How Arra Prevented Aging
And Morrolan Discovered
HisGrowing Notoriety
It so happened that on a spring day Morrolan entered the chapel at Blackchapel, looking for his Priestess, Arra, who was, naturally enough, often to be found there, as it was not only where she consulted with penitents, and not only where she conducted her services, and not only where she worked with and trained what had come to be called “the Circle,” but was also where she lived.
Having introduced the subject of living quarters, and, moreover, observing that the reader last had occasion to look in on Blackchapel several scores of years earlier, we consider it our duty, before continuing, to say two words about Blackchapel as it was at this time—that is to say, in the 243rd year of the Interregnum (although, the reader must not forget, an Interregnum that had no direct effect and little indirect effect on matters this far to the East of the old bounds of the Empire).
Since we have last visited, then, there have been considerable changes. In the first place, what had been a sort of low, swampy field north of the chapel had been drained by clever engineering on the part of a certain Cecilia, and a series of low cottages had been built there to house those who had been steadily arriving in the village—or, more properly, the town—ever since Arra had begun her work.
Blackchapel had absorbed these new citizens in the simplest
possible way: When they were not engaged in their training in the magical practices, or working with Arra to send out the strange psychic calls to attract more of their number, they put their talents at the disposal of the local citizens. The most annoying of the pests who disturbed the local agriculture were now almost unheard of. Lost livestock no longer remained lost. There had not been a bad year for fish as long as the current generation could remember.
All of these services for the townspeople were performed at the absolute insistence of Arra, who pretended that the instant the Circle became a burden on Blackchapel, the slow, steady, peaceful growth of the Circle would be, at best, interrupted. Morrolan, for his part, paid little attention: he had the single-mindedness (and, to be sure, the accompanying tendency to be oblivious to everything outside of his immediate focus) that seems to be as much the birthright of the young Dragonlord as the fierce temper and callous disregard for life.
To be sure, Morrolan was of a naturally cheerful disposition, and had had no occasion for any display of temper. The townspeople considered him something like their pet demon (though, of course, they would never think of using such terms to his face) and as such, considered him something like a living token of good fortune, and he made friends easily both among the townspeople and the witches. These friendships were hampered only by Morrolan’s observation that the people who surrounded him—indeed, everyone except himself and Arra, who were marked by the special favor of the goddess—tended to grow old and die at an alarming speed.
Over the decades, the distinctions tended to diminish between the two groups: local peasant girls could not help but find the witches fascinating, and no one is as attractive to a peasant boy as a woman with the mysterious powers of a witch. The populations therefore tended to mix, with only those newly arrived remaining separate, for a time, from the life of Blackchapel.
And so, as we have said, there was nothing but harmony in Blackchapel between those whose families had dwelt there for generations uncounted, and those who drifted in to become part of the Circle, a harmony that, so far as Morrolan
knew, was entirely natural and normal, he being unaware of Arra’s diligent work to maintain this state.
Arra, for her part, could not help but be aware of the aspects of Morrolan’s character to which we have referred, and so, without complaint, simply added to her duties all of those matters that can be called “politics”; that is, the requirements of maintaining harmony between her witches and the locals of Blackchapel.
On the occasion of which we now write, she heard Morrolan call her name, and so emerged from a back room into the chapel itself, dressed only in a long towel of a particularly absorbent material, and with water streaming from her hair and collecting in small pools on the hard stone floor.
“I beg your pardon,” said Morrolan. “I was not aware—”
“It is nothing, milord,” said Arra. “I was merely immersing myself in sanctified water to which certain salts and herbs have been added, as part of the process of maintaining my youth. The favor of the goddess does a great deal, but, you perceive, even she can use aid in her endeavors from time to time.”
“Oh, as to that, you seem to have maintained all of your youth with no change, so far as my eyes can see.”
“You are most kind.”
“Not at all. And, come to that, when I look in the glass, I do not seem to have particularly aged myself, which speaks strongly for the powers of our goddess, and the rejuvenating effects of the Circle, does it not?”
“Oh, in your case I believe there are other reasons,” said Arra, smiling. “But tell me, what is it that you wish? For I am convinced that you did not enter, calling my name in that strong voice, without having had in mind some particular issue.”
“Oh, as far as that goes, you are entirely correct. But, before discussing it, I should rather wait until you, that is, until—”
“Until I should have dressed myself, my lord?”
“You have said it precisely.”
Arra, we must confess, took a certain pleasure in embarrassing Morrolan, but she merely said, “Very well, I shall return in a moment, properly attired.”
Morrolan bowed, and Arra left, although not without permitting the towel to drop just as she vanished through the doorway. Soon she was back, properly covered in her priestly robes. “I hope,” she said, “this causes you less discomfort, my lord.”
Morrolan bowed.
“Well then,” she said when they were seated, “what is it that you wish to discuss with me?”
“A peculiar thing happened.”
“Well, I am listening.”
“I was on my way from my apartments to the dry goods store, when I happened to pass a stranger—that is, someone I had not met before.”
“Yes, I understand. A stranger. They pass through Blackchapel from time to time. Indeed, many of them end up joining the Circle, at which time they cease to be strangers.”
“Well but this stranger—a clean-shaven gentleman of middle years with a large belly and very little hair—seemed to be looking at me in a very peculiar fashion.”
“Yes?”
“That is, he was staring at me.”
“I understand.”
“And then—”
“There is more?”
“Yes. He stopped Claude, who happened to be passing the other way, and spoke to him, pointing at me in a way I considered impertinent at best, and probably rude.”
“Yes?”
“And, after that, he stopped, dropped to his knee, and bowed to me!”
“Well?”
“But, my dear Arra, why would he, a stranger, have done such a thing?”
“No doubt he has heard of you.”
“Heard of me?”
“Why, yes. You cannot imagine that what we have done has not been noticed, and that you are not seen as the mover behind it.”
“What we have done? You mean, our Circle?”
“Precisely.”
“But why?”
“Why, milord? You wonder why?”
“Yes, exactly. And, if you know, I should consider it a great favor were you to tell me.”
“Then I will do so.”
“I am listening.”
“You must consider that we have gathered together three hundred and eighty-three witches. We have been working together, learning more of the Art, and sending out messages to all with the sensitivity to hear them—messages that reach farther and farther as we add more to the Circle.”
“Well, I know all of this.”
“But, nothing like this has ever been done before!”
“I had not known that. But still—”
“And we have done more. Do you recall last year, the Seeing?”
“You mean, when you saw the raid that was to be conducted on Carrick?”
“Exactly. And we warned them, and the raiders were driven off.”
“Oh yes, certainly, I can never forget it any more than I can forget the ten barrels of oushka that we were sent as a mark of gratitude. But—”
“My lord, you seem not to understand.”
“Understand? I do not understand? Goddess! I have been telling you for an hour that I do not understand!”
“My lord, for a hundred miles around, everyone knows of the Circle, and, to them, the Circle is you.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Arra, what do you mean, the Circle is me?”
“I mean that everyone has heard of you, and of the Circle, and sees them together.”
“For a hundred miles around?”
“Maybe two hundred.”
“They know the Circle, and know me?”
“Your description travels by word of mouth—they perceive you are a very distinctive man.”
“Well, but—it is strange.”
“Oh, I do not doubt that it is. But it is true.”
Morrolan frowned and considered the matter. Arra waited patiently while he did so. At length he said, “Arra, a thought has occurred to me.”
“Well, and it is?”
“That band of raiders, would they have heard of us, too?”
“It is possible, yes.”
“Are there very many of them?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. They come from considerably less than a hundred miles away. They are from a region called Sylavya, around thirty-five or forty miles around the lake, and, whenever they have a bad harvest—which happens often, as the god they worship does little to give them good harvests—they plunder those around them.”
“Yes, I see. Well—”
“My lord?”
“It has come to my thoughts that if we should continue warning their victims of impending raids, they may take it ill.”
“That is possible, my lord. As I consider it, I think it is very possible.”
“So I had thought.”
“Do you think, well—do you think we ought to stop giving these warnings?”
“Oh, no!” said Morrolan. “I certainly would suggest nothing so drastic as that!”
“That is well. For a moment, I was afraid—”
“Yes?”
“I was afraid that you were beginning to show your age.”