The Dark One

SEVENTEEN: JADE

As soon as we entered the cloister, Lydia van Bredevoort, Vilgefortz's assistant, stopped, looked at him and asked him something. Telepathically. Vilgefortz didn't answer her using telepathy. "Yes, Lydia, that's a good idea," answered Vilgefortz. "Let's take a walk through the Gallery of Glory. You'll have the opportunity to take a look at the history of magic. I have no doubt you're familiar with it, but now you'll have the chance to become acquainted with its visual history, too. If you're a connoisseur of painting, please don't be horrified. Most of them are the work of the enthusiastic students of Aretuza. Lydia, be so good as to lighten the gloom around here a little."
Lydia van Bredevoort passed her hand through the air, and it immediately became lighter in the corridor.
The first painting showed an ancient sailing craft being hurled around by whirlpools among reefs protruding from the surf. A man in white robes stood on the prow of the ship, his head encircled by a bright halo.
"The first landing," I muttered.
"Indeed," Vilgefortz confirmed. "The Ship of Outcasts. Jan Bekker is bending the Power to his will. He calms the waves, proving that magic need not be evil or destructive but may save lives."
"Did that event really take place?" I groaned, trying to think of something other than the fact I was looking at something I had lived through.
"I doubt it," smiled the sorcerer. "It's more likely that, during the first journey and landing, Bekker and the others were hanging over the side, vomiting bile. After the landing which, by a strange twist of fate, was successful, he was able to overcome the Power. Let's go on. Here we see Jan Bekker once more, forcing water to gush from the rock, in the very spot where the first settlement was established. And here, if you please, Bekker – surrounded by settlers – drives away the clouds and holds back a tempest to save the harvest."
"And here? What event is shown in this painting?"
"The identification of the Chosen Ones. Bekker and Giambattista put the children of the settlers through a magical test as they arrived, in order to reveal Sources. The selected children were taken from their parents and brought to Mirthe, the first seat of the mages. Right now, you are looking at a historical moment. As you can see, all the children are terrified, and only that determined brown-haired girl is holding a hand out to Giambattista with a completely trusting smile. She became the famous Agnes of Glanville, the first woman to become an enchantress. The woman behind her is her mother. You can see sadness in her expression."
"And this crowd scene?"
"The Novigradian Union. Bekker, Giambattista and Monck are concluding a pact with rulers, priests and druids. A pact of nonaggression codifying the separation of magic and state. Dreadful kitsch. Let's go on. Here we see Geoffrey Monck setting off up the Pontar, which at that time was still called Aevon y Pont ar Gwennelen, the River of Alabaster Bridges. Monck sailed to Loc Muinne, to persuade the elves there to adopt a group of Source children, who were to be taught by elven sorcerers. It may interest you to know that among those children was a little boy, who came to be known as Gerhart of Aelle. You met him a moment ago. That little boy is now called Hen Gedymdeith."
"This," I said, looking at the sorcerer, "is just calling out for a battle scene. After all, several years after Monck's successful expedition, the forces of Marshal Raupenneck of Tretogor carried out a pogrom in Loc Muinne and Est Haemlet, killing all of the elves, regardless of age or sex. And a war began, ending with the massacre at Shaerrawedd."
"And your impressive knowledge of history," Vilgefortz smiled once again, "will remind you, however, that no sorcerer of any note took part in those wars. For which reason the subject did not inspire any of the novices to paint a work to commemorate it. Let's move on."
"Very well. What event is shown in this canvas? Oh, I know. It's Raffard the White reconciling the feuding kings and putting an end to the Six Years' War. And here we have Raffard refusing to accept the crown. A beautiful, noble gesture." I muttered, trying to hint at Vilgefortz I did know everything that had happened throughout the history of the continent.
"Do you think so?" said Vilgefortz, tilting his head. "Well, in any case, it was a gesture with the weight of precedent behind it. Raffard did, however, accept the position of first adviser so became the de facto ruler, since the king was an imbecile."
"The Gallery of Glory..." I muttered, walking up to the next painting. "And what do we have here?"
"The historical moment when the first Chapter was installed and the Law enacted. From the left you see seated: Herbert Stammelford, Aurora Henson, Ivo Richert, Agnes of Glanville, Geoffrey Monck and Radmir of Tor Carnedd. This, if I'm to be honest, also cries out for a battle scene to complete it. For soon after, those who refused to acknowledge the Chapter and submit to the Law were wiped out in a brutal war. Raffard the White died, among others. But historical treatises remain silent about it, so as not to spoil a beautiful legend."
"And here...Hmm...Yes, a novice probably painted this. And a very young one, at that..."
"Undoubtedly. It's an allegory, after all. I'd call it an allegory of triumphant womanliness. Air, water, earth and fire. And four famous enchantresses, all masters at wielding the forces of those elements. Agnes of Glanville, Aurora Henson, Nina Fioravanti and Klara Larissa de Winter. Look at the next – and more effective – painting. Here you also see Klara Larissa opening the academy for girls here, in the building where we now stand. And those are portraits of renowned Aretuza graduates. This shows a long history of triumphant womanhood and the growing feminization of the profession: Yanna of Murivel, Nora Wagner, her sister Augusta, Jada Glevissig, Leticia Charbonneau, Ilona Laux-Antille, Carla Demetia Crest, Yiolenta Suarez, April Wenhaver... And the only surviving one: Tissaia de Vries..."
We continued. The silk of Lydia van Bredevoort's dress whispered softly, and the whisper contained a menacing secret. "And that?" I stopped. "What is this dreadful scene?"
"The martyrdom of the sorcerer Radmir, flayed alive during the Falka rebellion. In the background burns the town of Mirthe, which Falka had ordered to be consumed by flame."
"For which act Falka herself was soon consumed by flame. At the stake. And used fire magic."
"That is a widely known fact; Temerian and Redanian children still play at burning Falka on Saovine's Eve. Let's go back, so that you may see the other side of the gallery . . . Ah, I see you have a question."
"I'm wondering about the chronology. I know, naturally, how elixirs of youth work, but the simultaneous appearance of living people and long dead ones in these paintings..."
"You mean: you are astonished that you met Hen Gedymdeith and Tissaia de Vries at the banquet, but Bekker, Agnes of Glanville, Stammelford or Nina Fioravanti are not with us?"
"No. I know we're not immortal."
"What is death?" interrupted Vilgefortz. "To you?"
"Something I'd take now."
"Why?"
"Vilgefortz, I've lived through everything that is shown in these paintings. Thank you for making me relive it, much appreciated." I muttered, sarcasm being everything in that moment of time.
"Nature doesn't know the concept of philosophy, Jade De Vries. The pathetic – ridiculous – attempts which people undertake to try to understand nature are typically termed philosophy. The results of such attempts are also considered philosophy. It's as though a cabbage tried to investigate the causes and effects of its existence, called the result of these reflections "an eternal and mysterious conflict between head and root", and considered rain an unfathomable causative power. We, sorcerers, don't waste time puzzling out what nature is. We know what it is; for we are nature ourselves. Do you understand?"
"I'm trying to, but please talk more slowly. I think I've drunk a few too many, I need to find air."
"Quite a nasty scrap is brewing. A bloody fight for life or death, with no mercy shown. One side will triumph, and the other will be pecked apart by ravens. I put it to you, comrade: join the side with the better chance. Join us. Forget the others, spit on them with utter contempt, because they don't stand a chance. What's the point of perishing with them? No, no, comrade, don't scowl at me. I know what you want to say. You want to say you're neutral. That you don't care about any of them, that you'll simply sit out the slaughter, hunkered down in your shared chambers with Tissaia. That's a bad idea, comrade. Everything you love will be with us. If you don't join us, you'll lose everything. And then you'll be consumed by emptiness, nothingness and hatred. You'll be destroyed by the approaching time of contempt. So be sensible and join the right side when the time comes to choose. And it will come. Trust me."
"Let's put an end to this conversation, Vilgefortz. You're wasting your time. I'm not an equal partner for you in this game. I can't see any chance of the two of us ending up in a painting in the Gallery of Glory. Particularly not in a battle scene." The sorcerer said nothing. "Set out on your chessboard," I muttered, "the kings, queens, elephants and rooks, and don't worry about me, because I mean as much on your chessboard as the dust on it. It's not my game. You say I'll have to choose? I say you're wrong. I won't choose. I'll respond to events. I'll adapt to what others choose. That's what I've always done."
"You're a fatalist."
"That's right. Although that's yet another word I ought not to know. I repeat: it's not my game."
"Really?" said Vilgefortz, leaning across the table. "In this game, Jade, on the chessboard, stands a black horse. It's tied to you by bonds of destiny. For good or ill. You know who I'm talking about, don't you? And I'm sure you don't want to lose her, do you? Just know there's only one way not to lose her."
My eyes narrowed. "What do you want from us?"
"There's only one way for you to find out."
"I'm warning you."
"There's only one way you could prevent that. I offered you that option, Jade. Think over my offer. You have the entire night. Think, as you look up at the sky. At the stars. And don't mistake them with their reflection in a pond. The sand has run out."