Mirror Gate (Harbinger, #2)

by Jeff Wheeler

Have we not taught you repeatedly at school that when two or more minds are brought together in harmony, they draw on a greater power? This is the Knowing. While this can happen in solitude, it happens most often when individuals counsel together. There is so much we can learn from one another.” He touched his palms together, looking

At Muirwood, as at other abbeys of learning, we teach truths that will unlock the power of the Mysteries in our students’ lives. A first-year learner is taught that everything begins with a thought. They begin a regimen of study and meditation to gain control of their own minds. Second-year learners are taught that their thoughts, mixed with strong emotions, begin to awaken the seeds of connection to the Knowing within them, and some begin to see evidence of growth in their lives. A third-year student is taught the importance of their interactions with their fellow creatures, how slights and insults can permanently harm others’ thinking, as well as how praise and cooperation can achieve matters of great significance. Some students, especially the proud, are quick to exploit this knowledge for ill. The fourth-year learner is taught the importance of time—the law of the harvest—and how certain powers only unlock after much dedication and effort. Some powers require years to master. Others require a lifetime. But an acorn will never produce an apple tree. All these teachings prepare a student to face the final Test, to learn a Mystery that is concealed from the world at large. In doing so they face a deep fear. It masters them, or they master it. Words are but symbols. Harken then to words of the ancients, words that every first-year learner reads, but only one in ten thousand ever puts to use: “We search the tomes, and we have many insights and even a share of the Gift of Fo...

The Aldermaston of Muirwood entered from an alcove at the head of the room. His gray cassock matched theirs. He supported himself on a cane and winced as he ambled forward. One of the teachers came to help him, but he waved the man back. The sound of his shuffling steps and the thump of the cane on the tiles mixed with his labored breathing. The Aldermaston’s face was strained, but he was clearly determined to perform his duty. When he reached the front, he paused to catch his breath and supported his weight on the cane. His forearms trembled with the effort. “My young friends,” he said at last. “For many years I have officiated in this ceremony. I worried that I would lack the strength to do so this time. But I am supported by your kind thoughts and by the excellent teachers at this school. Forgive me—” He paused, wincing again, and waited a moment for the pain to subside. “At this abbey you have been tutored in the Mysteries. We do not know them all, nor can we because of our finite human minds. You have learned how to listen for the whispers that connect us to the power and wisdom of the Knowing. Some of you have practiced this and gained wisdom. Some of you think it is a farce and have progressed very little. Some of you have used this power to persecute one another. You each have your choice. And you will reap the fruits you have planted by your industry . . . or your neglect.” He coughed, and then his voice became stronger. “When each generation builds on the knowled...

Each Leering represented an oath she must take, but these weren’t requirements or restrictions. They were empowering. To revere and not profane the Knowing. To keep her body and mind chaste. To never pollute herself with any substance that would lessen her willpower. To speak the truth. To protect the innocent if within her power. To contribute to the feeding of the poor. To tame anger and malice. To willingly give of her means to allow others to be taught the way of the Mysteries. To never reveal the covenants she made to outsiders. There were nine in all, and she made them willingly, wholeheartedly, eagerly.

The medallion threaded onto it was the eight-pointed star, the symbol of the mastons. She felt instinctively that she should put it on.

Light reveals. Darkness conceals.

“For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increases knowledge increases sorrow.”