Egert’s blundering recital of these hopes was smoothly interrupted by the soft voice of the Magister. “You are unhappy, aren’t you, Egert?”
Egert stopped short and fell silent. He could not tear his eyes away from the shaggy crimson carpet that covered the floor of the study from wall to wall.
“Do not hide your head. Any man with even the slightest bit of perception can see this at first glance. You have survived some misfortune, haven’t you?”
Meeting the wise, all-knowing gaze of the decrepit Magister, Egert experienced an overwhelming desire to recount everything he knew about the curse and the Wanderer. He had already gathered breath in his lungs, but in the end he said nothing, for no other reason than the very first word pronounced by him turned out to be quite discordant and pitiful.
“I … a…” Ashamed at his weakness, Egert wilted.
After waiting a minute, the Magister smiled gently. “A man, unfortunately, quite often finds himself unhappy. At times he may also find that he is weak, irresolute, and vulnerable. Isn’t that so, Egert?”
It seemed to Egert that hope itself was watching him from the eyes of the silver-haired elder. He leaned forward and nodded emphatically. “It is so.”
“A man is vulnerable only when he is isolated,” the Magister continued pensively. “Cowardice is the lot of the solitary man. Do you think that’s true, Egert?”
Egert swallowed. He did not quite understand where the Magister was going with this line of questioning, but to be on the safe side he agreed once again. “Yes.”
The Magister stood up. His silver mane swayed majestically. “Egert, you have a difficult path in front of you, but at the end of it you will find power. It is not customary to tell neophytes of the more profound mysteries of Lash, but know this: The Sacred Spirit attends to every word I say. So, while I cannot immediately reveal to you the secrets toward which your soul undoubtedly strives, I invite you to enter our order under the authority of Brother Fagirra. You will become a soldier of Lash, and there is no more honorable service on this earth. Many mysteries will be revealed to you as the years go by, but even now the Sacred Spirit and legions of his acolytes stand behind you. Any insult that is heaped upon you will become an insult to the order: even a wry glance cast at your back will be swiftly and inescapably punished. All your actions will be righteous, even if they are seen by others as bloody crimes. We will gather you unto ourselves, for anything you do for the will of Lash is just. You have seen how lesser mortals fear and respect the brothers of the Order of Lash: a single glimpse of a man in a gray robe summons forth solemn awe in ordinary men, and soon—” The Magister raised his hand. “—soon that awe will grow into veneration. Power and might instead of solitude and eternal terror. Do you understand, Egert?”
Egert stood as if thunderstruck. The Magister’s offer had caught him unawares and now, terrified, he tried to gather the fragments of his scattered thoughts.
The Magister held his peace; his eyes, his wise, tired eyes, seemed to look straight into Egert’s soul.
Egert coughed and forced himself to speak through his confusion and fear. “And what would you require of me?”
The Magister took a step toward him. “I have faith. I have faith in you, Egert, just as Brother Fagirra immediately, from the very first glance, had faith in you. For the time being, all you have to do is stay silent: that is the first trial, the trial of secrecy. Remain silent about the fact that you met Brother Fagirra, that you were in the Tower, and that you were present at one of the Sacraments. Also, tell no one of this conversation; when we are sure that you are able to keep silent, as silent as a stone, then you will be told of our other requirements, Egert. You can rest assured that they will be within your power. As we part today, I offer you the promise of another interview. The gray hood will give you faith and security; it will raise you up above the crowd. Good-bye for now, Egert.”
In utter silence, Fagirra led Egert from the premises of the Tower by a secret path, but a different one from that by which Egert first found his way into the tabernacle of Lash.
6
Egert did not tell anyone about his visit to the Tower. Several weeks went by, but the Brotherhood of Lash did not exhibit any more signs of interest in the auditor Soll, so his nerves began to settle: it seemed that he could put off making any decision for an indefinite period of time.
More than once he donned the gray robe in his mind’s eye. Hearing the long, melancholy sound that occasionally resounded from the Tower, he recalled the bitter smell of the thick velvet, the slow dance of shadowy faces, concealed by hoods, and the face of the Magister, white as the moon. The pledge of security and, in time, power was a great temptation for Egert, but every time he thought about the hooded mantles of the acolytes, he experienced a strange spiritual unease. Something hindered him; something disturbed him and clawed at his soul. He put it down to his usual diffidence, but he soon learned to shun both thoughts of the Order of Lash and chance encounters with his acolytes on the street.
In the meanwhile, a heat wave had descended on the city, a true summer heat wave. At noon the rutted back streets were drenched in sun from wall to wall, and the flecks of sunlight dancing on the canals were painful to look at. The shore of the river just outside the city served as a meeting place for the endless stream of picnickers who came and went; the townsmen, bathed in sweat, plunged into the water using ferns as screens, and the townswomen perched in close-knit groups to bathe in the reeds, where they often fell prey to Fox, who had taken to swimming underwater with a reed in his mouth. He never let the chance slip to sneak up on some hapless female bather and pinch her on whatever part of her body was most conspicuous at the time he passed.
Egert was one of the dense group of students who oversaw Fox’s adventures and who each in their own turn had to contrive diversions appropriate to studious young men. The shore was full of splashing, shrieks, and giggles. Having found a set fishing line under the water, divers would treat their comrades to greasy fish soup. For the most part Egert sat on the shore and would go into the water only up to his waist; his timidity was noticed, but beyond a few good-hearted jests, the matter was left to rest.
Soon, however, the exams, which would elevate the students to the next level, approached: the Inquirers wished to become Reasoners, the Reasoners desired to become Aspirants, and these, in their turn, wanted to become Dedicated. The university seemed as if it were burning with fever: bloodshot eyes, red rimmed and salty from sitting behind books night and day, peered out of every corner. Egert watched as the learned youths entered the headmaster’s study one by one, some with deliberate buoyancy, some with overt terror. Many of them, it turned out, believed in omens: in their various devices and tricks—spitting, prayers, and complicated signs formed with their fingers—Egert was shocked to recognize some of his own protective rituals.
Egert never had the chance to see what went on beyond the austere doors of the headmaster’s study. The other students told him that the headmaster, Dean Luayan, and all the teachers who had ascended the rostrum in the course of the year sat behind the long table in the headmaster’s study, facing the examinee. They said that all the examiners were extremely strict, but Dean Luayan was especially so. Not every student succeeded in passing the exam; moreover, a full half of the unfortunates who fell short owed their failure to the severe mage.
On the eve of the exams, Fox fell into a panic. He excoriated himself in every way possible: the blandest of the oaths that he heaped upon his own person were “idiotic, half-witted fool” and “brainless chicken shit.” Gaetan stared at the book he was studying, then threw his gaze at the ceiling in despair, then flopped down on his bed and declared to Egert that he, of course, would fail, that it was impossible to remain a Reasoner forever, that his father would not give him any more money and that he would force his son to be the clerk of a stinking apothecary in perpetuity, where even the flies withered and died from the smell of castor oil. When Egert timidly suggested that perhaps it might be a good idea to turn to the dean for help, Fox started brandishing his arms at him and drubbing his feet on the floor; he called Egert a lunatic, an idiotic joker, and explained that there was only one thing left for him to do: he had to leave the university once and for all.