21

An Oathbond and a Hearing

In the interests of speed, Hope took the airhorse, which brought a frown from Patient when she pulled up.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Hop on. We’re late.”

“What delayed you?” asked Patient, as they hurried into Lily’s.

“Rosewall family drama,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Lily was highly concerned about her latest incident, the more so since it didn’t seem to be linked to the curse, and even more concerned about Hope’s news of her parents’ history.

“We’re going to have to do some more work on that,” she said. “Did your healers clear you to do trancework? Did you ask them?”

“Yes, they said it’s fine,” she replied. “They think they’ve found all the damage, and started the repairs, and now it’s just a matter of time and taking care of myself. What?”

This last was to Patient. “I didn’t say anything,” he said.

“You didn’t have to, I felt it. Is this about the airhorse?”

“Well, yes. They did say to avoid situations which could cause further head trauma.”

“I am not going to give up the airhorse.”

“Hope…”

“We’ll discuss it later, all right?”

“All right,” he said, and subsided, but she could feel his tension even though they weren’t touching.

Lily spent the rest of the session having her travel back to her childhood and look at her interactions with her parents, and theirs with each other, through more informed eyes. Patient went along, and contributed his support, but not as confidently as he had earlier.

When she was out of trance and they were finishing up, Hope said, “Lily, I’d like to ask you about two friends of mine, though. They’re… moving rather quickly, and I’ve been asked today to act as celebrant at their oathbond tomorrow.”

“What?” said Patient.

“Rosie and Dignified. Tell you later,” she said.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer advice to people who aren’t in the room with me,” said Lily. “But I can tell you that your responsibility as celebrant is to ensure that they’re of age and not acting under compulsion. That’s it.”

“But my responsibility as their friend is more than that.”

“That’s true. I’ll have to advise you to follow your own heart on that, reflecting, of course, that if you refuse to perform the ceremony, you may lose access as a voice of reason for them, and they’ll just ask someone else.”

Rather against her better judgement, then, Hope, with Patient, fetched up at the lab mid-morning on Fourday.

She found Rosie and Dignified waiting for them in the kitchen, in good clothes, at least, along with Mill. A thought struck her. “Uh, Mill,” she said, “before we start… do gnomes have adulthood rites?”

“Of course we do,” he said.

“And do you remember the date of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s a form we have to fill in.” She had picked up a copy of the Registration of Oathbond form from a Gryphon Clerks office on the way.

Rosie and Dignified read through the form together. It certified that parties named thereunder had exchanged oaths on the date specified before a celebrant who was of standing in the community as defined overleaf, in the presence of witnesses, and that everyone was of legal age and not hindered by prior oaths. There were spaces for names, dates of birth, dates of adulthood rite, signatures, thumbprints and, if applicable, seals of the couple, the celebrant and the witnesses. Hope had already checked the list of persons of standing, and full mages qualified.

It noted at the bottom the minimum content of oaths to be exchanged for a legal oathbond, and Rosie tapped her finger on that paragraph. “All right,” she said, “we’ll have that.”

“Rosie,” said Hope, “don’t you want your oathbond ceremony to be a big event?”

“No,” said Rosie. She was picking up Dignified’s habit of short, literal answers.

“I mean, most people want everyone they know around them, and a big celebration…”

“You know Dignified would hate that. Besides, I just count myself lucky to be oathbound at all, and to someone who respects me for my abilities. My love, are you satisfied with this form of the oath?”

“Yes,” said Dignified.

“Right,” said Rosie. “Now, I’m the younger, so I speak first, right?”

“That’s the tradition.”

“Dignified Printer, I give oath of lifebond to you.”

“I receive your oath of lifebond. Rosie Printer, I give oath of lifebond to you.”

“I receive your oath of lifebond.” They smiled, and Hope felt the bond take between them.

“Well, that’s created an oathbond,” she said. “Even though he didn’t call you by your legal name.”

“Says right there that one or both parties may change their legal name in the course of the ceremony,” said Rosie triumphantly. “Where’s a pen and an ink-pad?”

Everyone filled in their details, signed and thumbprinted. Since none of them had personal seals, that was the whole procedure.

“Well,” said Hope, “that was quick. I hope the oathbond lasts a great deal longer.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Rosie, smiling up at Dignified. “I bought lunch. Shall we?”

And so the minimal ceremony concluded with a mixed box of dumplings from Leaf’s.

Afterwards, Hope and Patient walked back to the flat. Walking was good for her, and he insisted that they do so, even though it was a long way for him to go on his bad leg.

“Patient,” she said. “About the airhorse.”

“Yes?”

“I… you’re right. I probably shouldn’t use it as often. But I don’t want to give it up entirely.”

He considered for a few heartbeats. “So, under what circumstances will you use it?”

“If I have to go to or from the lab at night. Though that won’t apply much longer. The lab, the whole works, is moving across the river next to the Institute, did I tell you?”

“Yes, you did.”

“And the ferries don’t run at night, so if I get caught late I’ll have to use the Institute’s bunkrooms. Gizmo had some built, for that purpose.” Patient nodded.

“So,” he said, “if we were oathbound… if you were living with me in Redbridge…”

“I’ll take the ferry,” she said. “It’s going to stop at the far side as well now that the Institute is being built up. Those winding roads between Redbridge and Illene…”

“You have no idea how much of a relief that is to me,” he said.

“Oh, I have quite a good sense of it, actually. Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you so worried about the airhorse, in particular?”

He walked alongside her, silent, for a while.

“I never told you how my parents died, did I?” he said at last.

“No, I don’t think you did.”

“You asked me, in one of your letters, but I never answered. It was a carriage accident.”

“Oh.”

“Horses spooked.”

Hope opened her mouth to mention that airhorses didn’t spook, realised that this was beside the point, and closed it again. “I’m sorry to hear it. That must have been a shock.”

“It was.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“It’s been a few years, then.”

“It has. Still very vivid in my mind, though.”

“I’m sure. Well. Now I understand better.”

“It’s not just because of that, though, Hope,” he said. “You know that if you fell off the airhorse — and your coordination isn’t as good as it was — you could easily injure your head again.”

“Yes. All right. I’ll use it as little as I can.”

“That’s a loss for you, isn’t it,” he said. They were arm in arm, and could sense each other’s emotions clearly.

“It is. I love the feeling of freedom on the airhorse, the speed and the wind whipping past.”

“My falcon.”

“What?”

“That’s how I think of you. A falcon. Beautiful and free. I didn’t want to say anything about the airhorse because, well, it would be like putting jesses on you, but…”

“Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

On the Oneday morning, Hope collected Dignified (in a cab; the sensory stimulus of riding the airhorse would be too much for him) and took him to the room at the university that she and the mathematicians were using. Keeping up with his explanations stretched everyone’s abilities, even the advanced mathematicians’, but it also boosted them into an even greater level of excitement and innovation. By the end of the shift-round, she no longer understood much of what they were talking about.

“We’ll have to get them to come back down to earth and explain things to the magical theorists,” she said to the Master-Mage, who came in on Threeday afternoon to see how everything was going. “Who, in turn, will need to explain things to the mages.”

“I thought you could get started with the theorists next shift-round,” said the old man. “How long do you think you need?”

“If I can get one or two mathematicians, the more comprehensible ones, to help me? Next shift-round and the one after should be enough for a good start.”

“Good. I’ll schedule your senior mage hearing for the shift-round after that, then.”

“That soon?”

“By then the theorists will have had the chance to see you in action, and I’m hoping they’ll swing the vote.”

“That sounds like you don’t think the Council are enthusiastic about promoting me.”

“You are very young for the honour, Hope. I certainly believe you deserve it, but it isn’t up to me.”

“You’re a lot more energetic this shift-round,” said Patient the next Threeday evening. Hope snuggled close and sighed contentedly.

“I’ve been talking to people who mostly speak my language, about things I understand well,” she said. “It’s exciting.”

“My clever mage,” he said, stroking her hair.

“I’m nervous about the outcome of the hearing, though,” she said. “I really want to be a senior mage.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“I don’t know. I think because I grew up with my mother telling me I was no good and I’d never amount to anything, and making Senior Mage at twenty-four would… would…”

“Would prove her wrong.”

“Yes.”

“You already know she’s wrong, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I want everyone to know.”

“Especially her.”

“Well, yes, I suppose.”

Patient rolled over and kissed her. “Remember, she doesn’t get to say who you are.”

“I know. I still want the recognition, though.”

The hearing was held in Gulfport, where the Council of Mages met in a dignified Elven Empire-style building, one with rounded corners and plants woven through the structure. Hope dressed carefully in her garnet-red Victory suit, went light on the kohl, and attached her Realmgold’s Honour to her mage bracelet. As she did so, she hoped that she would soon be wearing the gold edging on the bracelet which marked a Senior Mage.

She arrived at the Council building and gave her name to the dignified clerk, who told her to wait. “They’re finishing up the previous matter,” he said. “You’ll hear a bell tone when they’re ready for you.” She nodded, sat, and concentrated on preventing nervous sweat emerging from her underarms and trickling down her sides.

At the bell, outwardly composed, she walked carefully into the hearing chamber in one of Briar’s more practical pairs of shoes. She only owned boots herself. She supposed she should probably do something about that.

The first face she saw was the cheerful countenance of the Master-Mage, seated near the top of the table. It curved away from him in both directions and then ran straight for most of the length of the room, forming an inverted U shape with her at the open end. Next to him, in the seat at the greatest curve of the U, Honesty of Heatherbrook presided.

Down both sides of the table sat distinguished-looking mages, all with the wide arm-cuffs of High Mages and not a one of them much under fifty. She estimated the average age at probably sixty, in fact, and the oldest, even older than the Master-Mage, must have been close to ninety. Each of them wore the formal garment of the Council of Mages, a kind of vestigial waistcoat which finished just under the arms and featured puffy shoulder pieces and heavy gold embroidery.

They were all silent, and all staring at her. She disciplined herself to stand confidently and not fiddle with the honour dangling from her bracelet.

“Welcome, Hope at Merrybourne,” said the Master-Mage, with his usual face-wrinkling smile. “Distinguished Council, as co-sponsor with our Honoured Chair, let me introduce you to this talented mage. At the age of eight, she demonstrated the untrained ability to manipulate light. A former student of mine, Sincerity Roper, taught her privately, primarily lifemagic and mindmagic, and she successfully took the Mage-Minor examinations in both those disciplines shortly after her arrival at the university. She came on a scholarship which I awarded her, because at the age of sixteen she discovered hidden Elvish writing in an old book — the book now known as Merrybourne One, and the first of many discoveries which have since formed the basis of the Magical Research Institute. I know that many of you have learned and used the blood-flow spells from Merrybourne Four.”

There was a certain amount of nodding around the table, and some impressed eyebrows raised in her direction. Hope relaxed a tiny fraction of her tension.

“Hope’s primary interest, however, was in energy magic. She had limited resources for learning it at home, but once at the university she excelled in her studies. I have circulated testimonials from her teachers as part of the proposal for elevation.” Several mages flipped through the papers in front of them at this.

“Despite having to work to support herself through the latter part of her education, Hope managed a very creditable High Distinction, second only to Resplendence of Ashling.” Here the Master-Mage nodded to one of the mages down the table, who nodded back. He wore the seals of a member of the Gold class, and Hope thought she recognised his bladelike nose. It was the same as her old rival’s, a girl who had never spoken directly to her, but had done all she could to shun her and encourage others to do so also.

Wonderful, she thought. Resplendence’s father is on the Council. How did I miss that?

“I believed,” said the Master-Mage, “that Hope’s ability at applied as well as theoretical magic would result in some spectacular advances, and indeed, events have borne out that belief. Hope’s senior project was a complete schema for a magic mirror, which, through her collaboration with the Realmgold’s clever man Dignified Printer, resulted in the creation of the farviewers and farspeakers, for which she was honoured with the Realmgold’s Civilian Honour, Gold, with Moon. You are all aware, I’m sure, of the key role these devices played in the speedy resolution of the Unification War.”

More nods and eyebrows. Hope’s chest unclenched enough for her to take a deep, calming breath. When she heard the Master-Mage making her case, it was hard to believe that she wouldn’t be advanced to Senior Mage.

“More recently,” he continued, “I have managed to secure her services for my Institute, and she has just concluded a shift-cycle’s worth of seminars, first for the mathematicians and then for the magical theorists. Based on their reports, which some of you will have also received, I expect even greater things to come from her brilliant mind in the future.”

He nodded at Honesty, who said, “Thank you, Amiable. I would like to add my voice to that of my co-sponsor in advocating the advancement of this talented young woman to the rank of Senior Mage. I edit, as you know, the journal Magical Research, and she has submitted a series of articles to me of a quality and depth that I have seldom seen across my desk. I am eagerly anticipating her book based on these and on her seminar series at the Institute.”

Honesty straightened her papers in front of her and said, “Does anyone have questions for the candidate?”

Hope was expecting Resplendence’s father to ask the first question, but another man two seats down from him touched his forehead in the gesture that indicated that he had something to say. He brushed aside straight hair, more white than black, to do so.

“Councillor Purposeful,” said Honesty.

“Mage Hope,” said the man, “to what extent would you attribute the creation of the farviewers to yourself, and to what extent were they the work of the clever man?”

She took a moment before answering to steady herself. “They were my idea,” she said, “but I did not have any way to implement the idea until I collaborated with Dignified. I had worked out the spells as my senior project, but working with him, and learning his mathematical-magical notation, improved them considerably. Overall, it was a collaborative effort, and I would be hard-put to separate our contributions in many cases.”

Purposeful nodded, and Honesty recognised another mage.

The mages probed and prodded into every part of the Master-Mage’s recommendation. What exactly had she done at the age of eight? What was the process of her discovery of the hidden Elvish writing? Had it been merely an accident?

“I understand,” said one of the younger council members, “that you have had health problems recently.”

“Yes,” she said, “I had a fall and struck my head, and have had headaches and other symptoms to a greater or lesser degree since, including, as you may have heard, passing out while giving a seminar at the university. The healers tell me, though, that they expect me to recover fully in time.” The woman nodded, apparently satisfied.

The questioning slowly died down, and then came the question she had been dreading, from Resplendence’s father.

“A point of clarification, Mage Hope,” he said, in his drawling Gold-class accent. “The Master-Mage mentioned that he awarded you a scholarship, but then later in his account he said that you had to work your way through university. Which was it?”

Hope flushed. “Both, in fact, Councillor. I… as a result of an ill-judged act during my education, I lost the scholarship and was obliged to support myself.”

“And what act was that?” he asked smoothly, as if he didn’t know.

“I used magic on a fellow student without first obtaining permission, in breach of university regulations.” The word “weasel” repeated in her head with every heartbeat.

“And what form did that magic take?”

“I found my, uh, gentleman-friend with another woman, and placed a very specific geis on him.”

“Please tell us the exact nature of that geis.”

“It, uh, would have prevented him from having relations with any woman to whom he had not been faithful.”

“Would have?”

“The university authorities naturally obliged me to remove it.”

“It would have worked, though?” asked an elderly woman.

“Oh, yes,” said Hope. There was scattered laughter from some councillors, met by frowns from others.

“Well,” said one of the frowners, “this puts quite a different complexion on things. How recent was this incident?”

“Five years ago,” said Hope. “Almost six.”

“Not terribly long ago,” said the man.

“To you and me, Courteous,” said the Master-Mage. “If you can remember being Hope’s age, you might recall that six years made a considerable difference.” There were a few laughs at that, but Courteous did not join in them.

Hope watched helplessly, and silently, as two factions emerged. One, clearly led and coordinated by Resplendence’s father, insisted that it would not be appropriate to advance someone of such dubious ethical standards to Senior Mage. The other attempted to argue for her based on her achievements, and dismiss the incident with Faithful as a youthful indiscretion, now behind her.

The two sides seemed about even in numbers, but a lot of the councillors were not saying anything, and she didn’t know which way they would vote. The argument started to become repetitive, and Honesty called the council to order.

“If I might,” said a mage. Hope recognised the (compared to the rest of the council) youngish woman who had asked about her health. She hadn’t participated in the debate.

“Yes, Curiosity,” said Honesty.

“Might I propose, before we vote, that the question before us is not whether or not to advance Mage Hope, but when? Clearly, she has the makings of a senior mage, and a good one, but I am not fully convinced that she should be advanced at such a young age, particularly as she has had health problems. I would suggest that we wait for the publication of her book, and see what other advances she is able to produce in the Institute... let’s say, by the end of the year? And at that time we can review again.”

That set off general murmuring, which Honesty had some difficulty in shutting down. “Curiosity, is that a formal proposal?” she said, when the others were silent again.

“Yes.”

“Let us put it to the vote, then. The proposal is that we review Mage Hope’s advancement to Senior Mage again before the end of the current year, taking into account her work between now and then, and in particular her book. Votes in favour?”

The number of raised hands was clearly a majority, though not a large one.

“Proposal is adopted,” said Honesty. “Thank you, Mage Hope, we will be in touch again regarding a second hearing.”

“Thank you, Council Chair,” said Hope, and bowed herself out of the room. Behind her, she heard Honesty calling a break before the next session.

In the foyer, she allowed herself to start trembling and sweating. She straightened up when she heard footsteps behind her, and turned to see the Master-Mage.

“Well,” he said, “that could have gone better, but it could also have gone worse. A proposal to delay a controversial decision will usually pass, in my experience.”

“Did you coordinate that?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “When I could see that Significant’s faction was strong, I gave Curiosity the signal. Now we have until year’s end to campaign with some of the less decided voters. And I’m sure you’ll produce a brilliant book that will remove all doubt.” He gave her one of his sparkling smiles — for an old man, he had excellent teeth — and patted her hand. “Now, you go along and have a cup of tea somewhere and get yourself pulled together, and we’ll talk again in due course.”

Hope took his advice, withdrawing to a nearby tea-house, where she sat alone and pondered.

She probably would make Senior Mage, just not yet. She dreaded the process of writing the book, especially with so much at stake, though.

She sighed. Once, she’d done things like this in the hope of impressing her mother. That dream was dead, though the drive, oddly, seemed to live on. And after all the failures she’d had lately, a success would have been welcome.