Behoola but if Nunek found out, the danger would be multiplied. At least to her.

Iolyn inhaled from the pipe, staring into space. She rose and walked to her desk. A book lay open on its holder, as if waiting for her. “A Study of Terran Cinema,” the chapter title read in combined Terran/Senitte script. She took up a quill and parchment, ready to continue her studies.

A leather folder lay to her right with the symbol of her clan emblazoned in wax on the front. Slowly, she set the quill down, pulled the folder to her and opened it. A small pile of papers lay within. She knew this report would be forthcoming but for the Ahnkan to have it ready so soon surprised her.

Did his kind read minds also?

The heading on the first page almost leaped out at her in a script too elegant for a criminal. ”Simon Weller, History and Profile.”

Her heart fluttered within her chest. Is this Weller truly the right one? Can I so calmly change the lives of him and everyone else around me?

Yes, Kazrah had told her over and over. When he spoke, he seemed to cut right to her heart, to dispel any doubts and give her strength, despite his coldness and obvious disregard for anything civilized. He would wave his hand in front of her, clenching and unclenching his fist in a strange yet compelling gesture. You can do this, he would say. You are strong and deserve better. You can do this.

Most Holy Vanera, she thought as her shaking hand turned to the next page. Give me strength. I cannot turn back now. Yet, she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, whether this plan of hers succeeded or not, in one form or another, nothing would ever again be the same.