When Rosédan and I passed through that old gate near Xuadhali, it was the closest I have ever come to dying. Or so it felt to me. Probably an astute reader of my chronicles will be able to find points where I was in more actual danger, but never before had I been as drained of all energy and vitality. When we arrived, it took me a long time merely to force my eyes open. I saw Rosédan’s face across from mine and I was terrified for a moment that she was dead, but when I managed to reach out to touch her cheek, she too opened her eyes.

We were lying underneath a solid block of stone that cut us off from the sky and gave me the impression of being buried alive. But there was enough room to stand underneath the block, so it was a roomy grave at least. I pulled myself upright using a nearby column and helped Rosédan to her feet. “Where are we?” I wondered. There was a sharp chill in the air that reminded me of my own home, though after all these years in hotter climes, my skin had grown thinner, and I had to rub my arms fiercely to keep myself warm.

“Not my home, not yet,” said Rosédan, walking to the edge of the stone and looking out from there. She was shivering, so I joined her and put my arms around her, and together we surveyed the vista before us. It wasn’t much of a vista, as we were in a cleft valley that narrowed abruptly in front of us and ended at a stone archway that had to be the gate back to Xuadhali. But no matter how long I stared at it, I saw no sign that it was open, and we’ve learned since that this end of the gate has been shut for a very long time.

While I squinted at the arch, hoping to see a ghostly image of its counterpart in Xuadhali, Rosédan wandered down to the other end of the stone block and then called to me, “Kësil! Look at this!”

There was a vista more worthy of our eyes. We were high up in a mountain gap, from which a narrow path wound down towards a barely visible river, a shining thread among the rocks. But from here it seemed that we could see the entire world laid out before us to the north. It was a plain that extended to the horizon in all directions, cut in half by a broad river flowing west and east, to which the little river at the mountains’ base ran. The color and patterning of the land suggested fields of crops, and all in all it reminded me very much of my home in Tarindus. I turned to Rosédan, intending to tell her as much, but at that moment she dropped to her knees and clutched her stomach.

“Rosédan?” I said. “What’s the matter?” Then I winced, finding that my head pounded painfully as I spoke.

“I feel sick,” she mumbled.

“Was it something you ate? But I don’t think you’ve eaten anything recently that I haven’t. Or maybe it’s something to do with the gate.” I snapped my fingers as a thought occurred to me, though my head hurt worse than ever. “There’s a sickness that people from the lowlands get sometimes when they travel up into the mountains. I don’t know what your home is like, but we’ve both been living near the sea for a long time now. Now, since I had the good fortune to spend my youth in the mountains of Tarindus, I’m not as affected by the illness, of course.”

She groaned and gave me a look that I interpreted as a sign of her growing sickness and discomfort. I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“We should climb down from here as soon as possible. You’ll feel better when we’re not so high up. You should drink some water too.”

She groaned again. We went a short distance down the path when suddenly I felt a queasiness in the pit of my stomach. I made it a few more steps before I had to sit down and rest my head on Rosédan’s lap. Then she fell over herself and we lay there for a while in what must have been a truly pathetic sight.

“We need to keep going,” I said, and forced myself to my feet, pulling her up beside me. Her head was still lowered, her hair falling in a golden canopy around it, but she nodded faintly.

“Someone must come up and down this trail,” she said as we walked (to call by a generous name the way we limped along). “It’s been well kept. Even the area around the gate was in better shape than what we saw in Xuadhali.”

“Maybe we’ll meet someone who’ll be able to help us.”

“No! Don’t get my hopes up.” She leaned against me.

We probably would have made it to the bottom eventually, though I have my doubts as to whether we would have made it much farther. But, remarkable as it is to say, Rosédan’s prediction was exactly right. (She happened to look over my shoulder as I was writing this, and when I read it aloud for her, she asked why exactly that was so remarkable. I didn’t have an answer. Maybe I will rewrite this portion.) At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, weakened perhaps by the persistent pain in my forehead, but there certainly seemed to be hooded figures coming up the path towards us.

Although one might suppose it would be easiest for us to sit down and wait for them to arrive, seeing them gave us new strength to keep walking until at last my head ached so much that I had no other choice but take a rest. The figures rounded the last curves of the path and stood staring down at us, their eyes just barely visible in the shadows of their hoods. There were two of them, but neither spoke before I did.

“We’re sick,” I said, pressing one hand to my stomach and the other to my forehead. “I believe it’s the height of the mountain that’s responsible.”

One of the figures shook silently, I think from laughter, though I suppose he could have been suffering from a fever. The other lifted back his hood, revealing a face of sharp angles and light hair and gray eyes. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “Rinthlep Roukos isn’t kind to the foolhardy. You should have taken more thought before trying to ascend her. Did you make it to the shrine, at least?”

“I think so.”

“Then did you see it?”

“See what, exactly? We saw a number of things.”

“You know what I mean!” I continued to stare at him until he said, “You really don’t, do you? Why did you go up there if not to glimpse what has departed from us?”

This conversation had distracted me from the pain in my head, but Rosédan gave a sudden groan and buried her face in the crook of my arm. The other figure spoke now, in a woman’s voice. I squinted to see past her hood to the round, doll-like face within. “Don’t just stand here talking to them, Sawanin Lusahu. They obviously need help.”

“Of course. I’m terribly sorry. Here, take my arm, and Thipērek Thüzranahü will help your companion. I’m Sawanin Lusahu, by the way, and this is my Thipērek Thüzranahü, my fiancée.”

“I’m Kësil,” I replied as we began our descent again. “This is Rosédan. Ah, and she’s my wife.” I had nearly forgotten at this juncture that we were traveling as husband and wife.

“And where are you from?” asked Sawanin Lusahu. His eyes lingered on Rosédan, and I was inclined to be jealous for a moment before it occurred to me that she looked rather different from the rest of us, with her darker skin and rounder features. Simultaneously unable and unwilling to come up with a persuasive story, I only said that we were from a place far away. He laughed at this. “You don’t sound like it. But if you’re looking for the chalice, I have bad news for you.”

“Oh?” I said.

“If it was ever here, it is gone now. We are a forsaken nation, for all the wisdom and learning of our schools.”

“Oh,” I said.

Rosédan tugged at my arm and whispered, “What are they saying?”

“I’ll explain it all later. Sawanin Lusahu and Thipērek Thüzranahü here are willing to help us.”

“Does she not speak the Alka’al language?” Sawanin Lusahu asked.

“I’m afraid not. But you mentioned the wisdom and learning of your schools. What kind of schools did you mean, exactly?”

“Our schools of magic, of course. Where are you from, if you don’t even know that?”

I was unable to keep myself from smiling, and I whispered in Rosédan’s ear, “I think we have come to the right place.”

I was already feeling better by the time we had descended to the river at the mountain’s base. Rosédan, however, was still nauseous and asked that we stop to rest. She drank there, encouraged by Sawanin Lusahu and Thipērek Thüzranahü, who insisted that I drink copiously as well. “We came from A’ula Zölkhöh,” said Sawanin Lusahu. “It’s not far from here, but you should go back with us. There’s room for both you in the dormitories and one of the doctors can take a look at you.”

The town of A’ula Zölkhöh was a little further down the river, and I was struck, as we entered, by the feeling of loneliness that it invoked in me. It was not that the streets were empty (on the contrary, there were crowds everywhere) but there was just something about the way the light fell on the stone walls that made me think of an old man I’d known once who had died abandoned by his family. That’s the best way I can think of to explain it. I asked Rosédan, who said she felt the same thing and that it probably had something to do with magic. “But then,” she added, “what doesn’t?”

Sawanin Lusahu and Thipērek Thüzranahü took us to a building where a man in white robes sat in a columned portico. This man waved when he saw us and Thipērek Thüzranahü ran ahead to talk with him. “This is Master Yelrek Thüzranahü,” she said to us, as Yelrek Thüzranahü looked on. He stroked his beard with one hand, which we soon learned was a compulsive habit of his. “Master, these are two travelers we found coming down from Rinthlep Roukos.”

I introduced myself and Rosédan, and would have made a polite gesture had I known the proper custom of this land. “We’re suffering from the effects of the height, I’m afraid,” I told him.

He nodded and pressed a rough hand against first my forehead, then Rosédan’s. “We thought they could stay in the dormitories here,” said Sawanin Lusahu.

“Yes, that should be all right. Hum. Yes. Come back to see me if you’re still feeling ill tomorrow.” With this said, he turned and went inside.

“Master Yelrek Thüzranahü is not the most gracious of conversationalists, but no one knows more about the diseases of the body than him,” Sawanin Lusahu said with an apologetic shrug. “Now the dormitories.”

These, it transpired, were two towers set against the wall on the far side of the town. As we walked, I asked Thipērek Thüzranahü if she was related to Yelrek Thüzranahü. “Oh, no. Why would you think that?”

“I noticed a certain similarity in your names.”

She squinted at me. “You can’t be serious! They’re just phrases, aren’t they? ‘He Sees the Eyes’ and ‘She Sees the Rose.’”

“Oh,” I said. “That makes sense.” This was one disadvantage of my Bird, that I was totally oblivious to such double meanings.

When we arrived at the base of the towers, she took Rosédan, who was still far from well, into the women’s dormitory, and I went with Sawanin Lusahu to the men’s. “I do apologize,” he said to me as we passed under an arched door into the tower. “Beds are generally assigned according to the length of one’s stay in the college, which means that guests end up in the rooms near the top of the tower. I hope you’re prepared to do some more climbing.”

“I can’t say I look forward to it, but I’ll do what I must. I’m worried about Rosédan, though,” I replied.

“Oh, no need for that. Thipērek Thüzranahü will look after her. She was studying medicine originally, you know, until I convinced her of the beauty and utility of the magical arts. I don’t think Yelrek Thüzranahü has really forgiven me for that.”

I had spoken glibly about the climb, but the reality of the steps was worse than I had anticipated, so that by the time we reached the top I was just about ready to collapse. I barely heard what Sawanin Lusahu was saying, but he was pointing to a bed, one of a series arranged in vertical columns against the wall, and I threw myself down on the bunk, peace enveloping all my limbs at last. “I apologize again,” said Sawanin Lusahu, but I waved my hand to indicate that all was forgiven.

“I’ve slept in far, far worse places than this,” I said, shutting my eyes. “Indeed, I really cannot thank you enough for the courtesy you’ve shown us, though we’re strangers.”

“No one who’s made the journey to the heights of Rinthlep Roukos is truly a stranger.”

“I’m not a magician,” I said. I’m not sure why I said this, but I was already half-asleep. “I don’t understand what it is that your colleges study, or what the chalice is. But I’m glad for her sake that we came here.”

“You came at an advantageous time, maybe,” he said. “But we’ll talk in the morning.”

After this I must have fallen asleep, and I slept as soundly as the dead. It didn’t disturb me in the least when other men occupied the beds above and below me, as I only learned when I woke up the next morning. Since both were still asleep, and snoring, I tried not to make too much noise as I climbed out of my bed and walked around the room. Now that I was awake and refreshed in body, I realized just how cold it was. There were a pair of wide windows on each side of the pyramidal room, through which a wind was blowing. So, thinking to myself that perhaps there would be a fire down in one of the lower rooms, I descended the stairway.

Rather, I began to descend the stairway, but after a few steps I became aware that my exertions yesterday had not been without consequences. My legs ached with a pain so intense that I had to cling to the rail at the stairway’s side to avoid falling. I was driven onward, though, by the thought of a fire, a warm breakfast, and a conversation with Rosédan.

When I reached the bottom, Sawanin Lusahu already had his foot on the first step, ready to come up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot entirely that you might be in discomfort this morning.”

“I’m quite all right,” I said with a wave of my hand. “But it is cold up there, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s the trouble with the highest rooms. And I’m afraid that some of the college aren’t always considerate of outsiders, what with the difficulties we’ve been facing lately. They’re afraid that we’ll be taken advantage of, and I can’t say they’re wrong to worry.” For a moment his gentle manner fell away and he aimed a piercing glare at me, then he looked down and rubbed his hands together nervously. “Well, you probably want to see how your wife is doing. Thipērek Thüzranahü told me she was still sleeping earlier this morning, but she might be awake by now.”

“She probably should rest,” I said, feeling a pang as I envisioned her asleep, as I had seen her often in our journeys, her eyes shut but her lips set in the same expression she wore whenever she thought of her home. This sleeping face of hers always suggested to me simultaneous peace and yearning, as I’ve read somewhere that certain mystics describe the state of consumption by the Flame. “Yes,” I said, realizing that my thoughts were wandering. “She should rest.”

Sawanin Lusahu nodded and said, “Then I’ll show you around the college, if you like.”

“I think Rosédan will want to see that. No, I’ll just wait here until she’s awake,” I said as my eye caught the fireplace behind him, and in particular the flames that an older man was tending. I didn’t want to be rude, but I was filled with a strong desire to simply step past Sawanin Lusahu and warm myself at the fire.

Fortunately, Sawanin Lusahu was perceptive enough to read my thoughts, and with a smile he said, “Please don’t let me stand between you and the fireplace. You should get yourself warm before everyone else comes down here.”

“How many men sleep in this dormitory?” I asked him as we went over to the fire. He and the older man exchanged nods, and he answered me after making a quick reckoning on his fingers.

“About two hundred. More than there were last year, and more than the year before that. They all want to bring back the chalice, or at least to replace it.” He sighed and rubbed his hands together again.

I was, of course, intensely curious as to the nature of this chalice that he kept mentioning, and so I asked him about it, reasoning that I could always explain it to Rosédan later.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met an outsider who hadn’t come here for the sake of the eternal chalice. Maybe you know it by another name? The horn of the unicorn, maybe?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said. Though I searched my mind for all the stories I’d ever heard, even the fairy tales I’d learned on my mother’s knee, I didn’t recall anything that seemed relevant. And though of course there were many tales about the legendary unicorn, in none of them was its horn especially significant.

“I see,” he said. “But this is very difficult for me. The chalice is one of those things that is not easily framed by the words that we have available to us.” He was quiet for so long that I began to wonder if this was a clever, albeit failed, attempt to communicate with me in the absence of words, then he said, “We were a divided people here in Alka’ales. I myself am Reniye, for instance, but Thipērek Thüzranahü is Sukaye. That means little now, but in our grandparents’ time it would have been a scandal for one of the Reniye to marry a Sukaye woman. We may have spoken the same language and shared the same customs, and yet from what I’m told, the distinction was kept quite clear.” He hesitated and waved his arm. “Perhaps customs differed between Reniye and Sukeye. As I said, this was before the chalice, and I’m relying on what I’ve been taught.

“Anyway, even back then there were plenty of magicians in Alka’ales, though not at the level of today. Yet it was a hard time, a time of cruelty and death. And then the chalice came to us. Ah, I see her waving to me.”

“The chalice?” I asked, craning my neck to see this marvel.

“What? No, Thipērek Thüzranahü. Let’s go see what she wants. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No, I think I’m ready,” I said, though I lingered at the warmth for a few more seconds before I followed Sawanin Lusahu. To my delight, Rosédan was standing in the entrance too, and I confess that I utterly ignored Thipērek Thüzranahü to take Rosédan by the arms and inquire about her health. I remember clearly the delighted, bashful, smile on her face.

“I’m much better, dear,” she said. “And now you can tell me everything you’ve learned.”

“There isn’t much to tell yet. But your dream guided you rightly. This is the home of a school of magicians, and our friends here are among their number.”

Her eyes lit up and she embraced me closely. “Tell them that I want to study with them. I want to learn everything they know.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced of the wisdom of this course of action. I didn’t know much about actual magicians, either those of Rosédan’s home or those of this place, but in the stories they were always jealous of their secrets. Nevertheless, I explained to the pair that Rosédan was a magician in her own home and that she had come here to learn from them.

They looked at one another without saying anything for a long moment. I exchanged glances with Rosédan, who clasped her hands together and waited patiently. It was all very tense. Then, finally, Sawanin Lusahu broke the silence. “Maybe. I’m sorry, but I can’t say for sure. It’s not entirely in my hands, you see.”

“I understand,” I said. “Your superiors in the college will have to approve her.”

More glances were exchanged. “That’s not quite what I mean, I’m afraid. There are certain trials that are required first.”

“What kind of trials?” I asked, worried suddenly. I knew perfectly well, I had seen with my own eyes, that Rosédan was a formidable magician, and yet I felt that she needed my protection, absurd as the feeling was. She tugged on my arm and I translated what had just been said for her.

“Ask him about the trials,” she said, so I did.

“What kind of trials?” I said.

“It’s the kind of thing that’s difficult to explain in words,” he said, which made me wonder if there was anything he did find easy to explain. “But yes, she will have to go before our superiors. That part is mostly a formality, I promise. It’s the trials that make the difference.”

“Trials of magic?”

“After a fashion. It’ll make more sense later. For now, I promised you a tour of the college, I believe.”

So he took us a little way into town, to a section marked off by walls that were, unlike all the other town walls, painted with bright colors and patterns. We passed under a pointed arch, where I noticed a voluptuous figure carved and painted green, her hands stretched out towards us; whether in supplication or benediction, I could not tell.

“The college of magicians is governed by four grand masters,” said Sawanin Lusahu as we strolled through the open yard within the walls. “They’re said to have drunk straight from the chalice, and they’re four of the wisest among us.”

“The most learned, at least,” said Thipērek Thüzranahü.

“True, true. Anyway, each of them has their own house where they meet with their disciples. Each of the four, you see, has an individual approach to magic and some students find themselves more amenable to one approach than another. But besides the four grand masters there are many other teachers. It would be considered the utmost selfishness to keep one’s knowledge to oneself.” He pointed out one of the grand masters’ houses as we passed it, though it didn’t seem much different from any of the other buildings around it. An elderly woman was sweeping dust off the path at its entrance.

There was a stall nearby where Sawanin Lusahu bought a number of fried triangles of bread for us to eat as we walked. I was struck again by just how empty everything seemed, despite all his words about how how many new magicians there were these days. Maybe there were all inside their houses, practicing their arts where it was warm.

“Where are the workshops?” Rosédan asked, and I translated.

“The workshops? What do you mean?”

“The places where you make the artifacts.”

He gave a puzzled look to first Rosédan, then me. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand what you’re saying. What artifacts do you mean? There are certain aids to meditation that are used by some of us, but there’s nothing special about them.”

“That’s interesting,” murmured Rosédan. “I often wonder how, exactly, that friend of yours translates my word ‘magic’ into other languages. A people who lived in caves under the earth and never saw the sky would have no word for ‘sun,’ so what would they hear when you said that word? But I’m certain that whatever kind of ‘magic’ is taught here will help me get back home. I’m certain of it.”

Sawanin Lusahu and Thipērek Thüzranahü looked on with polite smiles, and Sawanin Lusahu made a small nervous bow when Rosédan was done. “Ah, you’ll want to see the stupa, I’m sure.”

I translated this for Rosédan, and she nodded. “Please.” The word I’ve written ‘stupa’ means to me the kind of reliquary under which the bones of Golden Men are supposedly kept, but I don’t know what it meant to Rosédan.

By my reckoning, the stupa was close to the center of the enclosed area of the college. It wasn’t what I would have called a stupa, at least from the outside, as rather than a dome it was topped by a high vault that made it easily the tallest of the neighboring buildings. We stopped near the entrance, where Sawanin Lusahu told us that we would have to remove our shoes before we went inside. “Why?” I wondered aloud. “What is it that’s kept under here?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and pressed his hands together.

There were three doors within, one after another, each set into a wall with a pair of eyes depicted over the lintel. I had the feeling, as we progressed, that we were being watched by someone or something, and not just because of the painted eyes. There were little gaps in the walls on either side of us, and I swear that I saw movement through these gaps. on the other side. I asked Sawanin Lusahu about it, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

Within the third door was a curtain of a translucent white fabric, which Thipērek Thüzranahü pushed aside with a gentle hand. I’m not sure what wonder exactly I was anticipating on the other side, what idol or what relic, but I was expecting something more than a single stone column. I looked at our guides, and my confusion must have been apparent on my face, because Sawanin Lusahu spoke quickly. “Once you would have seen the chalice here. Once, you would have been graced by its presence. But now this is all there is.” His lips moved as if to say more, his face screwed up in obvious emotion, but no sound came from his mouth.

It was Thipērek Thüzranahü who spoke then, her voice quiet yet firm. “You can see the void it’s left in our hearts. It is our most sacred duty as magicians to fill that void.”

Sawanin Lusahu raised his hand and she fell silent. “But you understand now, I hope, what the meaning of all our magic points to. Ours is a land that has been deprived of its heart, and we can do nothing but seek it out again. We are orphaned lambs, bleating for our mother.”

When I translated this for Rosédan, she said to me, “Ask how long ago the chalice left them.”

“Twelve years ago,” he said. “It doesn’t sound like much, does it? But to us it has been a span of time that we cannot measure except in tears.”

It didn’t make much sense to me, but I suppose since I’ve never seen the chalice I am in no position to judge. Both Sawanin Lusahu and Thipērek Thüzranahü were in such a somber mood after this that I thought it best for Rosédan and me to return to the dormitories and discuss there what we should do next.

“If I decide to take the trials and join your college,” asked Rosédan before we parted, “how should I begin?”

“Come and see me,” said Thipērek Thüzranahü. “I’ll show you the way to the valley of the gods.”

With this enigmatic promise in our ears, we walked back to the towers. I still remember what Rosédan said to me as we passed through the gate outside the college: “I’m frightened that I’ve been chasing a shadow.”

“You mean there’s nothing useful here?” I asked.

“No, I’m talking about all my life until now.”

By then I was well used to enigmatic statements like this, so I took it in stride. No doubt, I thought, she would explain what she meant later.