“Just place them here by me,” the Paragon said. “And then I would like for you to study in the Library for a time. An hour or so should be sufficient.”
“Yes, Illumined Mother,” Vrin answered with a bow. She set down the tray, and then departed through the front gate. The Paragon watched her as she went, and did not speak until several moments after the girl had closed the gate behind her.
“A fine Aspirant of the Mind,” the Paragon said. “She has a kindness of heart that cannot be taught. Indulgent of me, perhaps, to keep her for myself. But her service and loyalty are pure.”
She turned to the tray and poured tea into both mugs, and then turned back and handed one to Elyth. Elyth laid the cutting from the frostoak on her lap and accepted the tea with both hands as etiquette required. The tea was sea-deep green, and its fragrance rose as incense, its edges crisp and fresh like snow on pines but with a subtle hint of smoke behind. Elyth was struck with an impression of mist in moonlight, clinging low to the forest floor.
The Paragon raised her drink in a wordless toast, which Elyth returned, and together they sipped. After she’d partaken of her tea, the Paragon rested her hands in her lap with the tea bowl balanced lightly on her fingers, and for a time gazed at the steam rising from it. Elyth let her eyes linger on the elder woman’s effortless splendor and grace. Even in her simple attire, with her gray hair damp and mussed and thin in spots, she was magnificent. Magnificent in a way that was perhaps even enhanced by the raw humanity she now displayed. Truly she was the very incarnation of sareth hanaan, the high art of the House.
Some called it the Way, others the Path, others still any number of sacred-tinged designations. To outsiders it was a mystical power to be feared, or an outdated code of conduct to be mocked. But none of these captured the essence of sareth hanaan as Elyth understood it, nor as the Paragon embodied it. In truth, it meant simply “the quiet action of one who endures.” But it spoke of many things: the subtle shift of stance that deters attack; the patient forbearance of a lone mountain against which the surging sea endlessly breaks and then retreats; the gentle word of truth, perfectly timed, that topples a tyrant. The Paragon was all these things and more; a great stillness in swirling chaos, a lightning strike upon a fortress of oppression.
None had endured longer nor taken more effective subtle action than the ancient matriarch of the First House of the Ascendance. To see her now not in her splendid attire but in the work clothes of a servant crystallized for Elyth what the complete mastery of sareth hanaan looked like. And highlighted just how much more she still had to learn.
“Take a breath, child,” the Paragon said. “Your anxiety is spilling over, and it is misplaced.”
Elyth did as she was bade.
“My apologies, Illumined Mother,” she said. “I have not been able to quiet my questions about my recall from Revik.”
“I didn’t say it was wrong. Only misplaced. Your operation on Revik was both just and flawlessly executed. But a matter has arisen that requires immediate attention. I had hoped to spare you the need for recovery. Even now, I have given you all the time we can, brief as it has been. I fear the strain on you may be too great. But our need for you is greater still.”
One heaviness fell away from Elyth with the scant explanation, only to be replaced by another. The relief she felt at learning she hadn’t killed an innocent world barely registered; she’d never before heard of a circumstance so dire as to cut short an Advocate’s recovery.
The Paragon sipped her tea, pursed her lips slightly. She shook her head almost imperceptibly as she brought the bowl back to her lap.
“That which is now unfolding has many beginnings,” she said. “And though the threads have begun to intertwine, it is beyond the skill of this House to see yet what they will form once they are drawn fully together.”
Elyth noticed the narrowing of the Paragon’s eyes and the pursing of her lips, and realized she was seeing yet another thing that she’d never before witnessed nor imagined possible in the ancient matriarch. Uncertainty.
“The beginning of beginnings, I suppose,” the Paragon said, and she flashed a tight smile. “Let us cover ground that is familiar to us both, and perhaps we will together find our way to the right place. Tell me, daughter, upon what foundation is our House built?”
“Our House stands on the word alone,” Elyth replied reflexively; the traditional question and answer had been engraved on her mind and heart since her first day as an Aspirant.
“And tell me now, what does that mean?”
A response to that question was neither quick nor easy, made all the more challenging by the essence of the asker, as though a star had asked her to explain the nature of light.
Elyth thought carefully, chose her words with precision.
“The authority of the First House is rooted in the Deep Language,” she said. “Apart from it, no amount of wisdom, cunning, or skill is sufficient for us to stand.”
“Indeed,” the Paragon replied, “our House cannot exist without the Deep Language. That, however, is not true in reverse. The Deep Language exists of its own accord; it is there, in the very fabric of the universe. We merely discovered it. Our ability to speak it, however, could be considered something of a technology. And the truth of its concepts undergirds the Ascendance’s greatest of all technologies.”
“The Language,” Elyth said.
The Paragon nodded her head as she drank her tea.
“The Language,” she continued a moment later. “Built upon the foundation laid by the Deep. Expanded, yes, and greatly diluted. But one cannot fully disentangle the formal High or the vulgar Low from the underlying power of the Deep. And as with any technology, it can be wielded as a tool for creation or a weapon of destruction.”
Elyth was intimately aware of this truth; it was the thoughtless misuse of the Language, or its purposeful abuse, that made necessary her work. The poison of its corrupting influence seeping into the material substrate of a world, until all hope of recovery was lost. And it was why knowledge of the Deep Language was so closely guarded, and its use so tightly controlled.
The Paragon held up a finger and said, “This connection between the common Language and the Deep is one beginning. For another, tell me, how has the Ascendance maintained the stability of its governance across so many worlds, for so many millennia?”
“Undoubtedly because of the great wisdom and benevolence of the Grand Council,” Elyth answered dryly. Her intent was not lost on the Paragon; the elder woman dipped her head to acknowledge Elyth’s polite response, but the mild smirk encouraged Elyth to speak more honestly.
“The constant tension between the Grand Council, the Hezra, and the First House,” Elyth said. “And the structure’s capacity for self-correction.”
The Paragon nodded, deepened the response.
“The Hezra,” she said, holding up her right hand, “and the First House.” She held up her left. “These are the two hands with which the Grand Council rules. Justice, mercy; law, culture; knowledge, wisdom. An eye turned outward to the horizon; another turned inward to the soul.
“The authority and the power of the Ascendance. Stability rests not in either side of these pairings alone, but rather in the active mediation between them. History instructs us that it is the judgment of the Grand Council, balanced between this House and our siblings within the Hezra, that has brought such peace and prosperity to our vast citizenry. Though, of course, my nature tempts me to believe the House alone could rule, and be sufficient.
“I would be a fool indeed to deny such temptation exists, in myself as much as in others,” she said, and then held up two fingers. “This constant struggle for balance within our hierarchy is a second beginning.
“And for a third, tell me what you know of the Markovian Strain.”
“Only the basics, Your Radiance,” Elyth answered.
The Paragon nodded. “Before your time, by a few centuries. But speak of what you know.”
Elyth dredged up the memories of lessons learned long ago, from her days of study as an Aspirant. And now, as when she’d first learned of it, the account seemed distant, all dry fact with no life or blood.
“Markov was a mild world, agriculturally oriented,” she said. “It became the source of a potent strain of corrupted Language. The Hezra botched the quarantine and allowed it to spread to neighboring worlds via known trade routes. The end result was seven worlds lost before it could be contained.
“The loss of so many worlds in such a short period of time led to instability within the Ascendance hierarchy, and raised questions among the citizens about its effectiveness.”
“Oh no, dear, not about its effectiveness,” the Paragon said. “Never about its effectiveness. That was demonstrated quite clearly for all to see.”
Truly. The Markovian Strain had been finally eradicated only by the Hezra’s fearful Contingency. It was an innocuous term that, Elyth surmised, made it possible to discuss the act clinically without confronting the horror its reality evoked. Or at least should have evoked.
Elyth’s technique for planet killing was a terrible outcome, but it was at least a natural death—akin to putting a suffering animal to gentle sleep before causing its heart to stop.
The Contingency was its polar opposite—a violent planetary destruction, a dissolution at the subatomic level. There was no concealing its effects, nor its cause. It had not been used since.
“It did give rise to our own Eye,” the Paragon continued, speaking of the House’s private intelligence services. “The incident caused a rift between the Hezra and our House that has never fully healed.”
“The Hezra failed in its duties,” Elyth said. “The hierarchy should not resent the assistance we provide.”
“If only we were all so rational, yes? But we mustn’t judge the Hezra too harshly, dear. The official records do them less justice than they deserve; they bear the scar of a necessary fiction, for the good of the Ascendance.” And here she held up three fingers, finishing the count. “This Strain is a third beginning.”
The Great Mother paused for a moment to sip her tea before continuing.
“The spread of the Markovian Strain due to ineffective quarantine is not necessarily false,” the Paragon continued. “But it is assuredly not the whole truth. What do you know of the man Varen Fedic?”
Elyth remained silent for a few moments, collecting scattered fragments of thought and emotion that her mind associated with the name. Facts were few, but the impression was of something twisted, malevolent. A carnivore’s smile.
“A tyrant,” Elyth answered. “The source of the Markovian Strain. And a would-be mythmaker. The so-called First Speaker.”
“Mmm,” the Paragon hummed, a noncommittal sound. “An understatement, on two counts. Our official accounts mark him as a footnote, merely a man of charisma who led many astray. But in truth, his malevolence cannot be exaggerated. He was a man utterly corrupted. Which is what necessitated his complete and utter destruction. The Hezra was willing to annihilate multiple planets just to ensure every trace of him was erased.
“His adopted name of First Speaker was true in a sense … He was the first to speak his particular falsehoods, and with them he dominated the minds of many. Unfortunately, they shared his fate.
“The simplest explanation for the Strain’s spread, of course, is that a handful of his followers escaped Markov and sowed the seeds of his teachings elsewhere. That’s why it’s the official story. It is our nature to prefer simplicity over complexity, regardless of which holds more of the truth.
“The broken containment theory was, however, plausibly the case on only three of the worlds, and the evidence there is fragile at best. To this day we do not completely grasp the exact mechanism by which the Strain spread to the others. But we know enough.”
The Paragon took another sip of tea, and then set the bowl back on the tray at her side before continuing.
“I brought you here because that which must be said cannot be spoken in our halls.”
She turned and fixed Elyth with her paralyzing gaze, and uttered a phrase in the Deep Language. “A stone in the river, stanching the flow. You shall not speak of it.”
The declaration washed through Elyth like a warm surge of sea, followed by a sharp tingle, as though a strong memory had been suddenly awakened by a familiar scent.
“I trust your silence,” the Paragon added.
Elyth could not find an adequate response, and there was no need to acknowledge consent; the Paragon’s powerful words bound her speech, whether Elyth desired it or not. She merely bowed her head in acceptance.
“As you said, Varen Fedic was the original source of the Strain,” the Paragon said. “His thought-line was unique, his use of the Language truly novel … and so potent, its tendrils shifted reality. His speech didn’t just seep into the substrate of Markov. It infected the fabric of the cosmos and distorted the minds of citizens separated by millions of miles of open space.”
The very notion should have been impossible, and if anyone other than the Paragon had uttered those words, Elyth would have scoffed. She had devoted her life to studying the secret art and science of the Deep Language under the tutelage of its greatest masters, and she could never have projected power in such a manner. Even the Paragon herself could not exert that magnitude of influence over the material of the universe; it wouldn’t tolerate it.
“I know your mind is struggling to accept the fact,” the Paragon continued. “It violates all you have been taught. But the evidence is irrefutable. Fedic’s particular speech patterns emerged spontaneously in four locations.” She held up four fingers and counted them off in turn as she named the worlds. “Markov, where he was present. Ovon, Eblios, Yuralia, where he was not. The latter three had no contact with Markov. And the others we lost—Forna, Haltios, Ven … well. Their connections to Markov are tenuous, at best. In the end, their fate is irrelevant. Whether it was three planets or six that were corrupted across space, we know that one man’s black speech cost the Ascendance seven precious worlds.”
There was no point in questioning the truth of the Paragon’s revelation, regardless of how difficult it was to believe. All that remained was its relevance.
“And all of this …” Elyth said, “leads me to some purpose here?”
“Our Eye has fallen on the planet Qel,” the Paragon answered. “Something in it has changed. We fear the Markovian Strain has reemerged.”
The gravity of the Paragon’s tone carried a force that her words alone failed to deliver. It was as though she was claiming some ancient dragon from a fairy tale had reawakened. A terrifying thought, perhaps, if only anyone believed in dragons.
But the intensity of her look showed she did very much believe.
“I’m sorry, Illumined Mother, I don’t understand how that could be possible.”
“Neither do we, exactly. Which is what makes Qel so gravely concerning. I know it’s challenging to believe. And we must hope that we are wrong. But given the Strain’s destructive potential, even if probabilities are very low, it is a danger we must take very seriously indeed.”
“And Qel?” Elyth said. “I hadn’t heard it was under quarantine.”
“It isn’t,” the Paragon said.
“I don’t understand.”
“The balance of which I spoke, that between our House and the Hezra. It has been upset by their recent troubles. The Hezra’s setbacks have put it on an awkward footing, and made them understandably paranoid about our motives. And they are anxious now for a victory, to reassert themselves within the Ascendance.”
“You don’t trust them,” Elyth said.
The old woman smiled thinly.
“The games between the Grand Council, the Hezra, and our House have a long history, as all shared power must,” she said. “And it’s a delicate time, Elyth. Their outward focus is necessary, but I fear it may be blinding them to what lies within.”
“Or you suspect they’re ignoring what lies within for some hidden purpose.”
“A possibility that must be considered, in light of their circumstances.”
Elyth had only a general sense of the Hezra’s decline. Though the Ascendance had long ago mastered interstellar travel, it had not yet extended its reach beyond the borders of the galaxy. This was the destiny of humanity, and the grand mission with which the Hezra had been charged. And though the organization had a program devoted to developing the means to traverse the space between galaxies, thus far they’d made no progress in the endeavor. As a result, the Hezra’s standing within the Ascendance had suffered, its influence waned.
Nevertheless, the Hezra remained the sole authority in determining the fate of worlds. If Qel were indeed a threat, it was the Hezra’s place to judge it so. Surely the Paragon was not suggesting that Elyth undertake a mission to put a planet down that had not yet been judged according to law?
“Illumined Mother,” Elyth said carefully. “I have missed your intent. I see that you wish for me to travel to Qel, but I have not discerned what you would have me do there.”
“It is because I am uncertain myself,” the Paragon replied. She motioned lightly to the cutting lying in Elyth’s lap. “Qel is the twisting branch of our civilization. And it is growing more rapidly than any I have seen in an age. Few see the true danger. By the time the others waken to it, I fear the effects will have spread. But in this matter I cannot see the way forward. Not yet. I need someone I can trust, Elyth, to go learn what is at work within that world, someone whose perception is keen and whose judgment is sound. I need someone I can trust to walk the way even when she cannot see it.”
As she spoke, the old woman laid her hand on Elyth’s arm; Elyth’s heart swelled with warmth even as the words triggered surprise. She had never imagined that the Paragon might have more than a cursory knowledge of who she was. The Paragon smiled again, undoubtedly having read Elyth’s reaction. She leaned forward, and her lowered voice exuded a kindness Elyth didn’t know the ancient woman possessed.
“I’ve always had a special fondness for you, bright daughter,” she said. “From a time even before your welcome to our House. If my personal preferences had been the only consideration, I would have had you as my own Advocate of the Mind.”
Elyth blinked at the revelation. The Mind served the Paragon directly and governed the actions of the entire House. Its need for members was small, and as such, service to the Mind was the most selective. Elyth had never been told the possibility had existed for her.
“Illumined Mother,” Elyth said. “You honor me.” She nearly said more but hesitated, uncertain whether her unasked question would be appropriate, though her curiosity at what failing had prevented her selection itched in her mind.
The Paragon patted her arm and sat back with a chuckle, perceiving the question anyway. “I let you go because I knew it would drive you mad, dear. To be cooped up here, when there was so much possibility out there. You would have excelled, of that I have no doubt. But you would have resented me, in the end.” She held up a hand before Elyth could take offense. “Not that you would’ve shown it, of course. It merely would have been selfish of me. You were created for more. There is a term rarely uttered within our House, Elyth, one even you have likely never heard … but of our many excellent Advocates, you are among the few I would call ‘Guided by the True Star.’”
Once more, the power of the Deep Language washed through Elyth. She had seen the phrase, written in the annals of the House, read the legacies of the Advocates to whom it had been applied. The towering heroes of their order. But she had never heard the words spoken aloud.
It was no formal rite of the First House; it was an ancient title, spoken in the tongue that would transmit its meaning through more than mere words. For a brief instant, Elyth saw herself with the Paragon’s eyes, felt herself moved by the matriarch’s own emotions. The profound depth of love and respect seemed boundless, far beyond anything Elyth could have ever imagined of herself. Guided by the True Star. One who followed the highest way.
Elyth dipped her head, embarrassed at the magnitude of praise, ashamed of the pride it awakened but unable to dismiss it, even as the immediate power faded.
“Anything I am, the House has made me,” she answered.
“Yes, well,” the Paragon said, standing and gazing out over her garden. “For that I will happily take credit. There is no shame in seeing clearly the good in one’s work.”
Elyth set her tea on the porch and took the frostoak branch in her hand, then rose to her feet and descended two steps so that she could stand lower than the Paragon.
“These things we know,” the Paragon said. “The Language is powerful. Someone is abusing it. And we cannot trust the Hezra. Beyond that, many possibilities open before us.
“Our House has many capable Advocates, but there are few among them who genuinely understand and embrace the intent of our way. All can recite the doctrine; many practice it. But a precious few have attained the ability to embody it, and fewer still manage it in the midst of chaos. It is in the Voice that you excel, Elyth. But you could have found a place in the Eye, or the Hand, or here in the Mind. I am not blind to your shortcomings, and I don’t know what you will find on Qel. One final thing I know, however, is that there is none better in our House to undertake this ordeal.”
“When do I leave?” Elyth asked.
The Paragon returned her attention to Elyth.
“A Hezra vessel is departing in the morning for the Basho system; they’ve graciously allowed one of our Advocates of the Hand to take passage for a diplomatic mission to those planets. That should put you within range of Qel.”
Elyth reacted; traveling on a Hezra ship seemed like precisely the wrong way to avoid their attention.
“We couldn’t secure transport some other way?”
The Paragon smiled.
“A gentle poke, to see if it stirs the bear,” she answered.
“But you’re confident they’ll believe the cover?”
“Presumably, no. I would expect them to treat you as though you’re an Advocate of the Eye. But we’ve given them no reason to suspect our attention is on Qel in particular. And they have nothing to fear unless they have something to hide. It will be useful to observe their reaction to you.”
The Paragon smiled again and placed a hand on Elyth’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry that you will not be able to complete your full time of recovery. It’s a mistake, I’m certain, but one that circumstance demands. And one you will overcome, I hope.”
“It is well, Your Radiance. Whatever the House requires, I am its hands.”
“Your assignment is secret, known only to me. I will send for you at dawn. Make whatever preparations you need, but speak of this to no one. Once you arrive on Qel, we’ll see what steps lie next before us.”
“Yes, Illumined Mother.”
The Paragon laid her hand gently atop Elyth’s head.
“Sareth hanaan be your guide, bright daughter,” she said.
“Sareth hanaan be my way,” Elyth answered, the traditional response.
After the Paragon removed her hand, Elyth bowed and then made her way to the front gate. Questions and uncertainties frenzied her mind; the weight of revelation and expectation bore down upon her shoulders. But such burdens were hers to endure for the sake of First House, and for the Ascendance. As she walked back through the Vaunt, Elyth acknowledged her fears, allowed them to wash over her and beyond, and then focused her thoughts on preparing herself for the unknown and unknowable fate that dawn would bring.