Searing 27, 116
The first phase, of course, was shock.
An aspirant Sunsinger ought to be prepared for dismissal. The Trial of Initiation was deadly, and there was nothing which could be done about it. If the acolyte lacked skill, will or strength, the Rune of Reaving would devour her in the space of an instant, and some people had to endure the Trial for hours before they finalized their first Pact. The Sunsingers must deny more applications than they accept- even if they were cold-blooded enough to let their students die in droves, the authorities would soon notice patterns of disappearances. There was no option but to be harsh.
But there was a difference between the intellectual understanding of rejection and the reality of it. Imogen Ward had never really felt like failure was a live possibility. She was a good student- unusual style aside, she knew she was good- and her brief bout with the Initiate, Tilman, should have shown it.
She had wanted to object. Uncle Lewis had voted in favor, of course… but especially, especially the Hytori master. It didn’t seem at all as though she liked Imogen (or, especially, her uncle), but she had voted in favor! Imogen had opened her mouth to speak, to ask “why”, to object- but the three masters had turned away at that point, and before she knew it, Tilman was leading her out of the room. He hadn’t been smiling, but he didn’t look upset, either. Certainly he hadn’t spoken out to object in any way.
That was the wrong thing to focus on. Tilman had been gracious, understanding, and kind, and it did not do to project her problems upon the initiate. She felt a little bit hurt that nobody else in the room had said anything, had objected to her summary dismissal, but there was only one person in the room who had voted against her.
Master Gerhard.
She had never met the older Human man before in her life- or if she had, it hadn’t been substantial enough for her to remember his face, and she had a good memory for faces. His graceful, calm expression, hair so heavily salted that it was more white than black, posture precise… no, she would have remembered. Certainly she would have remembered if she had done anything worth his summary dismissal.
Perhaps the correct thing to do would be to forget about Master Gerhard. If one of the masters had voted to fail her, surely that must be down to some fault she couldn’t see. She had gone to see Uncle Lewis immediately, of course, on the verge of tears, to beg him to tell her what she had done wrong.
“Done wrong?” the big Ork had said, “Nothing. I won’t speak of it further; it isn’t done. Get some sleep.”
Uncle Lewis was still her master, and she had done what he said, but he couldn’t expect the matter to sit well with her. Yes, perhaps the “proper” thing to do would be to accept Master Gerhard’s unexplained judgment and move on, to seek approval again in a year. But it wasn’t the right thing to do. A master was under no requirement to approve of a student, but a curt dismissal without a single word of explanation? No, she wasn’t going to let matters lie there for another year.
So it was that Imogen resolved to seek out the old human master. She was in the Sanctuary until the end of the Trial, after all, there had been no way to schedule a trip assuming she would fail. Though the Sunsingers standing guard were unfailingly polite, none was willing to speak on the matter of her trial, and neither would they tell her where Master Gerhard was staying.
By a stroke of luck, however, it didn’t matter. The next day, as she took her morning exercises (in the outside courtyard, this time, not a repurposed storage room), she chanced to encounter the man. It happened, in fact, while she was practicing the maneuver she had first attempted on Tilman, a quick jab into a punch. Uncle Lewis made the technique look easy; he always told her that if she wanted to be a great swordswoman, she should get into more bar fights.
“Ah!” came the voice, “Aspirant Ward, wasn’t it? Good morning.”
Imogen turned, caught off-guard by the voice which had haunted her all night, to see the smiling old man approaching. He stopped and waited patiently.
”Uh, good morning. I mean, good morning, Master Gerhard.” The aspirant bowed as deeply as she could force herself to. It wasn’t easy.
“Yes, it is rather. Won’t be long before the Trial- not that it matters to you, I suppose.” The master’s tone was warm, kind, even soothing, but the words were venomous. It was such a distinct departure from the rest of his demeanor that it took Imogen a few seconds to register exactly what he had said.
”I suppose not, master.” There was that discipline. She was proud of herself, but snapping at him wasn’t going to make him change his mind, and she had no illusions that she could profitably fight him. Even if she was a big enough firebrand to attack one of the masters, he could probably kill her with a thought.
“Yes. I heard you were asking for my whereabouts. Want to know what you did wrong, I imagine?”
The Orkhan woman almost bit her lip, which is a dangerous feat when you have tusk-teeth, however petite. ”Yes, master. I would like to know.” Of course she wanted to know. The bastard obviously knew that.
Master Gerhard turned to observe the morning sun, still smiling serenely. “Well, I’ll tell you, aspirant. The fact is… I don’t need a reason. If I did have one, I certainly don’t need to tell you. However, I can tell you right now that you will never have my confidence, not if you apply next year, not if you keep applying for the next fifty years.” His pleasant grin grew toothy at that. “You might think I’ll die of old age before then, yes? Not to matter. My apprentice will become an initiate, and he’ll take my place. Come back as much as you like, it’ll give us a show, at least.”
The old man looked at Imogen sideways, observing her barely-controlled trembling. “Holding it back, are you? Very wise. It won’t get you anywhere, getting worked up- nothing will get you anywhere, actually. I mean what I say, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Well, you’re dismissed. I want to get some air.”
Getting dismissed from the training yard- she had been there first!- was outrageous enough, but the bizarre, content-less dismissal of her entire life? That was too much, from this man she’d never seen until the day he appeared to ruin her life.
”What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Gerhard turned back to Imogen, tipping his head to one side. “Master.”
”What?”
“You are to call me master, as long as you persist in your doomed ambition. Report to the kitchen for duty tonight. If you have the energy to curse at me, you have the energy to work instead of lying about, enjoying the sanctuary’s largesse.”
”I don’t care what punishment you want to give me, I want an answer! What the fuck did I ever do to you? Why do this?”
“Mm. You are angry. That’s understandable.”
Imogen waited.
“But I don’t care for empty words. I will not explain myself to you. Let the staff director know that you’re to clean the antechambers after dinner, too. We can keep going, if you insist on continuing to disturb my morning.”
There wasn’t much to say to that.
~
Imogen confronted Master Gerhard twice more in the next three days, which resulted only in more insufferable rebuffs and mounting janitorial duties. She sought out Uncle Lewis again, but he continued obstinately to refuse any discussion of Master Gerhard, even ordering her out of the room when she tried to continue. The Hytori Master, too, (Ostral, it turned out her name was, though this wasn’t terribly important to Imogen just then) refused to speak with her for more than pleasantries.
The next thing to try, the logical thing, was to talk to the other initiates- the only problem was that she couldn’t find any. Or, to be more precise, she could find plenty of apprentices, people running errands, wiping the floors, standing guard, but not one of them would tell her whether or not they had come here to take the Trial, much less how well it had gone.
It was obscene. Unfair in a way which was entirely contrary to the values of the coven. If the interview was meant to judge her skill, why was it so irrelevant to the other two masters that one had simply gone rogue, denying her? And why had he? There had been so many tantalizing answers- he was a human in Zaichaer, she an Ork; that could have been enough, by itself. Perhaps he even hated Uncle Lewis, and wanted to lock his apprentices out of the order’s deeper ranks? Maybe he just thought her sword was ugly?
Still, though Imogen’s mind created reason after reason that Master Gerhard could have done it, none of them quite made sense. Nothing quite made sense..
The first phase, of course, was shock.
An aspirant Sunsinger ought to be prepared for dismissal. The Trial of Initiation was deadly, and there was nothing which could be done about it. If the acolyte lacked skill, will or strength, the Rune of Reaving would devour her in the space of an instant, and some people had to endure the Trial for hours before they finalized their first Pact. The Sunsingers must deny more applications than they accept- even if they were cold-blooded enough to let their students die in droves, the authorities would soon notice patterns of disappearances. There was no option but to be harsh.
But there was a difference between the intellectual understanding of rejection and the reality of it. Imogen Ward had never really felt like failure was a live possibility. She was a good student- unusual style aside, she knew she was good- and her brief bout with the Initiate, Tilman, should have shown it.
She had wanted to object. Uncle Lewis had voted in favor, of course… but especially, especially the Hytori master. It didn’t seem at all as though she liked Imogen (or, especially, her uncle), but she had voted in favor! Imogen had opened her mouth to speak, to ask “why”, to object- but the three masters had turned away at that point, and before she knew it, Tilman was leading her out of the room. He hadn’t been smiling, but he didn’t look upset, either. Certainly he hadn’t spoken out to object in any way.
That was the wrong thing to focus on. Tilman had been gracious, understanding, and kind, and it did not do to project her problems upon the initiate. She felt a little bit hurt that nobody else in the room had said anything, had objected to her summary dismissal, but there was only one person in the room who had voted against her.
Master Gerhard.
She had never met the older Human man before in her life- or if she had, it hadn’t been substantial enough for her to remember his face, and she had a good memory for faces. His graceful, calm expression, hair so heavily salted that it was more white than black, posture precise… no, she would have remembered. Certainly she would have remembered if she had done anything worth his summary dismissal.
Perhaps the correct thing to do would be to forget about Master Gerhard. If one of the masters had voted to fail her, surely that must be down to some fault she couldn’t see. She had gone to see Uncle Lewis immediately, of course, on the verge of tears, to beg him to tell her what she had done wrong.
“Done wrong?” the big Ork had said, “Nothing. I won’t speak of it further; it isn’t done. Get some sleep.”
Uncle Lewis was still her master, and she had done what he said, but he couldn’t expect the matter to sit well with her. Yes, perhaps the “proper” thing to do would be to accept Master Gerhard’s unexplained judgment and move on, to seek approval again in a year. But it wasn’t the right thing to do. A master was under no requirement to approve of a student, but a curt dismissal without a single word of explanation? No, she wasn’t going to let matters lie there for another year.
So it was that Imogen resolved to seek out the old human master. She was in the Sanctuary until the end of the Trial, after all, there had been no way to schedule a trip assuming she would fail. Though the Sunsingers standing guard were unfailingly polite, none was willing to speak on the matter of her trial, and neither would they tell her where Master Gerhard was staying.
By a stroke of luck, however, it didn’t matter. The next day, as she took her morning exercises (in the outside courtyard, this time, not a repurposed storage room), she chanced to encounter the man. It happened, in fact, while she was practicing the maneuver she had first attempted on Tilman, a quick jab into a punch. Uncle Lewis made the technique look easy; he always told her that if she wanted to be a great swordswoman, she should get into more bar fights.
“Ah!” came the voice, “Aspirant Ward, wasn’t it? Good morning.”
Imogen turned, caught off-guard by the voice which had haunted her all night, to see the smiling old man approaching. He stopped and waited patiently.
”Uh, good morning. I mean, good morning, Master Gerhard.” The aspirant bowed as deeply as she could force herself to. It wasn’t easy.
“Yes, it is rather. Won’t be long before the Trial- not that it matters to you, I suppose.” The master’s tone was warm, kind, even soothing, but the words were venomous. It was such a distinct departure from the rest of his demeanor that it took Imogen a few seconds to register exactly what he had said.
”I suppose not, master.” There was that discipline. She was proud of herself, but snapping at him wasn’t going to make him change his mind, and she had no illusions that she could profitably fight him. Even if she was a big enough firebrand to attack one of the masters, he could probably kill her with a thought.
“Yes. I heard you were asking for my whereabouts. Want to know what you did wrong, I imagine?”
The Orkhan woman almost bit her lip, which is a dangerous feat when you have tusk-teeth, however petite. ”Yes, master. I would like to know.” Of course she wanted to know. The bastard obviously knew that.
Master Gerhard turned to observe the morning sun, still smiling serenely. “Well, I’ll tell you, aspirant. The fact is… I don’t need a reason. If I did have one, I certainly don’t need to tell you. However, I can tell you right now that you will never have my confidence, not if you apply next year, not if you keep applying for the next fifty years.” His pleasant grin grew toothy at that. “You might think I’ll die of old age before then, yes? Not to matter. My apprentice will become an initiate, and he’ll take my place. Come back as much as you like, it’ll give us a show, at least.”
The old man looked at Imogen sideways, observing her barely-controlled trembling. “Holding it back, are you? Very wise. It won’t get you anywhere, getting worked up- nothing will get you anywhere, actually. I mean what I say, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Well, you’re dismissed. I want to get some air.”
Getting dismissed from the training yard- she had been there first!- was outrageous enough, but the bizarre, content-less dismissal of her entire life? That was too much, from this man she’d never seen until the day he appeared to ruin her life.
”What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Gerhard turned back to Imogen, tipping his head to one side. “Master.”
”What?”
“You are to call me master, as long as you persist in your doomed ambition. Report to the kitchen for duty tonight. If you have the energy to curse at me, you have the energy to work instead of lying about, enjoying the sanctuary’s largesse.”
”I don’t care what punishment you want to give me, I want an answer! What the fuck did I ever do to you? Why do this?”
“Mm. You are angry. That’s understandable.”
Imogen waited.
“But I don’t care for empty words. I will not explain myself to you. Let the staff director know that you’re to clean the antechambers after dinner, too. We can keep going, if you insist on continuing to disturb my morning.”
There wasn’t much to say to that.
~
Imogen confronted Master Gerhard twice more in the next three days, which resulted only in more insufferable rebuffs and mounting janitorial duties. She sought out Uncle Lewis again, but he continued obstinately to refuse any discussion of Master Gerhard, even ordering her out of the room when she tried to continue. The Hytori Master, too, (Ostral, it turned out her name was, though this wasn’t terribly important to Imogen just then) refused to speak with her for more than pleasantries.
The next thing to try, the logical thing, was to talk to the other initiates- the only problem was that she couldn’t find any. Or, to be more precise, she could find plenty of apprentices, people running errands, wiping the floors, standing guard, but not one of them would tell her whether or not they had come here to take the Trial, much less how well it had gone.
It was obscene. Unfair in a way which was entirely contrary to the values of the coven. If the interview was meant to judge her skill, why was it so irrelevant to the other two masters that one had simply gone rogue, denying her? And why had he? There had been so many tantalizing answers- he was a human in Zaichaer, she an Ork; that could have been enough, by itself. Perhaps he even hated Uncle Lewis, and wanted to lock his apprentices out of the order’s deeper ranks? Maybe he just thought her sword was ugly?
Still, though Imogen’s mind created reason after reason that Master Gerhard could have done it, none of them quite made sense. Nothing quite made sense..
