L. Modesitt - Imager's challenge

Then I walked him back to the two seconds, who escorted him out of the receiving hall.

Haensyl looked up from the granite desk at me. “Sir . . . do many of them from the taudis make it?”

“Some do, but it’s harder for them. Shault’s young enough that in some ways it will be easier, but he’s going to be lonely.”

Haensyl nodded.

I went back to the duty study, thinking. Concentrating on the patroller procedures was even more difficult, because I kept thinking of Shault. The remainder of the day was uneventful, except for the drizzle that began just before the evening meal.

When I got to the dining hall, I was pleased to see that Mayra had arranged for several of the younger primes to sit with Shault. From what I could tell, while he was subdued, he occasionally spoke, and not just in monosyllables.

After dinner, I did attend services at the Anomen Imagisle, on the south end of the granite isle that held the Collegium. I did have to stand on one side, in a spot reserved for the duty master. Except for the imagers emeritus, of course, everyone stood through the services.

A small choir of imagers offered the choral invocation, and they sang well, a talent I certainly did not possess, and after that Chorister Isola followed with the wordless end to the invocation. She still remained the only woman chorister of the Nameless that I’d ever seen, not that choristers were restricted to being men, since no one could know or presume whether the Nameless was male or female, or indeed both at once. After that, she opened the main part of the service.

“We are gathered here together this evening in the spirit of the Nameless and in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

The opening hymn was “Without the Pride of Naming,” and I sang it softly, for the benefit of those near me, but I did speak more loudly through the confession.

“We do not name You, for naming is a presumption, and we would not presume upon the creator of all that was, is, and will be. We do not pray to You, nor ask favors or recognition from You, for requesting such asks You to favor us over others who are also Your creations. Rather we confess that we always risk the sins of pride and presumption and that the very names we bear symbolize those sins, for we too often strive to arrogate our names and ourselves above others, to insist that our petty plans and arid achievements have meaning beyond those whom we love or over whom we have influence and power. Let us never forget that we are less than nothing against Your nameless magnificence and that all that we are is a gift to be cherished and treasured, and that we must also respect and cherish the gifts of others, in celebration of You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped.”

After the confession and offertory, Chorister Isola stepped to the pulpit for the homily. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” came the reply.

“And it is a good evening, for under the Nameless, all evenings are good.” She paused momentarily. “In this time of year, harvest is drawing to a close, and before long, the winds will turn chill. With that cold that will end the year, many of us will feel a loss, often an unnamed loss, as if a year passing is a year lost. Yet there are those who seize upon the year, the name of the year, as if it were a vintage. You will hear people say, ‘755 was a good year, better than 754 . . . ’ ”

Certainly, the past year, 755 years after the founding of L’Excelsis, had been a year of profound change for me, and in that sense, it had been better.

“. . . yet when we focus on the names, whether those names are those of years or of people, or of places, we cling to the names as if they were locks on doors or bars on windows that would protect us. Names are but a false security because they do not reflect all that is. The number of a year does not capture the events of that year, the warmth of loves found, the bitterness of loved ones and friends lost, or the satisfaction of accomplishments. . . . The greatness of Rholan the Unnamer lies not so much in his rejection of names, but in his affirmation of life beyond names and labels. . . . The very name of the place where we meet-the anomen-is a reminder that we should hold to what is and not to the names of such places, just as we should recall the experiences of the years we have lived and not merely their numbers. . . .”

I listened as she finished the homily, glad that she was a good chorister, and one who made me think, even as I doubted whether the Nameless did indeed exist.

For some reason, her homily triggered thoughts about my own losses, but mostly about Shault, who had just lost all that was familiar to him, humble though it might have been. I was glad to see that Mayra was with him. She towered a good fifteen digits over him, but she seemed patient, and occasionally whispered instructions to the taudis-boy. Twice Shault pointed to me and murmured to Mayra. I was surprised that he’d located me among the more than two hundred imagers in the anomen.

After services, I hurried to catch up to Mayra and the two boys with her.

“Mayra?”

She stopped and turned. “Yes, Master Rhennthyl.”

“Is Shault settled in?”

“As well as he can be until we can get him to the tailor tomorrow.”

“Good . . . and thank you.” I looked to Shault. “In the morning, you’ll meet with Master Dichartyn. He can be very stern, but you should listen to him carefully.”

As I hurried away from them back to the duty study, I caught a few words from behind me.

“. . . must be strong . . .”

“. . . young for a master, but he’s very powerful . . .”

And still less experienced than I would have liked, something that having had to deal with young Shault had reminded me.

Needless to say, at quarter before sixth glass on Lundi morning, when I entered the receiving hall to close out the end-day duty, Master Dichartyn was the one who was there, rather than Master Schorzat or Master Jhulian.

Master Dichartyn smiled at me. It wasn’t a wry smile, not exactly, but it held a trace of amusement. “I understand you took in a young imager yesterday afternoon. A taudis-child.”

“Yes, sir.” Had I done something wrong?

“You seem to have made quite an impression on him, Rhenn.”

“I just followed the procedures.”

“He said that you scared his taudischef, and no one ever scared Horazt. Exactly what did you say to him?”

“I just told Horazt my name and that if the second gold didn’t go to the boy’s mother, sooner or later I’d find out, and there would be a new west quarter taudischef.”

“I thought as much.” Master Dichartyn shook his head. “You know that young imagers from the taudis have much more trouble adjusting to the Collegium. You’re really too young to mentor a young imager, but Shault respects you, and that’s half the battle. Master Ghaend will handle his assignments and day-to-day work, but you need to talk to him twice a week, at least for a while, starting tonight, after dinner. You know why, don’t you?”

“He needs another taudischef, and one approved by Horazt.”

Master Dichartyn nodded. “You’d better get on your way, if you want to eat and get to Patrol headquarters on time.”

After that, I hurried to the dining hall, early enough that most of the primes and seconds weren’t there. Neither was Shault. I slipped into a seat next to the gray-haired Maitre Dyana, because any other seat I would have taken would have suggested I was avoiding her.

“Good morning,” I offered.

“Next time, don’t scan the table when you’re close enough to have your eyes read.” Her bright blue eyes pinned me in my seat. As always, she wore a colorful scarf above her imager grays, and this one was a brilliant green, with touches of an equally bright violet. Her unlined face suggested she was far younger than did her hair and experience.