David Zindell - The Lightstone - The Ninth Kingdom - Part One

‘But I don’t oppose him,’ I said.

‘No, you’re too gentle of soul for that,’ Master Juwain told me. There was doubt in his voice, and irony as well. ‘But you needn’t take up arms to be in opposition to the Red Dragon. You oppose him merely in your intelligence and love of freedom. And by seeking all that is beautiful, good and true.’

I looked down at the carpet and bit my lip against the tightness in my throat. It was the Brothers who sought those things, not I.

As if Master Juwain could read my thoughts, he caught my eyes and said, ‘You have a gift, Val. What kind of gift, I’m not yet sure. But you could have been a Meditation Master or Music Master. Or possibly even a Master Healer.’

‘Do you really think so, sir?’ I asked, looking at him.

‘You know I do,’ he said in a voice heavy with accusation. ‘But in the end, you quit.’

Because I couldn’t bear the hurt in his eyes, I turned to stare at the fire, which seemed scarcely less angry and inflamed. Of all my brothers, I had been the only one to attend the Brotherhood school past the age of sixteen. I had wanted to study music, poetry, languages and meditation. With great reluctance my father had agreed to this, so long as I didn’t neglect the art of the sword. And so for two happy years, I had wandered the cloisters and gardens of the Brotherhood’s great sanctuary ten miles up the valley from Silvassu; there I had memorized poems and played my flute and sneaked off into the ash grove to practice fencing with Maram. Though it had never occurred to my father that I might actually want to take vows and join the Brotherhood, for a long time I had nursed just such an ambition.

‘It wasn’t my choice,’ I finally said.

‘Not your choice?’ Master Juwain huffed out. ‘Everything we do, we choose. And you chose to quit.’

‘But the Waashians were killing my friends!’ I protested. ‘Raising spears against my brothers! The king called me to war, and I had to go.’

‘And what have all your wars ever changed?’

‘Please do not call them my wars, sir. Nothing would make me happier than to see war ended forever.’

‘No?’ he said, pointing at the dagger that I wore on my belt. ‘Is that why you bear arms wherever you go? Is that why you answered your father’s call to battle?’

‘But, sir,’ I said, smiling as I thought of the words from one of his favorite books, ‘isn’t all life a battle?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘a battle of the heart and soul.’

‘Navsa Adami,’ I said, ‘believed in fighting with other weapons.’

At the mention of the name of the man who had founded the first Brotherhood, Master Juwain grimaced as if he had been forced to drink vinegar. Perhaps I shouldn’t have touched upon the old wound between the Brotherhoods and the Valari. But I had read the history of the Brotherhoods in books collected in their own libraries. In Tria, the Eternal City, in the 2,177th year of the Age of the Mother, which ever after would be called the Dark Year, Navsa Adami had been among those who suffered the first invasion of the Aryans. The sack of Tria had been terrible and swift, for in that most peaceful of ages, the Alonians possessed hoes and spades for digging in their gardens but no true weapons. Navsa Adami had been bound in chains and forced to watch the violation and murder of his own wife on the steps of the Temple of Life. The Aryan warlord had then razed the great Temple and destroyed the Garden of the Earth as the slaughter began. And Navsa Adami, along with fifty priests, had escaped and fled into the Morning Mountains, vowing revenge.

This exile became known as the First Breaking of the Order. For the Order had been founded to use the green gelstei crystals to awaken the lands of Ea to a greater life whereas Navsa Adami now wished to bring about the Aryans’ death. And so, in the mountains of Mesh, he founded the Great White Brotherhood to fight the Aryans by any means the Brothers could find. With him he brought a green gelstei meant to be used for healing and furthering the life forces; Navsa Adami, however, had planned to use it to breed a race of warriors to fight the Aryans and overthrow their reign of terror. But he found in Mesh men who were already warriors; it became his hope to unite the Valari and train us in the mystic arts so that we would one day defeat the Aryans and bring peace to Ea. And this, at the Battle of Sarburn, we had nearly done. As a consequence of this the Brotherhoods, early in the Age of Law, had forever renounced violence and war. They had pleaded with the Valari to do the same. The Valari knights, though, fearing the return of the Dragon, had kept their swords sharpened and close to their hands. And so the bond between the Brotherhoods and the Valari was broken.

I had thought to score a point by invoking the name of Navsa Adami. But Master Juwain let his anger melt away so that only a terrible sadness remained. Then he said softly, ‘If Navsa Adami were alive today, he would be the first to warn you that once the killing begins, it never ends.’

I turned away as his sadness touched my eyes with a deep, hot pain. I suddenly recalled the overpowering wrongness that I had sensed earlier in the woods; now a bit of this wrongness, in the form of kirax and perhaps something worse, would burn forever inside me.

I wanted to look at Master Juwain and tell him that there had to be a way to end the killing. Instead, I looked into myself and said, There’s always a time to fight.’

Master Juwain stepped closer to me and laid his hand on mine. Then he told me, ‘Evil can’t be vanquished with a sword, Val. Darkness can’t be defeated in battle but only by shining a bright enough light.’

He looked at me with a new radiance pouring out of him and said, ‘This is truly a dark time. But it’s always darkest just before the dawn.’

He let go of me suddenly and walked over to his desk. There his hand closed on a large book bound in green leather. I immediately recognized it as the Saganom Elu, many passages of which I had memorized during my years at the Brotherhood’s school.

‘I think it’s time for a little reading lesson,’ he announced, moving back toward Maram and me. His fingers quickly flipped through the yellow, well-worn pages, and then he suddenly dropped the book into Maram’s hands. ‘Brother Maram, would you please read from the Trian Prophecies. Chapter seven, beginning with verse twenty-six.’

Maram, who was as surprised as I was at this sudden call to scholarship, stood there sweating and blinking his eyes. ‘You want me to read now, sir. Ah, shouldn’t we be getting ready for the feast?’

‘Indulge me if you will, please.’

‘But you know I’ve no talent for ancient Ardik,’ Maram grumbled. ‘Now, if you would ask me to read Lorranda, which is the language of love and poetry, why then I would be delighted to –’

‘Please just read us the lines,’ Master Juwain interrupted, ‘or we will miss the feast.’

Maram stood there glowering at him like a child asked to muck out a stable. He asked, ‘Do I have to, sir?’

‘Yes, you do,’ Master Juwain told him. ‘I’m afraid that Val never had the time to learn Ardik as well as you.’

Truly, I had left the Brotherhood’s school before mastering this noblest of languages. And so I waited intently as Maram took a deep breath and ground his finger into the page of the book that Master Juwain had set before him. And then his huge voice rolled out into the room: ‘ Songan erathe ad valte kalanath li galdanaan … ah, let me see … Jin Ieldra, song Ieldra –’

‘Very good,’ Master Juwain broke in, ‘but why don’t you translate as you read?’

‘But, sir,’ he said, pointing at a book on the writing table, ‘you already have the translated version there. Why don’t I just read from that?’