9 Conclave

The Greater Conclave convened in a sparsely furnished room, and the tension was as pungent as the incense smoke that burned from censors hung beside the red lacquered door. Seven Magi discussed, and that was being generous to the nature and tenor of the conversation, their next course of action. Of the seven all but one sat at a round oaken table so old that groves had been worn into its surface over the intervening years from elbows placed on its top.

“It’s foolish and dangerous,” Master Proush said. He slammed his goblet onto the thick oaken mantle. The warmed-over cider splashed onto the oiled wood, down the face of the mantle and into the hollow from which blazed a heady fire causing a puff of steam as the ocher liquid hit the flame. The other Magi returned his disapproving glare with equanimity from their positions around the oval table.

Master Stephen sat in a plush chair covered in purple velvet inset with large silver studs on the arms and legs and a high round back to support the neck. He observed the others with his usual detached manner.

Master Lisa’s chair had a high, square back, ornately carved arms, and the seat was down covered with canvas. There was little relaxing in that chair. The back was too stiff, much like Master Lisa. Little could be discerned from her manner, which was always placid and reserved.

Master Szatanya’s chair, more sloped stool with pillows and brightly colored embroidered scarves thrown across the seat, was simple and elegant with no back at all. She sat, palms on table, meeting the intense stare of the Magister who sat across from her in his high-backed, unadorned chair of maple.

Master Soush sat in a simple and sturdy chair with his arms folded and wearing his perpetual frown.

 Master Gregory was pensive and fidgety, his slight frame lost in the too large chair he preferred, his mind racing, calculating, analyzing.

All were familiar with Proush’s tantrums. The restrained bitterness steeped in regret that burned just below the surface was usually held in check by a firm resolve, but right now it seemed age was not making that resolve any the stronger.

“We are upon no ordinary undertaking,” Master Stephen said. “We seek to make the whole of this land an independent territory. That will bring us into direct rivalry with the Guilds and Great Houses and City States. It is a task fraught with peril, danger, and obligation. It will not be easy and may not be accomplished in our lifetime, but it is an undertaking that I see no other course but attempting. If the boy is part of that cycle, and the Unity will aid in his subduing, then I concur with the Magister and council its use.”

            “You speak of things already known. When we determined to follow in this undertaking, we all knew,” Proush swept the room with his free arm, “the weight of the task we shouldered. But, now, on the word of one green, untried Mage, you want us to link in Unity, and bring further scrutiny upon us.”

            “Do you doubt Poe’s account of what transpired?” The Magister’s words, though directed at Proush, were a challenge to all.

            “No one doubts your disciple,” Gregory said, soothingly. He and Proush were the ones most leery of the course suggested and were contravening the claim for the Unity.

            “But that raises the question of what does Proush suggest we do, then?” inquired Szatanya.

            “This ‘child’ has not ventured beyond the forest. I suggest that we leave him there,” was his quick rejoinder.

            “Until he decides to venture beyond its border,” Szatanya said.

            “When that happens, then we’ll deal with it.”

            “There is some merit to what you speak,” Stephen said. His agreement surprised Proush, who was immediately on guard. Stephen rarely made concessions without pressing another point. “But there is the matter of the anomaly described by Poe. We cannot investigate that without first dealing with the boy.”

            “There has been no discernible affect on the Source,” Proush said stubbornly.

            “Who can say with any surety the permutations and affects such an anomaly can have on the Source.” Stephen gave a disingenuous smile before continuing. “Or have you found some new ability that gives you the means to measure directly the Source?”

            Proush swelled. Just because he was cautious did not mean he would be slighted.

            “We are all dancing around the real issue,” said Gregory, quelling the dispute between the two. “Where does such power from the Source derive? What is the nature of this boy’s power?” He glanced over at the Magister, who met his stare impassively. “We all share the same apprehension, and hope—some even more so than others here.”

            “There has not been a twinned talent in generations; none that has been allowed to grow into the fullness of their power,” said Soush giving voice to the thought on everyone’s mind. He had, for the most part, remained silent during the discussion until now.

            “None that we know of,” intimated Proush.

            “You speak of the League. Do you believe that such a collection exists?” Lisa asked.

            “They exist,” the Magister said. “Which makes it all the more imperative that if this boy is twinned, we get to him first.”

            Gregory gave a peremptory snort of disdain. “So, you would use this youth and his potential as a tool, knowing the risks of a twinned.”

            “There is risk in many of the things we do. Using power seeded from the Source is fraught with risk, but a twinned talent, properly channeled, properly trained . . . such a one would aid greatly in achieving our goals.”

            “Does Poe know of your belief? Have you brought him that far into the Concealed Teachings?” Proush asked. He was skeptical of the boy, of his idealism that overrode pragmatism.

            “No, he has no knowledge of the Teachings,” the Magister replied with barely concealed impatience. Growing tired of the debate, he wanted to be from this seat, to pace about and flay some of the energy roused by the heat of this debate, but that would give too much away. He had to remain calm. He could not compel these others to his course and everyone must be of one accord if they were to initiate the Unity.

            “Giles. What think you the Academe’s response would be if they discovered we had a twinned talent and had not apprised them of that information?” Gregory said.

            “It would not be good.” The Magister said with a smile that held little humor.

            “That is kindness. If there is a League, that is its seat. With this intent, you chance much. It could possibly cause an Edict to be placed upon the School and jeopardize all we have worked for,” Gregory said.

            The others fell silent, letting these two labor over the flesh of their concerns like two dogs gnawing meat from the same bone. They knew that if Giles could convince Gregory, Proush would likely fall in line.

            The Magister leaned across the table, elbows bent, palms meeting as if in supplication, though there was no plea in those eyes. “All you say is true, but few believe or even know about twinned talents. To bring an Edict against us, those who know would have to make such knowledge common and that would bring unwanted scrutiny upon them and the Concealed Teachings; something none of us want.”

            “There are other ways, other means they could attempt. Those who know, either the League or others, would be powerful adversaries. They could contrive means to bring sanction against us,” Gregory countered.

            “What you say is true and, I believe, would justify such sanctions even considering our cause, if we were only after narrow, selfish goals, but there is one other reason to consider. We have a duty to the boy as well, to at least give him the choice before he is wiped from the face of history.” Giles gave a wry smile. “Poe made me remember that. That our decisions affect the lives of ordinary people with ordinary concerns. At least we can give the boy the opportunity to direct his fate before it is decided others not persuaded to our cause.”

Abruptly he stood, no longer able to restrain the tension that stiffened his back and tightened his gut, and went over to the fire to warm his hands. After wringing his hands before the flame, he met Proush’s belligerent stare before turning back to the others. “Two things are a surety, the boy and the anomaly. How will we render one harmless and investigate the other? Yes, we can wait, but when have any of us ever waited on anything in our lives.” 

He steadied himself in the silence that ensued, collecting his thoughts and quieting the heat in his heart. “We need this boy and he needs us. There is power, and knowledge wedded to him of a kind and nature beyond our ken—whatever it is. That much alone argues harnessing his abilities rather than letting reckless fortune decide.” He swept the room with his gaze locked eyes with everyone there. “Let us train and nurture him so that he may preserve us.”

“Have you seen this?” Szatanya asked, leaning forward.

“No,” he replied.

“Then is it worth the risk, the added scrutiny, with these uncertainties surrounding our course of action?” Gregory asked, not yet convinced.

“I believe it to be so. We have known each other for many long years. You followed me because of what I believed and what you believe. Now it is time to realize those dreams, to guide history. Whatever prescient ability allows me to tap the warp and weave of possibilities and parse the future has led us this far, and I believe that the boy is necessary to what we seek to accomplish.”

“I sense uncertainty in this course,” said Szatanya, whose aptitude was close to Giles’ talent in mapping a course to shape history. “But I support Giles.”

“I still believe this will bring unwarranted scrutiny down upon us,” Gregory replied not ready yet to concede. “You still have not explained how you will justify using the Unity and to what purpose.”

“I do not propose to lie or dissemble with the Academe. I will tell them the truth; that we encountered a force and ability that required the Unity to be used.  They cannot gainsay our need if justified, and that is what we discuss here. As you said, no one doubts Poe.” He once more challenged Proush and Gregory with his stare. When both yielded, he continued.

“There are many possibilities for good or ill that can arise from the course we take, the cause we seek. Our decision to try and shape the course of this New Land involves risk and peril to all that we bring over to our cause. There has ever been the possibility that there could be difference between us and the Academe; but we recognized those risks then, long before the coming of the boy, and nothing has changed.” Weary from the long debate, some of the heat left his voice as he continued. “The decision here, today, in this moment has to do with how will we undertake to manage and direct the power that is growing and manifesting at the reaches of our control? Will we let it swell beyond any shape of our choosing and begin to shape the choices we must make . . . ?

“Whether or not he is a twinned talent, potential like this cannot be allowed to grow unbridled. It has to be managed and we are the only ones in a position to control it. We have no choice but to use the Unity. His power is beyond any single, or combination of Magi, working in concerto match.”

            “Poe is going to have to place Seals upon the child. Do you trust him enough? Is he ready to assume such a charge?” Gregory argued one last time.

“He is ready,” Szatanya said before Giles could speak. “He is a man of such make that honor and duty or the substance of his character, responsibility its spirit. Of all the Magi at the School, or here in this very room, he is the one most capable to be trusted with the training of this subditus.”

“Let us hope the Order can be persuaded to that thinking as well,” Soush said the words as if to himself, but all heard.

            “What would satisfy you, Gregory?” the Magister asked, ignoring what Soush had said. That was a conversation for another time and place.

“If another ventured to investigate and found similar findings as Poe.”

The Magister considered the request before replying. “I think we do not have the time.” He raised his hand forestalling the coming objection. “What you request is sound and sensible, but our hand has already been played, there is no telling what the boy might do if someone ventured into his territory. Poe barely escaped with his life.” He halted for a moment to catch his breath and further push back the weariness that had suddenly overtaken him—he was not as young or inexhaustible as he pretended.

“I ask you to follow me in this?” Though his words did not carry the steel and sharp intensity for which the Magister was renowned, they carried an earnest appeal weighted by conviction and his position.

They waited for Gregory, who slowly bowed his head. “I will assent, but with reservations.”

The eyes in the room turned to Proush who wore stubbornness proudly like a coat of arms, but nodded his acquiescence as well.

“Then to the particulars.”

Later when everyone had departed there was only the Magister and Szatanya remaining. “You follow a course that well may see our world consumed by flame and steel.”

The Magister met her gaze levelly. “That has always been a possibility as well.”