Imager

24

The first Solayi in Avryl, the first of the month and the last day I was actually restricted to Imagisle, Mother came to visit me. The afternoon was partly cloudy, but the morning had been sunny, and the air was pleasant. Her coach crossed the Bridge of Hopes right at the first bell of the second glass of the afternoon. I was waiting just off the bridge on the isle side, because that was where the Manual stated visitors should be met.

Charlsyn eased the coach into the waiting area, but he avoided looking directly at me as I stepped forward and opened the door.

Mother stepped out, and I offered her a hand, because there was no mounting block, although the gray granite curbing was somewhat raised above the paving stones. She wore a long black skirt and boots, with a short maroon jacket over a cream blouse, with a pale green scarf and maroon beret-style hat. In her own way, she made it all look good together.

“You’re looking well, Rhenn.” Her smile was practiced as she inspected me, and wider after she saw no obvious faults in my dress and deportment. “The gray does suit you, although it is a bit severe. The cloth of the waistcoat and trousers looks to be choice wool.”

“I hadn’t noticed, not exactly.”

“Well . . . your father will be pleased to know that. It’s a good grade for imagers, very fine, but not ostentatious.”

“Master Dichartyn will be pleased to hear that.” As soon as I spoke, I wished I hadn’t said it that way, and I quickly added, “He feels imagers should never be arrogant or ostentatious.”

“You should listen to him. No one should be.” She smiled, and a twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I’ve even suggested that to your father once or twice, but don’t tell him that I told you so.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” I couldn’t help but enjoy the thought of her suggesting that he was arrogant.

We strolled down the walkway to one of the stone benches. Mother produced a small towel from somewhere and dusted it off. “It never hurts to be prepared.”

“You’re prepared for everything,” I said with a smile.

“One can never prepare for everything, but when one prepares for what one can, it’s much easier to deal with the unexpected.”

“There’s some truth in that,” I conceded.

“So nice of you to admit that, dear.”

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

She straightened herself on the bench. “Rousel and Remaya will be arriving on Jeudi. Will you be able to come for dinner on Samedi, or will they need to come to see you here?”

“I’ll be able to come on Samedi. This is my last weekend to be restricted to Imagisle.”

“Good. I’ll send Charlsyn with the coach. What time would be good?”

I didn’t want to spend too long with Rousel and Remaya-or Father-but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “I’ve always been free by the third glass of the afternoon.”

“Should he meet you here?”

“I could meet him on the other side of the bridge. That way he wouldn’t have to cross and turn the coach.”

“That’s settled, then. It will be so good to have everyone home. You know that Remaya’s expecting in late Juyn?”

“I knew it was sometime this summer.”

“She is a lovely person.”

That meant that Remaya was far superior to her Pharsi background. “I knew that from the beginning.”

“That may be, dear, but she’s far better suited to Rousel. She enjoys talking about trade and wool, and she likes it as much as he does.”

Mother did have a point there.

“Oh . . . I forgot to tell you. I should have written you. We have your painting-the one you entered in the art competition. Master Reayalt had it sent to us. Would you like it?”

The guildmaster of the Portraiture Guild had sent my study of the chess game? But who else would have? “If you don’t mind . . . could you keep it until I’m a bit more . . . settled.”

“We’d love to. I know just where I’ll hang it until you’re ready for it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Tell me about being an imager . . . what you can, that is. I know that there must be matters you cannot discuss. What do you do?”

“Study and practice, mostly. I suspect I’m getting close to a university education in science, chemistry, and philosophy.”

“Don’t mention the philosophy to your father. He’ll like the rest. What else do you do?”

“There are exercises in imaging, and I’m examined almost every day, except Solayi, by my preceptor. That’s Master Dichartyn. In the afternoon, I might practice something in the laboratories or workrooms, or study. I’m just been advanced to imager secondus, and starting tomorrow, I’ll have to learn more of what imagers do, but I haven’t been assigned yet.”

“What does being an imager secondus mean?”

“I get a little larger stipend, and I can cross the bridges to the city whenever I have the time, so long as I don’t miss any instruction or duties.”

She nodded. “That’s good. Are you getting enough sleep? What are your quarters like? Do you have to sleep in a bunkroom like the soldiers?”

I shook my head. “We each have our own rooms. They’re not large, but they’re comfortable, and the food is good. Not so good as at home, but far better than at Master Caliostrus’s.” Was my parents’ dwelling really home anymore? Had it ever been, really, after I’d left the grammaire?

“I’m glad to hear that.” There was a long pause. “Dear . . . this may be presumptuous, but can imagers marry?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “They can, but generally they have quarters on Imagisle or among other imagers, unless they’re very wealthy.”

“I don’t see why . . .”

“It’s compulsory, but I’m told that the quarters for those who are married are quite comfortable. Those who are older and have families live in houses on the north end of the isle.” I didn’t feel right about explaining the reasons beyond what I’d said.

“Oh . . . I’ve seen them. They’re well kept, and stylish, but a trace small, I would think.”

All I could do in response was shrug and say, “Since I’m not married, I wouldn’t know.”

“Do imagers usually marry other imagers?” After a moment, she added, “That can’t be. There aren’t any women imagers, or not very many, are there?”

“There are some. I’ve seen three masters who are women, and perhaps ten or fifteen who are primes, seconds, or thirds.”

“Then when you can, you should get out and meet some eligible women, some of the proper background.” She paused. “You realize that Rousel was extraordinarily fortunate, don’t you?”

What she meant was that most Pharsi girls would not meet her standards or fit in her world, but I only said, “I’m very aware of that. I can only hope to be that fortunate.”

“A good background makes it far easier, as I’m certain you know.”

I nodded, and after that, we talked of friends, and family and how my aunt Ilena-Mother’s sister-refused to travel to L’Excelsis, even on the ironway.

Then, abruptly, she stood, and I followed her example.

“I must be going, dear. It has been lovely to see you, and to know that you are doing so well. I had my doubts, but I do think this imager business is for the best. Your father will be happy to know that.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “We will see you next Samedi.”

I walked her back to the coach and watched as Charlsyn eased the team and coach around the narrow roundabout and back over the bridge. Then I walked back to my room and read-or tried to read-another section of Practical Philosophy. Many of the arguments there seemed anything but practical, such as the section that read:

The ultimate philosophical principle is the advance from disjunction to conjunction, creating an entirely new entity other than the entities previously existing in disjunction . . .

After struggling through that, I closed the book and made my way to the dining hall, where I did appreciate the comparative relief of the evening meal on Solayi. Then, I and all of the imagers at the Collegium went to what the masters called chapel, but it meant the services held at Anomen D’Imagisle. They were a glass later than those at Anomen D’Este, to fit the Collegium schedule, I supposed. As at all services, we stood throughout-except for a handful of graying imagers emeritus, who had two special benches on the left below and forward of the pulpit. A small choir of imagers offered the choral invocation, and they sang well.

Chorister Isola was the only woman chorister of the Nameless that I’d ever seen, although I’d heard that there were others, because one could not know or presume whether the Nameless was male or female, or indeed both at once. Her voice did carry, and her soprano invocation following the choral one, wordless as it was, was far more pleasant than that of any other chorister I had ever heard. Then she opened the main part of the service.

“We are gathered here together this evening in the spirit of the Nameless and in affirmation of the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

The opening hymn was unfamiliar-“Save Us from Naming”-but that didn’t matter because I barely sang, with just enough sound so that I was not merely mouthing the words.

After the confession and offertory, Chorister Isola stepped to the pulpit for the homily. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” came the reply.

“And it is a good evening, for under the Nameless, all evenings are good.” She paused for just a moment before going on. “We all know, and you all have been taught since childhood, the sin of pride that can accompany naming, and we have all heard the stories about achievements and the purity of Rholan the Unnamer. Who among us has not shied away from the possible disgrace of bearing the mark of the Namer, but how many of you have thought deeply about the greatness and majesty of those aspects of life that are without a name? We come into the world, born of woman and man through the agony of a woman, often so painful that no words can describe that birthing. Likewise, there are no words to describe death, for those who pass through it cannot speak of it to us. For each of us, these are the beginning and the end, as we know them here on Terahnar, and there are no words that will do justice to either.

“Words cannot describe the most magnificent of sunrises or sunsets, or even the greatest painting of the greatest representationalist or the most beautiful of statues, or the most stirring and harmonious of melodies. Words are all that we have to convey to each other what we see and what we feel, but never should we accept a belief that words truly or fully describe the world created by the Nameless. Even less so than words do names describe what is . . .”

Chorister Isola went on from there. I thought it was one of her better homilies, and one that made me think.

On the way back from chapel, I matched steps with Sannifyr, another second, not necessary because I’d disliked the younger primes, but as soon as I’d made secondus, they shied away from me. Sannifyr didn’t say anything, and I didn’t really know what to say to him, either. The walk back to quarters was fairly long, because the anomen was at the point on the southern end of Imagisle, but the night wasn’t that cold, especially compared to those when I’d first come to the Collegium.