The Grove

TWO

Aradin fingered one of his translation pendants, his mind not really on the Aian book in his other hand. The pendant, a silver-wrapped stone strung on a long braided leather cord, was one of many he had made in his travels. When worn, it permitted him to read, write, hear, and speak in whatever language it was enchanted to translate.

The polished, flat disc of agate felt comfortable under his thumb, warmed where he had rubbed it, cooler where he hadn’t touched it all that much. He stroked its smooth surface, then rubbed his thumb over the little beads decorating the bezel, but his mind was more on the Keeper of the Grove than on the book of mirror-based magics he had fetched from his bags to kill time while they waited.

(You’re thinking of her again,) Teral observed lightly. (I think that’s the third time you’ve tried to read that paragraph.)

(Well, she is worth thinking about. Intelligent, a little innocent, strong-willed, and beautiful,) Aradin admitted. (Eyes that shift between blue and gray, depending on how the light reaches them . . . lovely blonde curls . . . rose lips . . .)

(Are you turning poet on me?) Teral asked, mock-suspicion in his mind-voice.

(Well, how else would you describe her?) Aradin retorted, snorting softly out loud. He tried to settle a little more comfortably onto the bench near the fountain for a fourth read, but gave up. (And those curves . . . !)

(Technically, she doesn’t have overly lush ones,) Teral observed lightly.

(No, but what she has, she carries with confidence, and that makes her all the more appealing,) his Host countered. (Are you going to try to lie and say you do not find her attractive yourself?)

(I didn’t say that,) the Guide snorted. (Were I still the Host and our mission not a concern, I’d have flirted quite shamelessly with her. I was considered quite the catch even up to the day of my death, you know.)

(Catch-and-release, though,) Aradin sighed. (Hosts and Guides of the same gender have a hard enough time finding anyone to accept our dual lives. I cannot imagine many who would accept an opposite-gendered pair for long.)

(It is very rare,) Teral agreed, sighing mentally as well. (Still, no one makes love quite like a Witch. Or are you forgetting the fun we had with that Arbran sea-merchant two years ago?)

(What, the one we met on the Isle of Storms? Oh, she was quite the opportunist,) Aradin thought, chuckling. (“I’ve never made love with two men before,”) he thought in a mental falsetto. (“Or should this only count as one and a half?”)

Teral chuckled as well. Then cleared his throat. (Blonde approaching to your left. I believe from the curls and white clothes it is our fellow priestess.)

Tucking the book’s attached ribbon between the pages, Aradin slipped it into one of his deep sleeves, letting Teral take the tome and stash it under the cover of the spell-enforced darkness deep inside his robe. Rising to his feet, he bowed to the Keeper as she approached.

She nodded, her eyes sweeping down over Aradin’s body. It was a look more assessing than appreciative, though he thought he saw a slight spark of the latter. He didn’t ask why she studied him. There was just something about the way the Witch-robes hung on his body that made him look deceptively frail. Until one took a second, deeper look. Teral, on the other hand, looked beefy upon first glance, like he should have been a blacksmith instead of a priest.

He had the strength for it, too; if the tree that had fallen on him had not pierced his chest and crushed his hips, he would have been fully capable of moving it aside. With effort, and perhaps a touch of magic, but still mostly by muscle. By comparison, Aradin’s slender frame and loose clothes hid lean muscles and whiplike reflexes. One did not travel the world without being proficient in self-defense, and both versions of Aradin Teral were capable men . . . but most underestimated the Host, based on superficial appearance alone. Still, some women liked the lean sort more than the muscular. Or at least Aradin could always hope they did.

“Holiness, it is a pleasure to see you again. I trust all went well?” he greeted her politely.

“Relatively well. There’s a spot of wild magic running around the Grove I cannot quite track down. It’s affecting the animals,” she added in an aside, frowning off into the distance. Shaking it off, she gave him a smile. Once again, Aradin was struck by how lovely she was. “But things are under control for the moment, Kata and Jinga willing.”

“Naturally,” he agreed. “Would you care to retire once more to your office?” Aradin offered, gesturing back at the large, two-story house at the end of the lane. “The things I would ask you are not the sort meant for open gossip and rampant speculation, though they aren’t a terrible secret.”

She eyed him again, then gestured gracefully back up the lane. “To my study, then. If you don’t mind my scribe listening in, that is.”

“I think that would be fine. He strikes me as a competent, trustworthy man,” Aradin said, falling into step at her side. She was a little taller than average for a Katani woman, if still shorter than him by about a finger-length. Their strides matched fairly well, something which pleased him. From the gossip he had gleaned by listening in the dining hall of the inn last night, the Keeper of the Grove did a lot of walking each day. So did he, since it was sometimes awkward for a Witch to have and keep track of a mount. More convenient to simply travel on foot, or hire some means of faster travel when needed.

“I, for one, am rather glad he is so competent,” Saleria admitted as they walked. A child skipped past, the young girl waving to Saleria before continuing on her way, an empty basket dangling from her other hand. On her way to market, no doubt. “I inherited him when I took over the position of Grove Keeper, and he has done an excellent job of managing my clerical needs.”

Her word choice made Aradin smile. At a curious glance from her, he explained. “The holy priests and priestesses of Mendhi, far to the west and north of here, are called clerics. That is where the word clerical comes from—and it is pronounced almost exactly the same in Darkhanan as it is in Mendhite and Katani. Then again, their Goddess is the Goddess of Writing, so it only makes sense for Her servants to be both scribe and priest.”

“I see. I did not know the word was from Mendhi,” Saleria confessed. She blushed slightly and shrugged, gesturing at the street while they walked. “But then I honestly don’t know much about the world beyond the boundaries of Katan. I think it’s one of the advantages of living in an empire which spans an entire continent. You never have to worry about anyone else causing problems along your borders—that is, not to sound callous,” she added quickly, and gestured at the Grove beyond her home, “but I have enough to worry about.”

“Are things really that bad in the Grove?” Aradin asked her, following her into her home.

Saleria gestured for him to shut the front door behind them. Once it was closed, Saleria glanced out the window set next to the door. No one had been near enough to hear his question, not even the little girl who had gone off on her errand. She nodded, looking at Aradin. He had a face . . . they had faces which inspired confidence, since the older, bearded version had looked equally trustworthy. And it wasn’t a secret, exactly, but she didn’t want stray gossip spreading through the town, raising everyone’s fears needlessly.

“Things are bad enough, yes,” she told him. “I keep asking the Arch Priest’s staff for an assistant, but they keep saying I’m doing fine. Yes, I’m doing fine, if all I’m supposed to do is contain the problem. But what I’d really like to do is figure out a way to solve the problem so that the Grove can be safe for visitors once more. That takes help. One to continue to contain everything while the other studies what’s wrong.”

(Oh dear,) Teral murmured. (She’s not going to like our request, then. Or be able to fulfill it when the time comes.)

(Unless we can get her an assistant, which might just as well be me.) The more tantalizing wisps of information he heard about the Grove behind this house, the more Aradin felt intrigued by what was really happening inside. (Everything we’ve heard so far suggests too much magic is warping the plants and animals in there. I may not be an expert on animals, but I do know how to control and manage the effects of magic on and in plants.)

(What do you . . . ? Oh! I see your point,) Teral said, following Aradin’s thoughts. The long-standing prohibition of one living being reading another living being’s thoughts did not apply to him, as Teral was technically dead. After several years of living within the younger man’s Doorway, Teral could follow his sub-thoughts with some ease. (Yes, that could work. If you can actually prove your worth in such a task.)

Aradin didn’t reply; Saleria had ushered him into her office and was gesturing at the seat he had occupied earlier. The green-clad cleric, Daranen, looked up briefly from his correspondence, but otherwise didn’t comment. Taking the seat across from Aradin, Saleria settled into the padded chair.

“Now, I believe you were going to ask me some questions?” she prompted Aradin.

“Yes . . . First, I should like to explain how I came to be here, why I am on this quest. It may help you to make up your mind,” Aradin told her. At her nod, he began. “Darkhanan Witches have a . . . hidden advantage over most priesthoods. As you may know, theologically, all religions agree that once a soul reaches the Afterlife, all questions shall be answered. Our greatest Witch calls it the ‘full knowing’ and says it occurs in an instantaneous flash of comprehension and understanding.”

“Which who?” Saleria asked, distracted by the odd aside.

“Forgive me. Not which as in to choose, but Witch as in a specific type of Darkhanan mage priest or priestess,” Aradin clarified, giving her a rueful, apologetic smile. “I wear a translation pendant which tells me what to say, but does not guarantee that I say it correctly. In your language, the word which,” he enunciated carefully, “is very similar to our word Witch. Forgive me for speaking sloppily.”

“I don’t know anything about translation spells, I’m afraid,” Saleria confessed, wrinkling her own nose. “The more I speak with you, the more I feel my training is inadequate. I’m beginning to feel distinctly ignorant about a lot of things.”

“Hardly that, I’m sure,” Aradin dismissed. “You’ve simply focused on different things. I myself would be hard-pressed to carry out a Darkhanan wedding ceremony, if Teral hadn’t conducted several dozen in his life, and it’s been a few years even for him. I certainly haven’t conducted any myself beyond a few practice attempts while I was being trained. We all flounder in certain neglected areas of our life; that doesn’t make us any less wise in others.”

That brought out a relieved smile on her face. Yes, he’s definitely a smart fellow. And a wise one, Saleria thought. Maybe there’s something to this legacy of accumulating wisdom through extended lifespans. Of a sort. She offered a bit of her own history, warming up to him. “Well, I have conducted a handful of marriage rites. Not in the last few years, either, so we have that much in common. You were saying something about a ‘knowing’ or whatever?”

“Full knowing,” Aradin corrected. “Such a thing is only accessible to those who have achieved the Afterlife. The regular ‘knowing,’ of the sort which most Darkhanan Witch-priests have access to, comes from the Dark.”

“The place between Life and the Afterlife?” Saleria asked, puzzled. “I thought there was nothing there but ghosts wandering through the darkness, seeking the Light of the Afterlife. That, and excess magic.”

“I see you know your energy cycles,” he praised. “What most people outside of Darkhana do not know is that while the Dark does not contain the full knowing of the Afterlife, a properly trained Witch can go into the Dark, ask it simple yes-no questions, and receive a response. Or rather, a response of yes, no, or some degree of ambiguity.”

That shocked her. Saleria stared at the handsome blond foreigner. “That’s . . . that’s the power of a Seer! The Gods separated Seers from mages, because the powers they deal with, the things they touch . . . !”

Aradin shook his head quickly. Teral whispered snippets of half-forgotten information in the back of his mind as he explained things a Darkhanan took for granted. “No, nothing that strong. The questions can only be asked of what is happening right now, or what has happened in the past. All questions of the future by an ordinary Witch are given the ambiguous answer. All questions must also be asked in as simple yet exact a manner as we can manage, or it invokes ambiguity as well.

“We also do not like wandering the Dark for very long, because even for a trained soul, it is very draining and potentially dangerous, so we don’t ask of it as many questions as you’d think. It is a very taxing process for all who try. But . . . there are Seers in Darkhana. They work in conjunction with our Witches,” he told her.

“There are?” Saleria asked. Then shook her head, impatient with herself. “Of course there are. There are Seers in every land. Even I know that much.”

“Yes, and they See glimpses of the future in snatches of rhyme, or visions, or words on a page. Once they See, we go into the Dark to ask clarifying questions. It doesn’t always work, of course . . . but we can get clear answers from time to time about certain things, particularly once the prophecies start coming true,” he allowed. “And one of those things is the fact that the Convocation of Gods and Man, which ended roughly two hundred years ago, is going to be reconvened soon. In order for that to happen successfully, each kingdom must have a holy representative of their local Gods—a priest or priestess—who can speak on behalf of his or her people.”

Sitting there under those watchful hazel eyes, it took Saleria a few moments to realize what he was implying. She frowned at him. “You mean . . . me?” At his nod, she shook her head. “No. No, surely there are more appropriate priests—what about the Patriarch? Surely he would count first and foremost, as the Arch Priest?”

“The holy advocate must be an advocate for the faith of their people, not for their politics,” Aradin told her. He paused, cleared his throat delicately, and added in that deep, soothing voice of his, “All signs, milady, point to the Convocation being reconvened by a rival of the Katani Empire. The current political clash between your homeland and this other land make it too risky to involve anyone in the uppermost positions in your hierarchy. Such rivalries could lead to sabotage at the Convocation . . . which in turn could lead to a second Shattering.”

She winced at that. She could easily envision his words. “That would be bad. We haven’t the Portals to cause dangers, like what happened here . . . but that would still be bad.”

“Yes, I was told it was the far-ranging damage of the previous Shattering that destroyed the Portals you had opened to Aiar, and rendered your Grove inhospitable. I’m sure you can see my concerns about not wanting to involve your Patriarch, who is of a similar mindset to your king, politically,” he added. “That sort of damage, and its underlying conflicts, must not happen again.”

Grimacing, Saleria nodded reluctantly. “This was once a beautiful garden, open to all, and safe for all, with normal plants and normal animals within its sacred walls. The physical ability to cross from here to the heart of Aiar was shut down, yes . . . but the Keeper of the day still chose to show images from the Convocation while it was happening, and the Portal frames imploded. My predecessor thought we were lucky to have no physical damage, but what did happen was worse in its own way.”

“My condolences, but you can see our concern. Your people’s holy advocate must be someone who focuses on the true needs of your people, and who will not be swayed or led astray into conflict by political ambitions,” he said. “We have asked many Katani citizens in the last two weeks who they thought would be a true representative and advocate. By all accounts, your very job is to focus your holy efforts and energies upon the needs of your people, and you have done it well. Your lack of knowledge about other lands speaks highly of your lack of interest in interkingdom politics—an asset in this case, and not a detriment,” Aradin pointed out. “I am therefore here to ask you if you would be willing to represent the people of Katan at the next Convocation, when Kata and Jinga are Named and made manifest along with all the other Goddesses and Gods of the world.”

“I . . .” The very idea was absurd, impossible . . . yet very much in line with what she normally did. On the one hand, it was flattering to know she held the apparent trust of her people, to have sent this man her way. On the other hand, any rival kingdom would be located somewhere away from the continent, and that would mean weeks, maybe months of travel. Therein lay the stumbling block to accepting his request, however enticing the thought of standing before her God and Goddess in person might be. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t possibly leave the Grove unattended for a single day, let alone the months such a trip would surely entail. Even to travel to Aiar, which is due north, requires a calm summer voyage of two weeks, since one has to navigate the Sun’s Belt reefs . . .”

Aradin held up his hand. “The journey would not take nearly so long as you’d think. My fellow Witches and I are under orders to cooperate fully with escorting all carefully selected advocates from their homelands to the site of the Convocation. We have a way to make the trip almost as short as a trip through one of the ancient Portals . . . though it is not one we commonly use, nor do we normally speak of it, because it is not a pleasant method of travel.”

“But if it is like the old Portals, surely that’s worth any discomfort?” Saleria asked. She might have been ignorant of far-distant lands, but she wasn’t ignorant of the implications. “If you Witch-priests can make such travel possible, you could each make a fortune serving to assist in worldwide commerce and travel!”

“Aside from the fact that it would force most of my Brother and Sister Priests to abandon their normal works in tending to our people . . . Teral tells me the transition feels very much like dying,” Aradin confessed. He knew such a thing might put her off, but he wasn’t going to lie about it. “I’ll remind you he is deceased. He knows well of what he speaks.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant, no,” Saleria admitted, wincing a little at Aradin’s warning. “But the old records spoke of the Convocation taking weeks, even a month. I still couldn’t spare that much time from my duties.”

“Not unless you had an assistant,” Aradin pointed out. “If you did, then they could stay to tend the Grove, and you could go to present the needs of your people. Do you not already deal every day in petitions from your people on the things they wish your Patron Deities to handle? The more I learn of your position and what it entails, the more well-suited you seem for this task.”

She shook her head. “The higher-ups won’t send anyone to me, and if I insisted vehemently that I needed one, all those politics you want to avoid would undoubtedly get involved. I can see why you’d want to pick me, and I am flattered, as I neither know nor care about any rivals to the Empire. That’s for King and Council to worry about. But I will not abandon my post.”

“What if I could get you an adequate assistant?” Aradin asked her. “All you’d need is someone who can contain the plants and animals of the Grove until your return, correct?”

“It’s more complex than that,” Saleria dismissed. Rising, she paced a little. “Every hour of every day, great magics flood the Grove. They must be contained, drained away from the plants and animals, given a purpose, and sent out to do good in the world, instead of being allowed to sit here, stagnate, and warp everything within reach. It is a daily task. I can only rest for a few hours here and there in the daylight, but never for a full day, as it takes everything I have to wrestle all those powers into something beneficial.”

She stopped, flushed a little, and glanced back at him, abashed by her own words. “Which means . . . I need an assistant. And I come full circle with my own argument.” Turning to face him fully, Saleria clasped her hands lightly together. “The question is, Witch-priest of Darkhana, can you find me an adequate replacement? Do not think to look within the priesthood here in Groveham,” she added in warning. “Prelate Lanneraun is physically old and frail, and Deacon Shanno is too young, impetuous, and barely powered as a mage. Neither would survive a walk around the wall, let alone the rest of it.”

“I would first offer myself, actually,” Aradin stated. At her frown, he quickly held up a hand. “Yes, I know I come from a different kingdom, and thus a different faith. But what Teral said earlier this morning is true; we Witches believe we are an adjunct to all faiths. We stand ready to assist in the local customs and beliefs wherever we may roam. With the approval of our own God and Goddess, no less, and no record of an objection anywhere in the records of the old Convocations of God and Man.”

“But if you are to provide some sort of Portal-like escort to the new Convocation, how can you remain behind at the same time?” Saleria asked. “Or are you referring to yourself as Portal-like in the sense that you will be unable to move from this location?”

He smiled wryly. “Well, yes, I would have to remain behind. Certainly I would have to remain here in order for you to be returned in the same manner, if you felt you could survive the trip a second time. As for whether or not I am strong enough, I was not a weak mage to begin with, but now I have the added benefit of Teral’s power to back my own.”

“His what?” Daranen asked, lifting his head once more from his correspondence. He blushed at Saleria’s sharp, questioning look, but set down his pen for the moment. “Forgive the interruption, but you yourself said your Guide is dead and has no body of his own. How could his powers as a mage be added to yours?”

Aradin tipped his head. Saleria realized that meant he was handing his body over to his Guide to speak. Though the voice was the younger man’s deep rumble, the inflections turned into those of an older man. “That is what makes our holy Witches so different. Anyone with an understanding of death and how to bind spirits could replicate part of what we can do . . . and such attempts are often twisted perversions wrought by servants of the Netherhells. They can only force open the Doorway in the back of a person’s soul to thrust in another spirit for a form of possession, or even to rip open a Doorway into a recently deceased corpse to reanimate it in a grotesque parody of life. What we do is holy, with the blessings of the God of the Dead Himself.

“Unlike the abominations of those who practice unholy necromancy, our actions are undertaken with free-willed consent from all parties. With the will of the Gods to back our efforts, we are able to restore almost all the benefits of life to our Guides. They—we—can take on our original appearances, at whatever age we still feel ourselves to be. We can remember everything we ever did, said, or observed while we lived. We can access almost all of our original magical strengths, and spells . . . and we can share most of those energies with our Hosts. Not quite all of it, for some of it must remain a part of what binds us to our Hosts, but most of it.

“This is why a Witch must be a mage as well as a priest or priestess,” Teral added, shrugging the younger man’s shoulders. “We have non-mage members of the priesthood back in Darkhana, and we have non-priest mages who attend to various secular spellcrafting needs, the same as in any other kingdom. That is what my Host, Aradin, originally intended himself to be, a simple, if strong, mage. But together, we are more than either of us could have been alone . . . and I assure you, neither of us was weak to begin with.”

Seeing him stand differently, and speak slightly differently, but while wearing the body of Aradin, was a bit confusing. Saleria struggled to accept it, as she strove to accept his explanations. “Well . . . under normal circumstances, there’s nothing wrong with being a weak mage. It’s simply how the Gods have made you, and a weak but well-trained and inventive mage is certainly far more useful than a strong but undisciplined or poorly educated mage,” Saleria stated. She returned to her seat and braced her elbow on the armrest, rubbing at her forehead. “The Grove, however, is not for the weak, body or mind—did you know I’m the twenty-ninth Keeper of the Grove since the Shattering of Aiar?”

The Witch tipped his head, blinked, then shook it. When he spoke, she could tell it was Aradin back in control once more. His voice might have been deeper in this body, but his tone was lighter, less matured. “No, I did not.”

“I think the longest a mage-priest ever held this job was fifteen years. The shortest, just over two months . . . though that was mainly due to an unexpected death. Most of the rest of us last around ten years . . . and then . . . we’re done.” She flicked her fingers again in a dismissive gesture. “Exhausted, injured, stressed . . . At most, the Keepers who are so spent find their magics reduced and are forced to send for a replacement. I took on this position knowing full well the most I’d be able to do for years afterward would be to teach holy magic. I’d barely have enough to contain a single pupil’s mistakes, never mind enough for complex craftings and castings.

“I would take on an assistant, were I permitted one, but who could be as strong, as cautious, and as conscientious? Who would want to put up with . . . with rampaging marigolds, and giant rabid shrews? That was just this morning. Plus there are all the religious aspects, the duties and expectations, the obligations . . .” Saleria shook her head. “Then there is the responsibility of ensuring all the energies involved are kept safe, and not stolen, or warped, or used for untoward ends.” She looked at the man across from her, with his unshaven face and blond hair hiding that second, darker, bearded visage. “How could I trust a stranger?”

Her words were pointed, but Aradin had a counter for them. He braced one elbow on the arm of his chair, fingers laced together, and leaned forward. “Perhaps by taking the time to get to know the person who just might be able to help you? Then you—we—wouldn’t be strangers, now would we?”

A faint snerk sound snapped Saleria’s head to the side. She stared at her scribe, who sat with shoulders hunched and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. At her dark look, Daranen shrugged and smiled. “He has you, there, Saleria. That would end the label of ‘stranger’ rather neatly.”

“Yes, but he implies that he would make me an adequate assistant. A foreign priest of a foreign God and Goddess, with unknown strengths and weaknesses, in the Sacred Grove of Jinga and Kata?” Saleria challenged her scribe. Challenged both of them, for she turned back to Aradin Teral and addressed him as well. “I’ll grant you that I am not one bound to secular politics, and that because of my office, I always have the needs of the Katani people held first and foremost in my mind and heart when I work, but I hold those needs in mind and heart. You do not. What sincere, deep-rooted interest in the welfare of the Katani people could you possibly hold?”

“We are pledged—Teral and I—to give aid and succor to all mortals everywhere, as Witch-priests. This includes the citizens of the Katani Empire, since from what I understand, none of your people are immortal,” Aradin stated dryly. “Bring out a Truth Wand, if you do not believe me. Pluck and knot a hair from my head. Should you prove to be the right holiness for the job, and we prove to be the right assistant to help manage things while you attended to the needs of your people at the Convocation, we would even bind ourselves in a carefully stated, mutually agreed upon mage-oath.

“We have already bound ourselves in other oaths to this task. The resurrection of the Convocation of Gods and Man is too important not to take every precaution and make every effort to ensure its success,” he told her. She made a soft, scoffing sound, not quite a snort. Aradin pulled out his biggest weapon. “It has already been prophesied, Holy Sister. It will happen. It is up to us mortals to ensure it happens in the best way possible for all who are involved . . . and as it is the Convocation, that means all the world’s people, Katan included.”

“By a foreign Seer, no doubt. One whom I have never heard about, so naturally I must take your word for it,” Saleria scorned.

“By a Katani Seer.” Aradin tucked his hands deep into his sleeves, rummaging in the Dark with Teral’s help. Where is it . . . where . . . ? (Teral, isn’t it among the loose scrolls in the leather sack?)

(No, I don’t think it’s in the sack. I think it’s in the brown chest with the roses carved on the lid,) Teral finally said. (It’s not one we’ve consulted recently, that’s for certain.)

Grimacing, Aradin stood and pulled his witchrobe around his body, moving two paces from the chair. “One more moment . . .”

As she watched, frowning in confusion, he tugged the deep hood of his robe down over his face and throat. Cut off from daylight by the spells woven into the holy cloth, he was free to reach into the Dark directly. With both his and Teral’s will focused on finding exactly what they wanted, it did not take long.

The first few times Aradin had been exposed to this little perk of Witch-craft, he had been amazed and flabbergasted; Teral had been forced to manage the trick for both of them, since it required a very keen, firm will to make it work. But work it did, and was part and parcel of how their entire Order communicated over long distances, assisted others in traveling when there was dire need for it, and “carried” their belongings with them, without actually having to physically carry a thing. After a full decade of practice, Aradin could manage this quite well on his own, though his Guide didn’t hesitate to help.

As soon as they both had their hands on what they wanted, setting it at their feet, Aradin stepped back into his robe-shrouded body and spun away. The folds of his cloak parted around the object, leaving a chest as broad as any pillow and as tall as any footstool on the floor of the Grove Keeper’s study. Saleria sat up, eyes widening as she stared at the bronze-bound, carved mahogany chest. There was no way he could have smuggled that thing into her study under his robes, and no hint of magic, no cry of empowered words to suggest the use of a Gate of some kind.

“How did you . . . ?”

Shifting the hood of his cloak back from his head, Aradin knelt in front of the chest. He worked on the clasp while he spoke; the metal was cold and stiff from its time in storage. “The Dark, as you know, exists between Life and the Afterlife. But what most people forget is that it touches all corners of existence. All at once. It is the realm of spirits and magic, the souls of the departed and the life-energies that get sucked into the Dark in their wake.

“These spirits snap free of their physical bodies and head toward the home of the Gods—all the Gods,” he added, wanting to remind her that Darkhanan priests were not exclusive in their services and beliefs. “They can do so from any point in the world, and still wind up in the same place, if they will it.” The latch was stubborn, but it did move, squeaking a bit as metal rubbed on metal. “But that is the point, isn’t it? It is the will of a person that dictates how swiftly they head toward the Light of the Afterlife.

“Or they—injuries or illnesses permitting—can turn around and resume occupying the shells of their bodies. And for those who are trained in the holy secrets . . .” a few more tugs pulled it free as he spoke, “. . . one can will the existence of storage space in the Dark—ungh! There we go.” Lifting the lid up and back, he riffled through the scrolls and papers nested inside. “Burgundy ribbon, if I remember right . . . burgundy . . . no, that’s too scarlet . . . ah! Here it is.”

Pulling out the scroll, he untied the ribbon holding it shut. Unrolling the beige parchment, Aradin showed it to her, but given the first half was written in Darkhanan, her blank look was understandable. He recited the preamble for her.

“A prophecy of the Duchess Haupanea of the Duchy of Nightfall, Empire of Katan, penned by Chaiden, night-scribe to Her Holiness, tentatively entitled ‘The Synod Gone.’” He tilted the sheet toward Saleria as she shifted off her chair to kneel at his side, wanting a better look.

This close, he could smell a subtle hint of a flower—possibly honeysuckle—soap, and a bit of spice. Striving to be subtle, he leaned a little closer and inhaled. Definitely honeysuckle, and a touch of something else. Some sort of sweet spice from the local markets. An intriguing combination. I wonder who makes her soaps?

She was waiting for more information. Focusing his thoughts, Aradin continued. “According to the Department of Prophecies here in your own empire, Duchess Haupanea lived during the time of the last Convocation. She left behind a number of prophecies that suggested she would have shaped up to be quite powerful as a Seer.

“Unfortunately, she perished at a young age during a side effect of the Shattering, but this information comes from a copy extracted from the imperial archives from . . . seventy-five or so years after the Shattering? Obviously I wasn’t around then,” he dismissed, “but a previous Darkhanan Witch uncovered this information with the assistance of your Department of Prophecies. The actual prophecy comes from about a year or so before the Shattering. It’s written in the original Katani at the bottom.”

Taking the scroll from him, Saleria unrolled it further, reading the doggerel written on the page. Some Seers spoke in poetry, some in impassioned rants, and some penned their visions, hand moving across page without the owner’s volition. This was one of the first kind, obviously.

Gone, all gone, the synod gone, destroyed by arrogant might,

But not forgotten, not abandoned, not lost into the night.

Old and new, Mankind and Gods, again they both shall speak;

Names be named, lands confirmed, repentances two seek.

Eight and mates shall pave the way, shall build the holy hall.

Eight more and mates shall guard the world, to save or ruin all.

By eight who are kin, by six familiar, one runaway, one unknown,

By mates and friends, by guides and aides, by outworlder on throne.

Gone, all gone, the synod gone, brought back by exiled might;

By second try, the fiends must die, uncovered by the blight.

In dark and day shall living and dead assemble each worthy soul,

For each represents, to beg and assert, the world then remade whole.

Through dark and life, by ship and spell, by first, then second light.

Destroy the false, which spurs the lie, but for this world shall fight.

By one who will stay, and one to betray, and third who shall turn away;

Gone, all gone, but synod’s pawns shall come again one day.

With the last line recited, Saleria sat back on her heels, brow creased in puzzlement. She looked at the Darkhanan kneeling across from her on the other side of the open chest. “This thing speaks of the Convocation of the Gods? Are you sure of that?”

“Yes,” Aradin said. Reaching over the chest, he tapped the parchment “There are several lines that confirm it. ‘Synod’ is an ancient Fortunai word for when all the clergy, all the priests and Holy Orders, get together to discuss holy writ and holy law. Such things are—or were—done at the Convocations. The third line of the first verse speaks of Gods and Man both speaking, again an image of the Convocation. There is a ‘holy hall’ in the first line of the second verse, and an assembly of worthy souls in the third line of the third verse, both of which are signature elements of a Convocation, plus a true representative of each nation’s religious needs . . . which is covered in the second line of the second verse.

“We can tell that Darkhanan Witch-craft is involved, because it speaks of ‘dark and day’ and ‘living and dead’ which we interpret to mean the Hosts and Guides who navigate the Dark, the means by which we will assist the true representatives of each nation to attend the Convocation when it is time for it to begin. Plus one or two other signs we already knew about,” he added dismissively. “Or at least have had time to question the Dark about.”

“Question the Dark,” she repeated, skeptical.

“Yes. Remember, we can only ask questions and receive a true answer for things that are happening, or have already happened. Our best Witch has been questioning the Dark about this and other prophecies for a very long time. The ‘exiled might’ and the ‘eight who are kin’ have finally come into play, which usually means the rest of the prophecy is also due to come true,” Aradin told her. “You have no idea just how long our Order has been working on getting the Convocation of Gods and Man reinstated. Generations’ worth—basically since right after the Shattering ended the last one. We are very committed to seeing that all aspects of its reinstatement go smoothly.”

He didn’t say more than that. It was enough that he could tell from her softened frown that she was considering the truth of his words, paired with the truth of the scroll. Well, their words, technically. It was actually Teral who had worked the hardest on paying attention to this task, not him, but then Teral had heard about it long before his death by fallen tree. Aradin himself hadn’t cared, and would have continued not caring, if he hadn’t met the subjects of the “repentances two seek” part. Meeting a pair in as desperate straits as those two could change anyone’s mind.

(Best not to talk about it, though,) Teral murmured, following his Host’s thoughts. (Most people just don’t understand, and it takes too long to explain.)

(Why do you think I’m leaving it out?) Aradin shot back.

Lowering the scroll to her lap, Saleria shook her head, blonde curls sliding over her white-clad shoulders. “It’s rather strange . . .”

“What is?” Aradin asked. Since she seemed done with the scroll, he reached across the chest to take it.

She handed it back with a shrug. “When I was in my teens, I had a . . . a revelation that I was meant to serve the Gods. Life-changing. But if this scroll of yours is a true prophecy, and you think I am destined to be a ‘worthy soul’ sent to represent my people at the next Convocation . . . I’d think I should feel like I was part of a prophecy. But it’s a different feeling from my moment of revelation. This does feel important, like there is something there, but . . . it’s not life-changing.”

That made him smile wryly. “Not all revelations are life-changing. And not all life-changes are revelations.” Closing the lid, Aradin caught her hand and gently squeezed it. “Now I’m not saying you are the absolute perfect choice for being the Katani representative at the next Convocation of the Gods . . . mainly because neither I nor Teral have asked the Dark yet if you will be . . . but from everything we’ve heard about you on our way here, and after speaking with you, I’d like to think you have that potential.

“I’d also like to get to know you better,” Aradin stated. It was the truth. Saleria was not a conventional priestess, even for a cleric of a foreign land. She fascinated him, with her mix of wisdom and naivety . . . but to be honest, so did the little snippets he kept hearing about what was wrong with her Grove. He focused on luring her with that as well. “Plus, I think I may have enough knowledge about the many interactions between plants and magic to be able to help you with your difficulties.

“If so, that would solve both our problems. I could stay and tend the needs of the Grove while you go to the Convocation to tend the needs of your people . . . and as a mage-priest, I would be willing to swear before both your Gods and mine to take every bit as much care with the tending of the Sacred Grove as you yourself would take. An oath-binding, even.” He gently stroked the backs of her fingers with his thumb.

Feeling his warm, lightly callused skin caressing hers, Saleria blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone holding her hand. At least, not like this, not in a courtly way. Now that she was the Keeper, her time had been deemed too dedicated to the needs of the Grove to receive petitions in person, so she no longer even prayed in the presence of others, let alone clasped hands with them for a joint prayer. His scent reminded her of that exotic perfume, sandalwood, with a hint of musk. His eyes were a mix of wood brown and leaf green, reminding her of a garden. Of what the Grove should be.

She knew she was woolgathering, but then Aradin—the younger of the two—was attractive. Part of her mind strayed from the subject at hand, wondering what strictures or rules Darkhanan priests and priestesses had on their courtship practices. Part of her mind wondered why she was even thinking such an absurd, abstract thought, and another, third part wondered how she would even begin to find out the answers to such personal questions.

Not like I could bring it up in polite conversation. At least, not right away. It would take several conversations to find out what else he might want from me . . . or with me . . . but the only way that would ever happen is . . .

Behind her, Daranen coughed discreetly. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your midday path-walk and tree-draining, Holiness?”

“Oh, right.” Tugging her fingers free was easy; he didn’t clutch at them or resist, just let them slide from his grasp as if in one last caress. She could still feel the lingering warmth of his skin on hers, and wished she could just take his hand and not have to think about being the Keeper of the Grove for a while. Blushing, Saleria rose to her feet.

So did Aradin Teral. He smiled at her, tugged his hood up into place, swooped the folds of his voluminous robes around both his body and the chest, turned completely around in a swirl of tan-and-black hemline, and faced her again. The chest had vanished somewhere in that spin, and again she could detect no magic in the act.

“How . . . ?” she asked, distracted by its disappearance. “I sensed no magic whatsoever, yet it had to be by magic. So how did you do that?”

“I’d tell you, but most people outside our Order don’t like hearing the answer,” he told her, pushing the hood off his head one more time. It was still the younger, blond-haired Aradin, or at least his body. And he stood and talked like the younger man did. “So, since there’s nothing more to discuss while you think about it, should I accompany you on your walk today?”

“But I do want to know,” Saleria protested, clinging to her curiosity. She stepped forward as she spoke, one hand coming up to touch his tan-robed arm. Her eyes searched his, and she felt odd, as if she were . . . flirting with him. . . . I’m flirting with him? I guess I am. “Please? It’ll plague me all day if I don’t know, and then I’ll be distracted, and get mauled by a . . . a stray, ambulatory fern bush or something.”

Just a little bit taller than her, he had an excellent view of her eyes from this close. They looked a bit more gray than blue here in the indirect daylight that illuminated her study. They also looked sincerely interested in his answer, wide, framed with short but thick golden lashes. A straight nose lay between them, and her rose-pink lips rested below, slightly parted as she awaited his answer.

What he wanted to do was kiss her. What he had to do was answer her question. Shrugging, Aradin spread his hands, then clasped them. “As you may know, death draws magic into the Darkness. Additionally, you may know that certain weak points in the Veil between Life and Death allow some of that magic to rush back into the world again, yes?”

“Yes, I know all that. I deal with it on a daily basis,” she dismissed impatiently. “Particularly the spewing back out into the living world part.”

“Well, if you know how to open a doorway into the Dark . . . a one-way opening into the realm of the wandering dead, rather than a Fountain being a doorway flowing from there to here . . . then your magic gets sucked into the Dark, does it not?” His smile didn’t falter, though he did watch her pupils expand in shock, along with a shiver that rippled over her frame. He softened his smile, taking pity on her. “We of Darkhana are not afraid of any aspect of death, Holy Sister. It is simply a transition between states of existence. A transition which many of us have learned to master . . . and no, I do not refer to immortality.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Saleria asked, dropping her hand so she could fold her arms across her chest.

Tipping his head, Aradin let Teral answer for both of them. “There is nothing that a mortal being can do to completely stop the advancing of age in a human’s body, young lady,” the older Witch stated. “Slow it, yes, but there is nothing we should do to stop its advancement, beyond taking care for our good health. We can slow it through exercise and good food, and even a few spells, but aging is part of the experience of being human, of being mortal.

“Without physical signs of the passage of time, then time itself becomes meaningless. Weeks and months and years all slide past. Reference points are lost. Confusion sets in, and the lessons we strive to learn are washed away in the flood of same-again same-again, day after day. We start to lose the urgency of life, and with it, the compassion for our fellow beings.” He gave her a gentle smile. “We give power and compassion to our Gods because we know we are mortal, fragile, and somewhat short on time.”

“Yet don’t you Guides have a sort of immortality of your own?” she asked, shifting her palms to her hips. She . . . didn’t feel like flirting with him as much, when it was Teral, for all that she liked the look of Aradin’s body. Saleria kept that point of awkwardness to herself, though, pursuing instead her curiosity. “What’s to stop you from binding yourself to the next priest, and the next?”

“The bond can only be set once for a spirit whose body has died,” he stated, shaking his head. “When Aradin dies and his body decays, I will be released into the Light, because I can only be bound once, and I chose to be bound to the Doorway found in his body, with his permission. It is my physical anchor, just as my body was the physical anchor for my own soul when I was alive, and the anchor for my own Guide, Alaya. And some day, should Aradin choose to become a Guide, he will have one choice and one alone, with no taking it back and no changing his mind—changing his soul—for another’s Door,” Teral revealed. He paused, then tipped his head, Aradin’s head, handing back control of their shared body.

Once again, it was Aradin who spoke. “. . . I did not make the choice to be his Host lightly. I would not ask anyone else so lightly, and I shall hope I won’t ever have to make it as abruptly, either. Normally, one or more acolytes are chosen and trained in the last few years of a Witch’s life, serving alongside the person who is expected to become their Guide. That helps ensure the personalities hopefully match. If not . . . it can be a rough transition period while the two get to know and learn tolerance for each other.”

“As your experience was?” Saleria asked, guessing shrewdly from the slight hesitancies in his words.

Aradin dipped his head in a brief but telling nod. “It could have been considerably worse, but we’re both honest enough to admit the first few months were . . . awkward. Becoming a Witch-priest was not on my original list of things to do with my life. But we have managed to strike a very reasonable compromise. We get along as well as any two close friends, now.”

Saleria studied him a long moment, then shook her head. All this swapping back and forth was confusing, the differences subtle and hard to catch. “If it’s all the same, if you turn out to be suitable for helping me . . . I’d rather only one of you spoke from, well, one body at a time. Each your own body. It gets confusing otherwise. Just pass along what the other one wants to say, if you don’t actually switch, please?”

In the back of Aradin’s mind, his Guide sighed. (Typical . . . but understandable. Since your points are valid on each of our suitability for the problems at hand, please let her know that I agree to her terms.)

(Not like I have much of a choice, either. We are under orders to cooperate wherever it is in the best interests for all. And if nothing else, we can at least try to be more discreet when switching control. Though to be honest, I think it’ll remind me of our earliest days,) Aradin agreed, a faint smile twisting his mouth. Reviving the Convocation was their goal, and that had to come first. Shrugging, he spread his hands. “Teral agrees to your terms, and I shall do my best to comply as well.”

“Good,” she said. “No insult to your Guide or anything, but I prefer to see the person speaking with me. It’s one thing when you’re around a corner, but another thing entirely when you’re using someone else’s lips. It’s very disorienting.”

Aradin nodded, a lock of his blond hair sliding free of his robe. “That is quite understandable. Even a few people within our homeland’s borders still find it awkward to speak to one while seeing another. We have grown . . . lax . . . in our protocols, and both of us apologize.”

The bow he gave her was as graceful as it was sincere. Saleria couldn’t find fault with his—their—politeness. And that’s enough of that line of thought, she decided silently. Or my head will end up aching abominably from trying to keep track of it all.

Another soft, semi-discreet cough from her scribe reminded her of her sense of duty. Sighing, she headed for the door. Then stopped and turned back to face the strange two-in-one priest. She made another decision, a split-second decision, and spoke with it firmly in her mind.

“Boasting or truthful, you have claimed you understand the interactions between plants and magic, and claimed you are a strong mage—singly or together makes no matter,” she dismissed that part. “If you think you can help assist me, then come now, and prove it. You may take a few moments to visit a refreshing room, which is just two doors down on the left. I will fetch waterskins and a spare pruning staff. Do understand that, should you choose to accompany me, you will do as I say, when I say it, and otherwise not interfere.”

“Of course,” Aradin agreed quickly, bowing again. Not as deeply as before, but with similar sincerity. “I will be as a mere apprentice, and you my teacher.”

Nodding, she led the way out of her office. It was time to go on her next set of rounds. Apprentice. Teacher. Right. He’s too smooth, too experienced, to hold such a subservient role for long, I’d think. Well, we’ll see how well he does when he meets up with his first carnivorous vine.