Shadow of Ararat

THE SCHOOL OF PTHAMES

Dwyrin woke to semidarkness again, but now there was no crane-headed man looming at the foot of his bed. Instead there was cool dimness and long slats of light falling across the sheets. As he woke, coils of shimmering red and blue light flared quietly around the door frame, ran along the heavy wooden beams of the ceiling, and slithered down the ridges of the cotton quilt. He blinked and they were gone, the stones and beams of the room solid and distinct, even clear in the subdued light.

Dwyrin rose up, expecting to wince at the movement, but there was no pain. He felt oddly calm, like a deep well had opened in him and its strong waters carried through his limbs to his ringers. The room was small, with a low writing table and two chests of burnished dark wood, bound with bronze. Scrolls of the writings of the teachers hung along the walls, revealing portraits Of the stars, of diverse animals, of cabalistic signs.

A master’s room, he thought. None of the apprentices or students rated a room to themselves. What has happened to me? The stones were cold under his bare feet. He tested his arms, his stomach. He remembered flames, being consumed in fire. There were no marks upon him, nothing to indicate the things he half remembered. His stomach growled suddenly and he realized that he was famished.

His tunic and belt were under the low bed, and thus attired he ventured out into the corridor. How am I going to get breakfast! he thought. By the height of Ra it’s too late for the students or masters to be eating. The cooks have their eye on me, and no one will have thought to smuggle me food.

Dwyrin stood in the shadow of the hall, distressed to realize that there was no friend among his fellows that he could truly call upon at tkis time. Patroclus had been sort of a friend, but the prank with the bees had ended that. He shook his head, trying to clear away the dark thoughts. / could just wait, he mused, but no, I’m too hungry.

Padding quietly on the smooth tiles, he reached the end of the hallway and looked down from the second story of the masters’ quarters into the garden below. Beyond its red brick walls lay the kitchen building and beyond it the students’ dormitories. Dwyrin looked warily about and skipped quickly down the wooden steps into the garden. The garden was quiet, with the subdued buzz of bees and flies muted in the sunny morning. Tiptoeing, he passed through a high hedge to reach the rear wall of the garden. Here the bricks of the warl were sheathed in white stucco and covered with ivy and roses. Dwyrin backed up, eyeing the top of the wall and measuring it for his leap. Taking another step, he collided with a solid figure, whose hand settled easily on his right shoulder. Dwyrin froze and the hand spun him easily around. A thin old man, barely his own height, stood there, clad in a simple white kilt and tunic. His head was bare and a rich bronze color. Thick white eyebrows hooded his eyes. The old man smiled, his entire face crinkling up like parchment.

“Apprentice Dwyrin, I am surely pleased to make your acquaintance at last. I am Nephet. Surely you must be hungry now after your interesting experience. Please, come with me.”

The little old man’s hand was soft on his shoulder, but Dwyrin found himself firmly guided back across the garden and then into the ground floor of the masters’ quarters. As they entered the hallway that bisected the main floor, they just missed Ahmet, who came down the stairs into the garden rather quickly and then stood, looking around in concern.