Chapter 75. The Geas

hou decided he could grow to appreciate Vabbi even though his hosts told him he had yet to see her in full splendor.  The early spring sunlight was the color of fresh honey and he basked in it as he meditated while perched comfortably upon the stone balcony of his little room at the Chantry of Secrets.  He loved the strange buildings cut into the stone of the cliffs and hidden away behind the statues of the gods.  It was peaceful and sheltered, far removed from the war that had followed them right up to the gates.

Thus far he had been treated with kindness and, at times, an unnerving level of deference for a foreign stranger.  He assumed Ishalha must have spoken too highly of him.  Pride had cost him greatly over the years and he was wary of the level of attention he was given, preferring to withdraw and focus upon humility.  He rose slowly when there was a soft rap at his door and opened it to admit Ishalha and a pair of men wearing the flowing red robes of the Order of Whispers.

Her lean figure was similarly clad now and she stalked gracefully as a cat past him to glance upon his little room.  He had not seen her since the evening they had arrived, weary and filthy after several encounters with Kournan soldiers where none should be.  Since then Zhou had enjoyed several good meals and a few pleasant hours swimming and bathing below the falls. For all that, however, he was eager to go home.  Shikai would be returning and he longed to see Pendaran, sensing that his apprentice needed him badly.  He was also looking forward to seeing the emerging guild hall in Kryta and talking to Uriel about her plans for the academy. 

“Good morning, Master Bei.  This is Vehdil and Rasdha,” she said, and the two men lowered their head respectfully to him in turn.  Both were Elonian born with warm mahogany skin and raven hair.  Vehdil was the taller of the two, lean and watchful with a small tuft of a beard perching upon his narrow chin. His ebon locks flowed down in gleaming waves to his shoulders.  Rasdha was a full head shorter with rounded features and a ready smile.  His hair was cropped nearly to his scalp and worked into tidy rows.  His long fingered hands clutched a tall staff of twisted weathered wood with a silvery sheen.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said, bowing back to them.  There was a small table near the balcony and he offered them chairs.  They flowed past bed and accepted his offer.  He was growing accustomed to receiving guests and was glad the Order had provided him with furnishings to support that.

“Vehdil and Rasdha attended your master in his final days.  He returned to the Order after leaving you.”

Zhou smiled faintly, nodding again and awaiting their criticism.  He and Suhlevar had not enjoyed a close relationship.  In fact, the man was harshly critical and had put Zhou through some difficult trials.  However, he had been a good teacher and had upheld his part of the bargain with Tasos and Matabe.

“Our master was a good man,” Vehdil said, “He gave himself to the Order without expectation or regret and spoke very highly of you.”

Zhou’s throat clenched and he rose slowly, stepping away from the table and gazing outside at the falls that flowed into the canyon and fed the lush stand of palms below.

“He told us you were his finest student, that you had given your life to the destruction of demons,” Rasdha added, his voice warm and soothing.  They could sense something was amiss.  Zhou did not reply, only watched the flow of water from the highlands sifting over the ancient rock, its veil spilling over fern-encrusted rocks.  Rainbows danced in the spray.  He could not shake the feeling that an invisible noose had fallen around his neck and was about to be drawn up short.

“He was a good teacher,” Zhou replied quietly, folding his hands behind his back.  He thought of Cantha and the cherry trees in the garden.  The snow would be melting and soft spring rain, warm off the sea, would be causing their buds to swell.  A new blanket of fragrant pink blossoms would litter the cobbles of his home.  And there would be Shikai, so beautiful it made his heart ache to think of her.  Tears brimmed his eyes as he thought of her return, of the love making that followed reunion as if it were the first time, sweet and heady and innocent.  He wanted to hold her and smell the jasmine sweetness of her hair and skin and promise he would never forsake her no matter how cold the winter nor how long the nights.

“He fulfilled a very important role for the Order,” said Ishalha.  They were edging closer to their goal and he could sense their hope that he would make it easier by volunteering.  Easier because what they wanted was rightfully more than they could expect from any human being, least of all a man they barely knew.

“He told us that if ever you came to Elona you would seize the opportunity to serve in his place,” Rasdha continued after a long silence.

Zhou wanted to tell them that yes, of course Suhlevar would say that, he had been instrumental in laying the geas upon him.  Zhou could not refuse. He bit his lip, not volunteering anything.  They had to ask.  Those were the rules, and he fervently prayed they had not the temerity to do so.  Polite to a fault, the Elonians shuffled their feet, wondering why he had his back to them, why he was silent and asked no questions.

“These are dark times,” Ishalha began, as if apologizing for what she was about to say, “Your arrival seems to us a sign from the gods, a prayer answered.  Master Bei, would you please take the place of your master?”

They did not see the tear roll down his cheek.  He hardened his jaw, fighting to control his emotions. 

“Yes.”

He heard Ishalha inhale to continue her speech, preparing to convince him that it was just and right, only to be brought up short by his easily won ascent.  He felt their relief so at odds with his grief and resignation. 

“Praise the Five,” murmured Vehdil and Rasdha chuckled softly with relief.  Only Ishalha seemed hesitant.

“You do realize what we are asking, Master Bei?  Once you have become the Oracle of Whispers, you may never leave.”

Zhou nodded, closing his eyes against a new flood of tears. Suhlevar had gotten the last laugh after all.

“I have accepted,” he replied quietly, “It will be done.”

“We will attend to you as we did the last oracle.  You shall want for nothing,” Vehdil said, his excitement and relief overflowing into joyful chatter.

“When am I to begin this new role?” Zhou asked.

“We have been too long without an oracle,” Ishalha replied, “Five years since the death of Suhlevar and now the forces of evil amass against us.  If you would be willing, we would like to start the preparations now.”

“I would like an hour alone to compose a letter to deliver to my loved ones.  After that, I am yours.”

“Of course, Master Bei.”

He listened to them depart, waited until the door had clicked shut behind them before turning toward the table and the sheaf of papers he had requested upon arrival.  He took up the feather quill pen and opened the jar of ink, hesitating as the blank parchment greeted him. At last he sat down and began writing, the silence disturbed only by the rabid scratch of the pen. He then set the letter and pen aside, lowering his head onto his folded arms to weep.

In an hour he was composed, all traces of his grief concealed.  Ishalha took the rolled up parchment from him, promising to deliver it to Lion’s Arch and find the man named Pendaran Caradec to whom it now belonged.

He was escorted out into the golden light of the noon tide sun and he savored it, sensing he would not look upon it again.  There was a gathering of the Order awaiting him at the falls and he was stripped of his humble robes and washed in the waters of the Elon.  As their long rite drew to its conclusion he received new raiment, robes of watered silk and brocade and a mask of gold that flowed down over his head and rested heavily upon his shoulders, sunlight traded for darkness.

He was borne away upon a litter, his feet never allowed to touch the naked earth again. Down into the depths of an echoing cave he was carried amid fragrant incense and flowers, though he could see none of it. The low roar of the falls grew dim, reduced to a murmur as it percolated through stone, seeping around him as he was placed upon a throne carved from the native rock where the water pooled at its base.  His feet were lovingly placed into the pool, into the Elon, and she whispered to him, speaking of rain and sky and the wide embrace of the sea.  She was everywhere at once, eternal and ancient and wise.

In the long hours of darkness, when only his attendants stood by, he gave voice to her grief, spoke of the armies moving across the plain, of massacres and the blood of innocents washed away by her rushing coils, of the demons whose step polluted her lower reaches.  They questioned her, asked her where and when these things were happening, and she told them, whispering quietly into the depths of Zhou’s mind.