The Golden Key.

Melanie Rawn, Jennifer Roberson, & Kate Elliott.

PEINTRADDOS HISTORRICOS.

(from History in Art by Femandal Grijalva, privately printed, 940).

This is a typical Serrano painting: a scene from history- Death of the Tza'ab, 716 romanticized, politicized, and lacking all symbolism- by Grimaldo Serrano, 916. commemorating the death in battle of the Tza'ab "Diviner of the Oil on wood. Golden Wind" Yet the placement of his figure, far to the left of the Serrano Family Collection. Action indicates that he is anything but the central focus of the piece. Serrano is more interested in painting the fierce expressions on Tza'ab faces even as they flee the battlefield, foreshadowing the coming century of vengeful raids by the Riders on the Golden Wind.

Two other faces are of note. The Shagarra captain who slew the "Diviner" bears a striking resemblance to Serrano's Duke Alessio II, an obvious flattery; the dying Tza'ab himself is strongly reminiscent of the self-portrait of Bartollin Grijalva, Serrano's bitter rival.

Another commemorative painting, this one carefully researched for Battle of Rio Sanguo, 818 accuracy of position, clothing, and detail. Alesso do'Verrada's like- by Bartollin Grijalva, 918. ness was taken from contempory drawings; eyewitness accounts Oil on wood. were consulted for placement of armies as well as individual fig- Galerria Verrada. ures The angle of sunlight is precisely what it was at the season, day, and hour of the battle.

For all its exactitude, this painting is steeped in symbolism. Alesso's military genius is evident in the arrayment of his troops but also in the designs embroidered on his cloak (leaves of oak and mint for Bravery and Virtue, lupine flowers for Imagination, and so on). The wealth he gained by marriage to an Anthalussan heiress is plainly displayed in the gold of his sword and spurs, and more subtly in the patterns of corn and wheat in the tooling of his saddle. His nommo do'guererro, "Shadow on the Golden Wind," is shown in the darkness falling on the barbarian about to die beneath his sword-yet his eyes are not on his victim but on the Rider nearby, who will be the one to kill him. The malevolent spirit of the Empress of Tza'ab Rih, instigator of the war, is seen in the fallen larch tree nearby (Arrogance) and the flowers trampled beneath the hooves of Alesso's horse: columbine for Folly.

The river where Alesso won his great triumph was renamed Rio Sanguo for the blood that flowed that day. His son Renayo consolidated the victory by establishing Tira Virte's southern borders; the contemporary Serrano painting commemorating Renayo's acclamation as Duke and the founding of Tira Virte as a nation has been lost, but a partial sketch of it exists in the Galerria Verrada Archives.

In 823, Duke Renayo chose as his bride Jesminia, sole heiress to Death of Verro Grijalva shagarra after her brother's death at Rio Sanguo. After their mar- by Cabrallo Grijalva, 892. riage at her father's castello, they journeyed home to Meya Oil on wood. Suerta-where a small caza was slowly becoming Palasso Ver- Galerria Verrada. rada-(but along the way disaster struck. The company was at- tacked by a band of renegade Tza'ab, and though the Duke and Duchess escaped harm, many courtiers were killed-including Renayo's dearest friend and cleverest captain, Verro Grijalva.

This is the scene depicted here: violent in composition and color, vibrant with motion. Duke Renayo cradles his dying friend's head in one arm while the other hand gestures frantically for a physician; the Duchess kneels nearby, her hands covering her face, her jewels rendered so blurrily that one can almost see her trembling as she weeps. In the background, soldiers ride in pursuit of the Tza'ab, who carried off Verro's twin sisters and a dozen other ladies-in-waiting. The wind whips tree branches, cloaks, and the Duchess' unbound hair. Only Verro Grijalva is still; though his gaze is cloudy with death, his fingers are locked on the sword lying beside him, as if he tries to will himself back to strength in order to rescue his sisters.

Compare this rendering with the smaller Death of Verro Grijalva in the family's Galerria, painted in the year 732 by Piedro Grijalva.

The high degree of artistic competence of this most talented of the Rescue of the Captives, Serranos is evident in this painting, his technical brilliance used to by Miquellan Serrano, 828. vicious effect. Commissioned by Duke Renayo as a companion Oil on wood. painting to the above, this piece was rejected for its insulting por- Serrano Family Collection. trayal of the unfortunate women captured and raped by the Tza'ab.

All fourteen ladies are in various stages of undress, their ex- pressions as they emerge from the tents ranging from the startled to the horrified-except for the Grijalvas (identified by the azulejo rosette pattern of the shawls clutched around them). Larissa and Margatta are portrayed as angry and annoyed, as if the rescue party interrupted them in the midst of willing bedsport.

Duke Renayo and all his soldiers show nothing of their weariness at having chased down the renegades for twenty long days; all appear as fresh as if they had just emerged from their own chambers at home. But the Tza'ab are shown half-clothed (and filthy besides), and in their faces is craven terror. The twenty small children fleeing into the hills are naked, dirty, wild-eyed; close examination reveals they have not the features of children but of grown men and women, darkly and ominously Tza'ab.

As for the history behind the painting-all fourteen ladies were recovered, all the bandits were killed, and all the treasure (piled in a tent to the right) taken back to Meya Suerta. Duchess Jesminia ordered this wealth divided amongst the women to provide for their support, for all had been unwed virgins and no man would marry them now-especially after each bore a child within the year. These chi'patros ("Who is the father?") were, like their mothers, shunned and despised-as were the half-breeds also rescued from the Tza'ab camp. In fact, several of the women took their own lives shortly after giving birth.

It was surmised that women had been abducted before to bear Tza'ab's bastards, only to be killed once the children were weaned; one of the rescued boys innocently stated that his mama had been sent away because his patro wanted him to grow up Tza'ab. Possibly the renegades planned to father and raise a band of half-breed children to infiltrate Tira Virteian towns and cities.

But none of the children grew up Tza'ab. They grew up as Grijalvas, for that family adopted them all. In 859, Meya Suerta was scandalized when Duke Renayo's will deeded a palasso and its surrounding city block to the Grijalvas in thanks for their generosity. But all the chi'patros remained a despised reminder of Tza'ab outrages, and the Grijalvas were thereafter painted with the same brush.

This charming portrait of two women and their ten-year-old Allegory of Maternal Love, sons. One handing her child a basket of symbolic flowers, the attributed to Natan other teaching her offspring to read from a devotional-is said to Grijalva, 834. be of Larissa and Margattta Grijalva and their chi'patro sons. Few Water color on paper. artists of any period work in minature-this oval painting is only Galerria Grijalva. three inches long-and of the eight examples in the Grijalva col- lection, six are by this artist, youngest brother of Larissa, Margatta, and Verro Grijalva. So it is mostly likely his work, depicting his twin sisters and his nephews.

There is defiance in this picture, for all its tranquil domesticity. The boys' Tza'ab features and coloring are deliberately contrasted with the gray eyes and lighter skins of the women. For their Tza'ab blood the chi'patros were shunned, despised, and suspected of every evil; Ecclesial arguments raged over whether they even possessed souls. By showing the mothers giving their sons religious faith, literacy, sincerity, honesty, generosity, loyalty, and industry, the artist lays claim for the chi'patros to personal and societal virtues that few were willing to grant them.

This painting, a straightforward documentary rendering of an Duchess Jesminia at the event witnessed by the artist, records the last official act of Duchess Ressolvo, Jesminia's life. Though already ill from Nerro Lingua and only by Liranzo Grijalva, 881. three days from death, no trace of disease is evident in her radiant Oil on canvas; unfinished. face, which the artist has delicately haloed with sunlight through Galerria Verrada. the windows behind her. She watches with a gentle smile as the chi'patros are reconfirmed in the Faith. The expressions of the Premia Sancta and Premio Sancto are not so benign, even as they give their blessing. The religious leaders of Tira Virte felt as the rest of the city did, that even though the Grijalvas suffered more deaths than any other family, the chi'patros were to blame for Nerro Lingua ("Black Tongue," named for its most ominous symptom), from which one in four persons died. It was whispered that this was retribution from the Mother and Son for having taken in the chi'patros.

The day after his mother's death, Alessio I issued an Edict proclaiming all Grijalvas to be under perpetual protection of the Dukes of Tira Virte. But this law did not defend them against the hysterical mob-originally assembled to mourn their beloved Duchess-that attacked Palasso Grijalva. Many, including Margatta Grijalva, died before the Shagarra Regiment restored order. It is said that Liranzo was interrupted in the middle of this painting that night, and injuries taken in the fighting prevented him from finishing it.

The artist was the chi'patro son of Larissa Grijalva, the same child probably portrayed in the miniature above. He is seen in the shadows of the Cathedral Imagos Brilliantos, identifiable by the paintbrush half-tucked into his pocket and the Chieva do'Orro around his neck.

The intensifying rivalry between the Serranos and the Grijalvas is Self-Portrait of Garza the motivation behind this arrogant self-portrait: the artist shows Serrano, Lord Limner, himself in the full ceremonial regalia of Lord Limner, but with 906. robes of Serrano brown embroidered in the family's feather sigil Oil on wood. and boots planted firmly on broken tiles bearing the Grijalva azu- Galerria Verrada. lejo rosette.

Skeptics assert that talent cannot manifest in successive gen- erations, that simple proximity to great genius produces pallid copies in progeny. Evidence to the contrary is found in music (the Bacas, to whom brilliant musicians were born for two centuries), medicine (the do'Maio line), and literature (the Doumas-father, two sons, and five granddaughters). The Serrano artistic tradition has lasted for over a hundred years. Yet the Grijalvas are unique, for few are their males who evidence no talent for art.

Intermarriage between Grijalvas and chi'patros-for no others would consider the girls as brides or the men as husbands-produced another curious result: by the second generation, approximately half the males were discovered to be sterile. This has been attributed to inbreeding and some strange lingering effect of Nerro Lingua, but no one knows for certain.

. Until 875, it was traditional to gift a bride with a painting of her Marriage of Alessio II and marriage. This custom was the foundation of the Serrano repute- Elseva do'Elleon, tion and fortune. It was Liranzo Grijalva who first suggested that by Saabasto Grijalva, 894. paintings also act as legal certification. Combined with universally Oil on wood. understood iconography, a picture would be a certificate of public Galerria Verrada. record.

In these three paintings, separated by a mere thirty years, can Betrothal of Joao and Miari be seen the evolution of documentary painting and the rich sym- do'Varriyva, bolism it demands. Though the Marriage is delightful in its sim- by Yberro Grijalva, 921. plicity, only the bride's flowers show the traditional good wishes Oil on wood. (roses for Love, ivy for Fidelity, thistles for Sons). The union of Galerria Verrada. Elleon to Tira Virte is sealed by the union of these two handsome people, documented in the painting only by the straw motif deli- Death of Joao, cately embroidered in gold on the curtain behind the couple by Yberro Grijalva, 924. Contrast this lack of embellishment with the Betrothal of their Oil on canvas. son Joao. The bride's family sigil, the white chrysanthemum (a Galerria Grijalva. pun on verro, "truth," and Varriyva), figures prominently in the embroidery of her gown; she approaches Joao across a vast lawn of green grass that signifies Submission; golden roses symbolizing Perfection bloom near lemon blossoms for Fidelity in Love. Joao, standing on the Palasso Verrada garden steps, holds out a nosegay of both as he smiles at his betrothed. But this painting also records a trade treaty-thus the distant background of Castello Varriyva with a merchant's caravan traveling the road below amid a field of corn that signals Riches.

Joao and Miari enjoyed only a few years of wedded happiness. It is said that Yberro Grijalva, who painted the Betrothal and, only a few years later, Joao's Death, mixed his paints with his own tears for joy at the first and grief at the second, for the young Duke had been his cherished friend. The abundance of floral and herbal symbolism in the latter painting shows the maturation of Grijalva art and insight, and the use of iconography to make a visually powerful painting even more effective, both emotionally and as legal documentation.

Thus have painted documents become more binding than anything written on paper. Variations of dialect can accidentally-or deliberately-confuse, but a picture of an event on wood, paper, or canvas transcends language. Not only betrothals, marriages, births, and deaths are so recorded, but also treaties, wills, and deeds of ownership. And only Tira Virte, with its astonishingly vital tradition of art, can supply enough limners to paint copies for all parties concerned. During the last fifty years, the work of Serrano and Grijalva Masters has become not only legendary but essential to the conduct of personal, mercantile, and state business.

GALERRIA 943.

Sario Grijalva saw at once what had become of her; where she had gone, despite her physical presence. He knew that look, that blind glaze in eyes, the stillness of features, the fixed feyness of expression. He even knew how it felt: he, too, was what some might call victim. He himself named it potential. Promise. Power. And his definitions were unlike those of others, including the moualimos, the teachers who for now defined his days in the workshops of the students.

Petty men, all of them, even those who were Gifted. They spoke of such things as potential, as promise; even, quietly, of power, and knew nothing of any of them.

He knew. And would know; it was in him to know.

" 'Vedra," he said.

Bound by her inner eye, she neither answered him nor moved.

" 'Vedra," he said more clearly.

Nothing.

"Saavedra."

She twitched. Her eyes were very black; then slowly the blackness shrank, leaving another color behind. Clear, unmuddied gray, unsullied by underpainting, by impure pigments. It was one of the things about her unlike so many others: Grijalva gray eyes, unusual eyes, the markers of their mutual Tza'ab ancestry, though his was cloaked in far more ordinary clothing: brown eyes, brown hair, desert-dark skin. Nothing in the least remarkable about Sario Grijalva.

Not outside, where men could see. Inside, where no one could see but he, because the only light available was the kindling of ambition, the naphtha of his vision.

He looked upon her. She was older than he, and taller, but now she huddled upon the colonnade bench like a supplicant, a servant, leaving him to accept or deny preeminence. She turned her face up to him, into a shaft of midday sunlight that illuminated expression in quiet chiaroscuro as it illuminated the wood-speckled paper attached to a board, the agile, beautiful hands. With a quick, unthinking motion she tossed unkempt black hair out of her eyes; saw him then, registered his presence, marked identity-and answered, dredging awareness back from the vast geography of her other world, confined by the bindings of her inner eye.

"Wait-" Clipped, impatient, imperative, as if he were the servant now.

They were all of them servants, Grijalvas: gifted and Gifted alike.

"-wait-" she repeated-softer now, pleading, asking understanding, forgiveness, all underscored by impatience-and sketched frantically upon the paper.

He understood. There was compassion in him for her, unalloyed comprehension. But impatience also, his own for other reasons, and more than a little resentment that she should expect him to wait; she was not and could not be Gifted, not as he was Gifted.

Therefore he could answer: "There is no time, 'Vedra. Not if we are to see it." Silence, save for the scratching of her charcoal upon the inferior paper.

" 'Vedra-"

"I must get this down . . ." And unspoken: -while it is alive, while it is fresh, while I see it- He understood, but could not coddle it. "We must go."

"A moment, just a moment longer-momentita, grazzo-" She worked quickly, with an unadorned economy of movement he admired. Many of the young girls labored over their work, as did many boys, digging and digging for small truths that would strengthen their work, but Saavedra understood better what she wanted to do. Her truths, as his, were immense, if unac- knowledged by either of them as anything other than ordinary, because to each of them such truths were. They breathed them every moment.

As did he, she saw those truths, that light, the images completed by her mind in all the complexities, exploring none so much as freeing them with a minimum of strokes, a swift stooping of her gift.

Luza do'Orro, the Golden Light, the true-talent of the mind.

He watched. For once he felt like moualimo to student, teacher to es-tuda. It was not he laboring beneath the unrelenting eye of another, but she beneath his eye, doing nothing for him but for herself instead, only for herself; she understood that freedom, that desire for expression apart from the requisites of their family, the demands of the moualimos.

"No," he said suddenly, and swooped down upon her. His own vision, his own Luza do'Orro, could not be denied. Even for such dictates as courtesy. Even for her. "No, not like that . . .

here-do you see?" They none of them were without pockets or charcoal; he took a burned stick from his tunic and sat down beside her, pulling the board and paper away into his own lap. "Look you-see?"

A moment only, a single corrected line: Baltran do'Verrada, Tira Virte's Duke, whom they had seen only today in the Galerria.

Saavedra sat back, staring at the image.

"Do you see?" Urgency drove him; he must explain before the light of his vision died. Quickly he scrubbed away what he could of the offending line, blew it free of residue. The portrait now, though still rough and over-hasty, was indeed more accurate. He displayed it. "The addition here gives life to the left side of his face ... he is crooked, you know. No face is pure in balance." He filled in a shadow. "And there is his cheekbone-like so . . . do you see?"

Saavedra was silent.

It struck him like a wave: he had erred. He had hurt her. " 'Vedra, forgive me-" Mantra Dei Filho, when someone did that to him- "Oh, 'Vedra, I'm sorry! I am!" He was. "But I couldn't help myself."

She put her charcoal into her tunic pocket. "I know."

" 'Vedra-"

"I know, Sario. You never can help yourself." She got up from the bench and shook out her tunic. Charcoal dust clouded. Her tunic was, as his, stained by powdered pigments, dyestuffs, binder, melted resins, oil, all the workings of their world. "It is better, what you have done."

He was anxious now, thrusting the board and pinned paper back into her hands as he rose hastily. "It was only-" He gestured helplessly. "It was only that I saw-"

"I know," she said again, accepting the board but not looking at the sketch. "You saw what I didn't see; what I should have seen." Saavedra shrugged, a small, self-conscious lifting of her shoulders. "I should have seen it also."

It lay between them now. They were alike in many ways, unalike in others. She could not be Gifted, but she was gifted, and more so than most.

He saw again in his inner eye the image. No one would mistake it. No one could have mistaken it for anyone other than Baltran do'Verrada before he had altered the sketch, but he had altered it nonetheless.

He was sorry to hurt her. But there was exactitude in his Gift, a punishing rectitude: there was no room in his world for than anything less than perfection.

"Regretto," he said in a small, pinched voice. Inside his head: Nazha irrada; don't be angry.

Nazha irrada, 'Vedra. But he could not speak it aloud; there was too much of begging in it, too much humility. Even to her, even for her, he could not bare so much of himself. "I'm sorry . . ."

She was in that moment far older than he. "You always are, Sario."

It was punishment, though for her it was merely truth, a bastard form of luza do'orro. He valued that in her. Truth was important. But truth could also punish; his own personal truth had transformed the rough sketch from good to brilliant, with merely an added line, a touch of shadow-he understood it all so well, it burned in him so brightly that it was beyond his compre- hension how another might not know it.

His truth was not hers. She was good, but he was better.

Because of it, he had hurt her.

" 'Vedra-"

"It's all right," she said, tucking hair behind her ears. A bloody speck glinted there: garnet stone in the lobe. "Do'nado. You can't help it."

Indeed, he never could. It was why they hated him.

Even the moualimos, who knew what he could be.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "You said it was important."

Sario nodded. "Very important."

"Well?" She repositioned the board, but did not so much as glance at the image on the paper.

He swallowed tautly. "Chieva do'Sangua."

It shocked her as much as he expected. "Sario, we can't!" "I know a place," he told her. "They will never see us."

"We can't!"

"No one will see us, 'Vedra. No one will know. I've been there many times."

"You've seen a Chieva do'Sangua?"

"No. Other things; there hasn't been a Chieva do'Sangua for longer than we've been alive."

She was taken aback. "How do you know these things?"

"I have open eyes, unplugged ears-" Sario grinned briefly. "And I know how to read the Folio, 'Vedra; I am permitted, being male."

"To look, eiha, yes; but it's too soon for you to read so much. Do the moualimos know?"

He shrugged.

"Of course not! Oh, Sario, you've read too far ahead! You must be properly examined before permission to read the Folio is granted-"

He was impatient now. "They won't know we're there, 'Vedra. I promise."

Beneath charcoal smudges, her face was leached of color. "It's forbidden-it's forbidden, Sario! We are not Master Limners to see the Chieva do'Sangua, any more than you are permitted to study the Folio-"