I'm getting frustrated trying to display a PDF on here - that used to work all right, but I can't get it to go anymore! *curses*
But I haven't forgotten about my readers, so here's "the streghi" which has been published on here before, but I've added quite a bit to it.
Interestingly, I was just reading the part in the bible about how King Saul's men, denied food as they pursued and then attacked the Philistines, fell upon and butchered animals after they had prevailed in battle, eating the raw flesh "with the blood." Samuel (acting on Yah's behalf) condemned Saul.
The episode isn't finished yet - after the final scene here, the narrative cleverly flips back to the part where Naxosos hears the cart (containing the streghi) approaching the dock.
I had been going to offer the last 88 pages of "JTPYO / King of the Waste [3] - the trap (excerpts "The Dragon's Egg," "Cuetio," "The Children's Gifts," and "Welcome To A Life Of Worry And Strife) in a PDF but again this site doesn't seem to be helpful. ("The streghi" is already 26,000+ words long: and "The trap" excerpts are like 55,000+ words long.)
* * *
So, this is what I have written of "the streghi." Enjoy!
THIS IS ALL COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL - PLEASE DO NOT REPRINT OR USE IT WITHOUT PUBLISHER'S PERMISSION (that's me!)
19
February 2025 / 17 March 2025 / 4 April 2025
JTPYO
– King of the Land of the Dead [3] / a devil's
work (excerpt: the streghi)
Copyright
© 2025, 2026 by Kristi A. Wilson
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.
from the main outline: JTPYO - King of the Land of the Dead
3. a devil's work
Naxosos attempts to break away from the Children of God but ultimately finds separation impossible.
OUR
STORY THUS FAR: Naxosos has tried to separate himself from the tribe and has now returned. The Pavrani refugees that were part of the reason he left the Children of God in the fishing burg Aslel-Aheyah are now numerous and he and the other Children of God are helping them to travel northwards, into unsettled lands.
The tribe is about to decamp, only days from leaving the province of Jaraniesca to return south into Kheoran-Arigne, when the sorcerer Joliel presents Naxosos (sovereign of the Children of God) with an interesting proposition.
…Early
this morning ooh
When
you knocked upon my door.
And
I said, "Hello Satan,
I
believe it's time to go".
~~
Delta blues guitarist/singer Robert Johnson
"Both
the drivers lashed them," Nirith explained, "but the oxen
refused to go near the trace! It seemed they would overpower the
drivers and run away dragging their yokes, and the trace, and all the
harness, and maybe a couple of men, and so they let them go, the
ox-drivers and their team, and they got some soldiers from the
garrison to pull the cart!"
"Sire?
The archmage will speak with you." It was Andiamo saying this –
perhaps he had repeated it a few times – and Naxosos was warm and
sheltered in bed, in the Goddess-on-Earth's tent.
Thais
sat up. "How did you get in here?" She didn't sound quite
herself, but she'd had a trying day and told him, before they'd
fallen to sleep, that she meant to rest for a good many hours and
that nothing short of an armed attack against the camp would be
sufficient to rouse her.
Naxosos
at first turned away and pulled the coverlet up, but knew it was no
use. "Andiamo," he said, sitting up. "Why didn't you
get one of the girls to let us know you were outside?"
He
noticed the silence then, and the dark. No lamps were set. No one
spoke or stirred, inside or immediately outside the tent.
A
girl stood behind Bashdi Andiamo: A glance told Naxosos she was
half-conscious, on her feet but wavering; the rest was hard to see
because of the dark. No one else was up, or so it seemed: not just
the Goddess's tent, but the camp without was eerily still.
That
the tent was
dark and quiet was
in itself
irregular, but not
unheard-of;
there was however an
alarming lack of any activity
or sound just
outside.
"Oh,
for pity's sake," Naxosos griped, though he was at the same time
inordinately excited. (Will he really?!)
"Andiamo,"
Thais demanded again, "who let you in here?"
"I'm
sorry, Goddess," the youth replied. Before he could say anything
else, Thais spoke sharply to
the girl: "Pranett! What is wrong with you? Are you drunk?!"
In
fact, was
Naxosos's thought, she deserves praise for
being as alert as she is, and,
as he pulled his breeches on,
he said to Thais, "She's
enchanted, my dear." (If we're lucky, it's only
an enchantment…)
"Joliel wants to see me
about something, don't fault
them. You
know him."
His
belt and scrip were close
to hand, and his boots. (What
happened to my shirt?)
"Andiamo,"
Thais said,
"where
is your brother? Where is Kozvit?"
"He's
in Lumdi's tent, Goddess." Andiamo then seemed to shake himself
and in a mildly apologetic tone said, "I'm all right, we're all
right, Goddess. The sorcerer, ah,
the archmage, ah,
cast a, a shade
of silence, but I'm unaffected. He
said you wouldn't
be." (This
last sounded a bit vague,
perhaps purposefully so.)
He
chose the right moment, didn't he?
People were resting up for the migration, which would begin any day
now. Late-coming refugees had
all been given money, food,
and clothing, made to promise
they would refrain from any bad behavior or lawbreaking that might
cause trouble for the Children
of God, reminded to study their catechism,
and turned
back into the town, where
they would winter-lodge
with fishers.
He
hadn't
seen it
for himself, but
had no reason to disbelieve reports
that the
road was deserted.
"Perhaps
he lied," Naxosos
remarked to Bashdi Andiamo as
he continued
to grope around for his
shirt, finally finding it,
though
another span of moments elapsed
before he managed to turn the
garment right-side-out (it
had sleeves down past
the wrist, useful in the
sometimes chilly weather, but a nuisance to get straight) and
pull it on. (The
Goddess-on-Earth sitting arms
and legs crossed,
covers gathered
about her, and
the other girl both
seemed to drift in and out, paying
scant attention to what was
going on.)
At
Naxosos's remark Andiamo
chuckled; Naxosos then said
(in as offhanded a tone as he could manage): "Do you by chance
know of the Szera's
location?" and the youth answered readily "No, Sire! He
doesn't,
you know, stay
in one tent
long. He's
probably in the camp, though.
He may be near the north
gate."
"Oh,
gods…" Thais said in a faint, despairing
wail. "Oh, why can't he
stop?" (She
was talking about Joliel; Naxosos
had not been aware of the
sorcerer being within a mile
of the camp
in days. They
were preparing
for the move-out: everything had been in
chaos.)
"Andiamo,"
he said as he laced his boots. (I've got to get out of here
before there's an alarm!)
"Yes,
Sire?"
"Where
is Lumdi?!" Thais cried hoarsely.
Yes,
something's wrong; she is enchanted or…
Then, with
anger: That devil!
What justifies this?!
(It had to be something
of note and not just a stunt:
The sorcerer had already
shown his dedication to
keeping Naxosos alive despite
their argument: That
either of them would be killed was, then,
or had to be of
very low probability. And:
One
thing their
visit to the Emperor's palace had impressed
upon him was
that Joliel was
not, in spite of rumors,
offering him for sale. Not
yet, anyway.)
The
tribe, augmented by a
good many Pavrani refugees, would
depart this
highland refuge within the
next handful of
days: Some
would take
a meandering and
slow way north,
but most would go south,
following Naxosos and his
immediate cohort.
Naxosos
stood and,
now that all he had to do was put on his cloak and
secure his weapon, got
a look at the young woman
Pranett: Blinking
stuporously, dark hair
tumbled,
with
only her shimmy on (and it wasn't the warmest night),
and weaving
as though at the point of collapse, she
was. Thais was
not much better
off.
For
the southward-bound,
the agreed-upon
device was that
they would wait until the
light snows to begin the
migration: The
herdsmen would take
animals down in groups
as though driving them to
lower pastures or to market, but
most of these
would stay on the road.
Departing Children
of God would travel out using
the animals as cover, and
in small companies continue
on the coast road,
most of them.
Some might take ship if they
could afford it, but in any case the idea was that
muster would be somewhere in the south of Pavrain, near the bank
of the first great tributary, Uflio-Sina-et.
"There
needs to be a light going in here!" Naxosos
blustered. "Where
then are
the other girls? I do not
hear or see anyone!"
The
total of numbers going south was over five
thousand: many were
unbaptized but
all had expressed at least a token of desire to become so.
(Korsis Zarodi had observed
summarily a couple of days
prior, "So, see?
It's not a pilgrimage: It's
an army! We're an invading force!"
and Naemas had said, "And
once we teach them all to
dance and sing, it'll be an
invading, moneymaking
force!")
Andiamo
responded to Naxosos's question:"There was no one here; Pranett
and I had to awaken her, uh, the Goddess."
"Fucking
Joliel!" he muttered.
Some
of the Children
of God and refugees would
drift into
the town,
or to outlying farms, and
remain as the weather
deteriorated.
The
townspeople
were for the most part
cooperative, including
many Celans who didn't see a lot of point to the war in Satria and
who had – gradually and without fanfare – turned
against the Empire, with
a majority of these sympathetic to the Children
of God. (Money
increased the available
amount and genuineness of
sympathy, of
course; that the Children
of God always carried plenty
of cash and were well able to pay for everything without excess
haggling helped ensure that they were usually greeted with smiles.)
The
farmers didn't need any encouragement: In
fact, news of the move-out had been kept from them to allay their
complaints over losing able
hands and skilled crafters, clerics,
and healers. (And the friendly, young, often
loose, females among the
Children of God
were always a popular item.)
It
was in
any case a fatiguing,
watchful, anxious
time, although Naxosos
recalled now that this evening's dinner and afterwards had been
extraordinarily pleasant.
Dinner.
There was a sort of blank
there, he realized now, and yet a
few details seemed
etched into his memory as
though they were the most wonderful and
somehow significant and important things
he had ever witnessed or
known.
It had
been a great meal…but he
couldn't for the life of him
recall why it had seemed so wonderful and imbued with glamour.
Imbued
with glamour.
Hm…
Andiamo,
meanwhile, answered Thais and
said, "Lumdi
is well and
thriving, Goddess: please
believe me, no one is in any danger and
they are well, they are sound asleep, Rhatial is
sleeping, my brother sleeps
peacefully
at their
tent door with his spear
beside him, I saw them all
with my own eyes not more than a couple of minutes ago!"
"Andi:
Do you know where the Second
is?" Naxosos then asked
the youth, who replied,
"I do not: The last week or so she hasn't been in the expected
place – sorry, Sire."
"Oh,
that's all right, I was just wondering." He doesn't
know where some of them are, hm.
While it wasn't Bashdi Andiamo's responsibility to note
the locations
of anyone except the
Possessed, it was unusual for
him to not know all the
gossip by the close of the day.
He's
enchanted, too.
Rubbing
his sleep-numbed face, he
thought:
If any
of this was Joliel's doing,
the
sorcerer broke
at least one of his oaths to the Goddess-on-Earth. And
where the deuce had Nirith been all
this time, anyway?
It's
not going to be just a little run and back and it
has to be me.
Now
he was wide
awake.
Thais,
still sitting with the coverlet clasped
around her,
gave no
indication she had heard their exchange, or
heeded Andiamo's
response to her question. In
fact, the Goddess-on-Earth
gazed blankly into an unseen
distance, much like
a person desperately trying to recall
some vital
bit of information: He felt pity for her and the girl Pranett,
and resentment toward Joliel.
He doesn't have to do this.
Resentment
was good, though: It lessened his
yearning and
the bothersome
wanting-to-know.
(Where
is Nirith?)
"Is
everyone in the camp drugged, or enchanted, or whatever it is?"
he inquired of Andiamo. In
his mind, meanwhile, the tedious
litany began anew:
All I asked him to do was pray with me…
"No,
Sire."
Looking
all around now, and
listening: Silence
extended into the
greater encampment.
Why…why
am I not more alarmed?
The
warriors, he perceived, were all awake and stirring – for which he
thanked God. None was near, however: Hm, they are in
their place down the road…
It
was surpassingly odd
and there were sure to be
further surprises.
Joliel
could walk in silence and invisibility if he wished, and had a
facility for drugging people, though this
was officially forbidden
to him. He seldom tried any
of his tricks on Thais's warriors, but
he would, oaths be damned:
Naxosos had seen that he
would drug almost anyone,
if it suited his purpose.
Considering
these things made his hackles
rise.
"They're
not doped, they're just not seeing or hearing him and whoever else is
in the shade," Andiamo said now, having perceived the direction
of his thought. (The boy is a wonder.) Then: "At least no
one is doped that I know of!" Smilingly: "They're sleeping
in the shade!"
In
camp-talk, that meant people slept under a warding of silence,
naturally sleeping, but very deeply, because the ward blocked the
outside noise and kept others from having to hear one's noise.
Naxosos doubted this was entirely the case, of course, for a shade of
silence was not supposed to put people to sleep, but only enhance
sleep or assist with privacy. Andi was probably drugged or enchanted,
or both.)
Naxosos
remembered, finally, that
he had thought during dinner
that something was
a little off.
"Is
it a, is it possessed?"
He
asked the youth, and said
also to
the girl Pranett, "Young lady, please seat yourself on the couch
next to our mistress, if you will," and she did so, though her
aspect remained
scattered and
she seemed
almost not to
hear him. Now if she collapses, she won't be
hurt…
"No,"
Andiamo said. "There's no one possessed anywhere within miles,
nor an Undead. He said –"
Here was hesitation.
"Thais?"
Naxosos said and she answered, her
tone continuing to be distracted:
"Yes, darling?"
Andiamo
said, "He said he wants for you to see something. He says meet
him outside the tents at the south, the
Cloud Doorway."
"Thais,"
Naxosos said, "just lie down and you, Pranett, you will sit and
watch over her, since we
don't know where the Second is, and
I will have Andiamo here guard the tent, and you get some rest,
darling, do you hear me? It's
nothing, I'm sure – you know as well as I that any
enchantment he
might work against either of us is annulled
at any threat of harm to your person, or mine!"
With a short laugh: "Maybe he just wants for me to sing for
him!" I'm babbling.
"Oh,
Naxo!" Thais mourned, rocking back and forth: "Don't go!"
"If
nothing else, I have to see why there isn't at least one warrior
here." They're waiting on me…waiting for
something to happen.
He
went on, saying to the Goddess-on-Earth: "It'll
get worse if I don't, you
know it will, and you have no
business going anywhere
at the moment
– you know you are not yourself, let this young lady watch over
you, and Andiamo guard the tent. I won't be long: you don't have to
worry about me wanting to spend more time with him than necessary!"
It'll be more than seeing.
Then:
If there's something he needs or wants from me, why get so
bent about me just saying that I want him to pray? He could have
pretended and got whatever he wanted after that!
Unbidden,
there came memories both remote and recent, of converts
to be baptized telling the
priest that they had prayed when they hadn't (then
Naimejo's voice starting in at
a low, intimidating grumble with
his infamous lecture about how lies are like cracks in a foundation).
Was
the sorcerer so fearful of his gods that he dared not feign
worship of another for even a couple of minutes?
It
was a most disquieting
notion.
"Thais,
you're not lying down!" Sitting
beside her, he
kissed her shoulder. "I'll
at least find one of the fighters and make sure the camp is safe
before I come back here." (She
made no response and indeed, seemed not to have noticed the
gesture.)
He'd
had opportunities, since
returning to the Children of
God, to
discuss the
thing encountered
at Shoela-hari in the dream-world, a
creature – or a region –
of extraordinarily strange
and frightening energy that Szera
Zeracx had
jocularly
referred to as "the festering
boil on the world's
behind" and claimed some
familiarity with, though they
had not yet had further
speech about it.
He had spoken of it with
some of the
priests, and, memorably,
a few adventurers and
treasure-hunters: Those
unaware of his intention to seek the throne of Arigne advised
him to
avoid Shoela-hari: One
said,
"It's Corruption's Breath, every man who's
thought to plunder a
grave in Kheoran over
the last thousand years has known
it! And
its hive
is the Place of Lions!"
– and
the tribe's priests had blanched, though none would argue against his
plan.
Thais
wouldn't follow, he knew – not any time soon, anyway – and so he
rose again and got his cloak fastened. He thought of asking the girl
Pranett to set a lamp but then observed she had already fallen to
sleep sprawled across the corner of the bed, snoring faintly.
Motioning to Andiamo, he said, "There's a shawl at the end of
the couch, there – why don't you cover her with it?" This the
other quickly did, and Naxosos added in a jocular tone, "That's
enough! She doesn't need any more tucking!" and the youth
laughed. (Throughout, the Goddess-on-Earth sat crosslegged, clasping
at her bedding, with her bare back and arms, and her pale hair
shining in the dark. Her face was uncharacteristically blank and her
expression absent – she stared into the air before her as though
trying hard to remember something, her lips moving slightly. There
had better be a justification for this, or he's in trouble…)
Tolalo
(he recalled now) had
begun to nod and say "Mm-hm,
mm-hm," before Naxosos
had got a few sentences into his recounting of the dream and
the entity; he called
what Naxosos had seen "a doorway" and had added "– Although
it's alive – yes, alive
– in
a manner I
would have a hard time describing." As
with Szera Zeracx,
they had not yet had an
opportunity to discuss it further:
Talk about
dreaming, visions, or
supernatural encounters at
dinner or meeting was
forbidden here in the great
camp, for there
were too many new people and many unbaptized.
"Andi,
have you your weapon?"
Naxosos asked the youth, who grunted in the affirmative. They left
the tent.
A
suspended lantern
glowed in the misty, cool air
just outside. There were
benches and a little awning for whoever was on duty,
and some game-pieces lay on a
table, but no one was
there
– he saw no
one asleep,
either. It was as though the usual crowd, present day and night
wherever the Goddess-on-Earth set her tent, had vanished.
One torch
was set, that
just barely burning.
And
there
was no one around. Turning
all about, he saw a flicker
of fires under
trees to the
north and heard
animal noises, although
these were more muted
than usual.
Someone was up, but this part
of the camp was deathly quiet.
These
discoveries left him annoyed,
though not terribly
surprised: The
Goddess's complex was always,
in theory, the safest part of
the encampment.
Naxosos
went on, leaving Andiamo at the tent door.
The
complex in this camp had been up
for a time so the undergrowth
was all
flattened, with boughs
and lathes and planks
set
to keep people's feet out of
the mud (the
time of storms was coming and it rained almost every day; in
the last week, the shepherds
had reported
snow).
The cluster of tents was
separated from the rest of the camp by
a head-high
barrier of brush and
deadfall.
Regardless,
there was supposed to be a watch over the main tent at all hours.
How
did he get them to leave their posts like that?
Walking
on, he saw
a few
more torches but again
there was no guard, or
anyone. (Why does he DO these things?)
Once
outside the Goddess's
complex, he
began to jog.
The misty air was pleasant. He
stayed off the boards, to one
side of the path, so as not
to make any noise.
The
camp's south
entrance
– the Cloud Doorway it was called – was a careful
run
of five minutes. The
night was dark but it
was easy to keep to the path, as the tents were
almost all of light-colored material.
He made
toward this
gate, marveling
at how absolutely deserted the scene continued
to be.
In
truth he was wearied by
routine and
having to display largesse
towards the quarrelsome, disruptive
Pavrani refugees (who were at
least for the moment, however,
being wonderfully peaceful, praise
God, as they were resting up
for the migration) and
at some point in the next few days he and his cohort were going to
leave this fair, friendly place with a very hard road and
an even harder goal ahead of
them. It was not often he was
able to go about the encampment (or anywhere) without people
trailing in his wake, or
waiting somewhere up the road in
ambush.
Here
and there a torch burned, he
saw, or a campfire smoldered,
but – at least on the way
out – no one was on watch.
Anywhere. He
would have to say something when this was over to make sure it didn't
happen again.
The
expectation that he would at
any moment see someone, or be
hailed, was unpleasant, but
the unfolding spectacle of a deserted camp was even more distressing.
Three
"roads" –
well-established foot-trails
– intersected
just south
of the camp's guarded
perimeter: One went down,
down, down into the forested
sink, where most of the
families were
camped,
the other crossing the
height, the "King's
Rest," where his tent and the tents of his cohort, the Goddess's
complex and the priests' tents all were: If
one continued on
this trail it turned,
eventually, into
a long, rocky highway
heading north
into the distant mountains and further, if explorers' maps were to be
believed, and the tales of wandering priests.
The
third road snaked around and around a number of hillsides, and up and
down through pastures and
bogs and stands of many
different kinds of trees, into the town of Jaraniesca.
This
intersection
lay
just beyond the Cloud Doorway, manned
and guarded at all hours –
or it
was supposed to be.
"See
something"…! I wager we shall.
A
few of the tents he passed glowed,
showing wakeful occupants;
here and there were heard voices,
but for the most part an
unsettling somnolence lay
over the camp. The
sounds of animals were
lessened also: The "shade of silence" would account for
that part of it, but not for people being absent from their posts.
It
was that kind of
night: Cool
and invigorating, with just enough light to see the ground and rocks,
when,
pleasantly tired from a day's
efforts,
one argues and
jokes with friends over a
good dinner and, after a drink or two of wine, retires before
lights-out, snuggling into
one's blankets to whisper and kiss and maybe a few other things with
a favorite person, finally to
fall into one's dreams
like a heavy stone tumbling slowly,
slowly from a height to
plunge
into a deep…dark…soundless…pool.
With
a shock that
slowed his steps: I'm
enchanted, too!
Or
drugged – yes, some of the sparkling nature
of the evening's dinner and company now seemed to have been a little
too sparkling and none
of the warriors had been present, he remembered, and he now
remembered that it had seemed
a little off to him, that not a one of them had been there, but the
crystalline mountain air and the pure,
deep-blue onset of twilight,
and the hushed sounds of the
camp getting ready for the night, were
stuck in his mind as though there had been some extraordinary
happening attached to it all, but
there hadn't.
Not
yet, anyway.
Joliel
was definitely breaking an
oath, several oaths. (Why…?!)
Something
Andiamo had said now returned: He,
Bashdi Andiamo, admitted he
didn't know where
Nirith was. Naxosos realized then
he had not seen the woman for
at least a day, probably two days or
more, now that he thought
about it. Naemas had not
remarked on this – Korsis had said nothing, nor had Szera
Zeracx, or Thais, or anyone
else at all. (Most
of the women were over
wanting to be around the
Szera all the time,
thankfully,
and had gone back to their usual routines.)
There
was the Cloud Doorway and true to his expectation there was no guard
upon it, though it was
supposed to be watched
by at least four armed men at
every hour of the day.
The
Doorway, so-called, was
really more of an idea
of a door, as the camp had no
tower, wall, or gate here,
but merely some ruts to mark
where heavily-laden carts or sleds had gone and a
few torches set during the
dark hours to help the camp
guards identify those who
approached. There were
pickets
to tether animals and a
couple of watering-troughs.
There were tables and
benches. There was a
cess-trench.
Generally
the area was well-lit and
populated but again
there was no
one. Some of the torches
had gone out in the mist that was increasing to drizzle; wisps
of smoke hung white in the
air. Again,
it was as though everyone had disappeared. Sound
was absent except for a few
insects dolorously chirping.
I
will NOT call out! If he's not here, I'll
simply…
As
soon as this thought passed his mind, he spied
the other in the middle
limb of
the crossing, the path that
went into Jaraniesca town,
where the path,
broader and
more rutted,
was shadowed in tall
pines. Just a few days ago
the area had spilled over with Pavrani fleeing the Celan emperor's
tax and war.
The
watery luminance
shifted
about like patterned gauze in
a breeze.
Amidst
these wan, slowly-dancing
shafts of light and shadow the
sorcerer's solid-black
raiment stood out and his white face like
a strange apparition, with
its weedy black beard, heavy
black brows, and black button
eyes also was easy to see.
(The scene was unnaturally
quiet and dreamlike.
He thought of Thais's cry:
Oh, why can't he stop?
and the hair on his neck rose yet again. "See
something…")
"Where
are the guards who are supposed to be here, Joliel?" he
demanded. (Of course, because absolutely no one else was
present, he had to drive down
an impulse
to run up
to the other and
treat him
in a most friendly way.
And perhaps
a little later ask him many,
many questions.)
"Almost the whole camp
is missing! Did you –"
"They're
all right," the other
answered. "I told the
boy, I told Andi what to say to Thais when she starts coming around –
that should be in about half an
hour. She'll take care of any problems." With
a little laugh: "The fighters are on the alert tonight. You'll
see why, whether you come
with me or not. That's
why you want to come."
"A,
a half – a
half hour!?"
Naxosos fumed.
"So, we're actually
going to go somewhere? That figures! There'll
be people looking for me before
we get back! Why –"
"Oh,
stop. You're not listening! Andi knows what to say when she wakes up.
She won't raise an alarm."
"You're
supposed to serve her,
Joliel!"
"She
is not needed here! Andi will
settle her. Not everyone in the camp is affected."
With a snort: "You're
the only one who can put that many people to sleep at once!"
He
is…he's making an effort to be sincere! Perhaps
even…sober.
Naxosos
waited for the other to
say something, anything, else, but Joliel
remained silent. "You
sent for me," he said finally. "Thais and her attendant
seem enchanted and there's a
notable absence of activity.
I saw no one through the
camp – I just walked right
out and no one accosted me. No
guard is
set; Nirith is nowhere to be
seen and Andi doesn't
know where she is.
You said you wanted to see
me, to show me something. I
hope what we're going to see justifies what you did, or you may have
to face an inquest."
Joliel started to speak, but Naxosos interrupted: "I
told you after Bourskina that I won't be tricked by you anymore! I
have the authority to punish you and since you've decided
to turn on me for no real discernable reason, I don't have as much of
a problem with that as I used to!" Especially after we
went to see the Emperor, he
thought, though he dared not say it.
The
other answered, ignoring
Naxosos's threat, "Yes,
I feel you must see this. It will be to your great benefit, and mine,
although I will not mislead
you: Some may die."
He
still sees in me a pirate,
Naxosos thought with sadness and amusement. "I'm not that keen
on risking my life, if that's your angle."
Then: "We're not just
going to look at something, are we?"
The
sorcerer moved closer by a few steps. The wind stirred now and they
were showered with cold
droplets from the trees
above. "We'll
go into Jaraniesca town.
We'll pass
the warriors on the road – I don't
want them involved in this.
It's
a wager that they're aware of this thing but
they should not interfere unless you draw their attention."
"Mm-hm."
(Not "we" – "you.")
"As
you're already aware,
there are no refugees on the road, so we don't have to worry about
that."
"Yes."
(Now it's "we" again.)
"If
we run it's an
hour or less. The path might get slick if
it rains but I won't let you
fall. What do you say?" There
was scorn in the archmage's
voice and a
smile; of
course he could cover the miles
between the camp and the
town, running, in the less time than it would a man on a fresh horse
to cover the same distance – or in even less time than that, were
he to travel between worlds.
"Do
I have any choice?" Naxosos said with a weak laugh.
"Hm,"
the other replied; then, astoundingly,
took some moments to
think it over.
"Hm…I would say…I would say, yes, you do have a choice. I'm
not going to force you: I
can't. But if you refuse you
will find, to your eventual
chagrin, your
choice was
a poor one." After
another moment: "It will reinforce my suspicion that you are an
even bigger fool than
we
had imagined."
"What
is clear is that this will benefit you to
the degree that
you will bother to be nice to me, give
me information, and
bargain with me. But it's not clear how any
of this
will benefit me. I
am leaving camp with only you for an escort. Surely, we know the way
into town and it is an easy run. But what will we find? Are we indeed
risking our lives? Can't
you describe what –"
Joliel
interrupted: "You will be in little
to no danger but human lives
may be lost, I'm not going to lie. Your presence may
ensure that as few humans die
as possible."
Ah!
Joliel
had known of Naxosos's encounter with the elthir-evo,
so-called, without Naxosos having to tell him of it: Of
course, there had
been only a fragment of
conversation before they had
fallen out, finally
and, it seemed, forever, after
Naxosos had asked the other to pray with him upon the height of
Jehnehannu.
Again
the wind gusted, bringing
more spray from the boughs
overhead.
"If
it's such a big deal, why can't I know what it is? Why just hints and
so on? It seems you really need me for something. So why can't you
tell me what our mission is, therefore?"
The
sorcerer hesitated many
seconds before replying. "If
I tell you what it is that you will see, you won't go," he said,
finally. "But you should.
And, as I said: You'll regret it if you don't."
Naxosos
knew
he was going to go with Joliel this
time and believed, further,
it was a matter of some
importance to the tribe at
large, and
he was moreover so intrigued that he would hardly
be able to force himself not
to go, but he lingered
anyway, pretending to think it over, and then remembered his device
of keeping the image of
mending fishing nets foremost
in his mind: After
Travowil, he had started
using this to keep the other out of his thoughts.
"I
could use a run," he said, "now that you mention it. But I
promised Thais that I won't
go into town." Mending fishing nets for hours
in the sun, with the cries of seabirds overhead. Mending nets. The
voices of women gossiping and singing as they mend
fishing nets. Mending nets. Mending nets.
(At this, he was amused to
see Joliel grimace, though
the other continued soberly enough in
his speech.)
"In
fact,"
the sorcerer Joliel said, "the
place in question is not inside the town wall. But if we go around
the houses instead of through them, it may well be sunrise until we
return; it will add an hour." To Naxosos's unspoken question:
"The
time is
now
an
hour until midnight. I propose that we run down to the town, pass
through it to the wharf district –"
"I'll
have to show my face at the gate and
I may be seen along
the way. Aren't there wanted posters for me in the town?
Someone may know about the phony sulindars, Joliel! Have
you even considered that?!"
This
drew a snicker from the
other, who then said, "I
was thinking of casting this same shade to
get us through town, but…now
that you mention it…"
"Why
will we go through the wharf district? I will not assist you in any
type of robbery or game!"
"Shut
up, fool! It's not that. You'll see. Listen!"
"Speak
clearly, then!"
"I
don't want to waste my energies just to keep us hidden as we pass
through city blocks;
I may need to cast a shade to get us back here. And…"
Here was a significant
silence
and when the sorcerer continued speaking, his words were measured:
"And I may have to do other things. I may not be able
to do all the things I need to do without…"
Without
my help.
When
Joliel spoke again it was with
an air of resolution: "So, you're right: We'll keep to the
outskirts of town."
After a lengthy pause,
while he stared at Naxosos:
"Are you ready? Do you have your scrip? A
weapon?"
"In
fact, I have everything I need, including my fake identity papers!"
"Very
well, let's –"
"Joliel."
"Yes?"
"Why
not get one of the warriors to assist you? Ah,
us. To assist us. It
seems one of them would –"
"This
is something I'll need to explain later, although once you see, no
explanation will be needed. We must run in silence. I won't let you
fall but still you should take care! You know the Celans employ
magicians, too – yes?"
With
a shiver: "Oh, I remember!"
"They're
nothing, really, to worry about, unless we start to attract
attention."
After
another moment of consideration: "This
isn't just so we can be
intimate, is it?
Because…"
It
was not so dark that he didn't observe that the other almost snarled
at him, then seemed to correct himself and continued calmly enough:
"Not today! My goals are
as stated and none of this involves intimacy.
Some other time, maybe!"
With a rude laugh: "I
told you I wasn't done fucking you yet. Hold
your peace."
"I
was simply
asking!"
The
other waved his hand. "There is no fault."
He's
definitely not just showing off,
Naxosos considered. He needs me for something that
he can't or won't do with anyone else.
Then: Nothing
"really" to worry about – what a scoundrel!
The
voice came, unbidden: You know how to kill it.
Yes,
I do.
After
a silence: "Can you tell me where Nirith is? Is she involved in
this?"
"You
may not see her, but yes: She is involved." Here the sorcerer
grinned boldly with all his teeth.
"Let's
not waste time, then," Naxosos (sovereign of the Children
of God) said to Joliel
(archmage of the Children of
God) at
the crossroad outside the great
encampment in Jaraniesca
province, a far corner in the
north and west of Cela.
With
an unreadable smile, the other turned
and proceeded down the limb of the trail that tended south, toward
the town; he walked quickly for about twenty yards and turned again
to look back at Naxosos, who began to trot after him.
With
magic Sight he could see well enough. The
sorcerer picked up his pace; Naxosos was aware that he would have to
follow quickly.
When
we get a chance to talk, I'm going to have to
make him understand somehow that he needs to
stop bothering the women.
He
ran, following the robed figure sailing
over the uneven
path ahead like
the inky shadow of a great bird.
The
night was fine and he
had new boots on.
***
Town-light
had grown marked and Joliel halted
their progress and, motioning to Naxosos, turned onto
a side-trail that
ascended through tall spindly
pines and tangles of bushes to a crag of pale-gray stone, bare except
for patches of
moss, weathered to roundness.
Jutting
over a deep, broad river valley, excepting the stupendous view, the
prominence served no useful purpose except as a place, if one stayed
among the trees and scrub, to get out of the wind, or to shit: To go
anywhere except back the way one came on this path would result in a
nasty and possibly fatal plunge.
"We're
about two miles from the shore," the archmage whispered –
somewhat unnecessarily, as Naxosos knew this part of the trip well.
At
this vantage there was only a glimpse of the far Channel; an
intervening ridge concealed the harbor from view. Open water was a
faint, metallic line to the south, seen between shoulders and peaks
when clouds allowed.
With
his white hand Joliel pointed, saying, "There is the Temple of
Vranaps," and Naxosos saw the building complex across the valley
through maybe a quarter of a mile of vaporous air, lit by guttering
torches, wedged into the side of a hill dense with trees. It was much
harder to see during the daytime.
The
sky was heavy with purple-black, slowly-moving clouds like clusters
of ripe ja-hali fruit, a yellowish sickle moon dropping beneath them,
about to disappear behind the western hilltops. A few
barely-twinkling stars were visible. Columns of mist inched in
courtly procession along the river far below. Usually the river was
easy to see from this spot, even at night, but tonight only little
bits of it were showing.
"Why
do we stop?" Naxosos inquired. (Most of their road was downhill
and they had been running in cool vapor alternating with drizzle –
it had been as refreshing, almost, as a bath and oil and he was
scarcely breathing.) "I doubt if that poor old temple is what
you wanted us to see!"
"Shh!"
the sorcerer griped. "Don't talk! Listen and feel! Give it a
good couple of minutes."
The
spoor of the Goddess's six fighters and their horses was all over the
area; as Naxosos stood sniffing and listening, however, he detected a
suggestion that at least one of the fighters had recently come
through and might be somewhere on the road ahead.
"Merelioides
is near. Is it him?"
"Yes,"
Joliel responded in an uncharacteristically prompt manner. "I
thought he might try to prevent us from doing this."
After
a moment of shock: "If you want to fight Red, you're going to
have to do that yourself, Joliel! If that's the plan I'm going to
turn around right now and –"
"Quiet!"
Lowering
his voice: "I am not going to argue a case for you to disobey
the Goddess! Never! I would –"
"The
towheads will know – there's no way they can't," the other
drawled. "Thais will know, that's why I – ah, never mind. It's
not a concern. Merelioides isn't going to try to stop me, he knows
better: He may try to stop you, though. But –"
"And
like I said, I will not
fight with him or interfere with his work in the least way! I'm not
crazy! Joliel, I –"
Turning
to him with a frightful intensity, the other snarled: "Listen!"
Naxosos
quieted, held his cloak tightly bunched about his neck and shoulders
– as it flapped – and stood listening.
They
had started turning northbound refugees back a few days ago and now
the roads were all but deserted of traffic. Holds in the valley were
viewable by their smoldering fires and tree-cleared fields, but these
were distant; the valley residents did not place much value on roads
going up and down, as the shepherds and herdsman would always make a
better way than one devised on their behalf, and a different way
every season, whether it was better or not.
Sounds
of nighttime birds and insects were abundant now that the road was
empty of refugees, but, listening hard, he heard, finally, what the
sorcerer wanted for him to hear.
A
memory rushed in: Chaeneth, in his dream, recounting the destruction
of Vlaitor Rostini's home including its great library and unkempt,
venerable, beloved olive-trees, and his stores of food, and how poor
Vlaitor had wept and stormed and screamed at the loss of his home and
the kidnapping of his slave-women.
This
sound was subterranean, far-off, but harsh and penetrating, full of
loss and despair and bitter ire, each cry dying away into guttural
sobs of complete hopelessness: A man-sound, from a throat capable of
many and varied utterances, though it could not be from a normal man:
It was too loud and prolonged, too relentless. (A normal man,
regardless of his dedication or how high he was, would've screamed
his lungs ragged by now! he thought. At that moment, as he listened
he then heard whatever it was take a breath, then with renewed energy
hurl its anguish into the night and earth, and both trembled with
it.)
Yet
to regular hearing the howls were faintly if at all audible: Whatever
was making this noise was likely underground.
A
traveler, hearing unenhanced, might get a feeling of strangeness
along this leg of the road, especially if he had detoured: Upon a
close listen, he might hear it. His riding-animal would perhaps show
uneasiness. He would wonder – but then simply hasten onward, taking
little note of the sound, if he did hear it, except to listen for a
minute in an attempt to determine which side of the river gorge it
was on, and whether it was drawing any closer.
A
possessed man might make sounds like this, but…
As
Naxosos took an instant to consider whether Andiamo might have
somehow been tricked or coerced into lying to him, Joliel said
immediately, "No, it's not a Possessed." With a broad grin
he said, "This is an indication that Nirith has done her work.
She has done this of her own free will. She will gain in power and
knowledge thereby." With a slight sarcastic bow: "As will
our beneficent King Naxosos. Will he follow?" Before Naxosos
could speak, he said, "I think that may be why Merelioides waits
for us somewhere between here and the town wall. To interfere with
our plan may not be his intent."
("Our
plan"…!)
"Are
we to encounter this, the,
whatever it is, then? I'm
thinking this is something do do with your people. But – all
right, when I saw the
elthir-evo, its speech was pleasant and easy. I cannot imagine it
making a noise like that. It was very sly and slick." Like
you.
"Yes,"
Joliel agreed, "that's how they are."
He
commented further: "And you – if it was something like you, it
would not waste its breath crying. It would have escaped and killed
everyone in the temple, and been out by now!" Here they both
laughed briefly, which made Naxosos's heart leap a little bit.
But
then the other spoke, resuming a businesslike tone: "It's only a
little like me. If you decide to continue, you'll see. Do you want to
follow? I cannot force you to go on, nor may I trick you."
"I –"
"You
won't change into something like me – the Szera lies to you! It
will not change you appreciably, although Thais will know, I'm sure.
Nirith and Merelioides will know, certainly. Lumdi will know. The
news will probably get out sooner or later, but that won't matter –
it will be long over by then."
After
a lengthy silence: "I suppose I am intrigued enough to keep
going and I know that you are not trying to get me killed; however –"
"No,
I'm definitely not," the other said.
"However,
whatever this thing is, it's pretty upset."
Joliel
interrupted to say, "I will tell you this: The creature, we call
it streghi, used to be a man a long time ago, perhaps a very long
time ago. It is a man who was untimely changed in 'the bargain,' as
the elthir calls it: He had, maybe, sought the elthir – some people
do – in a quest for prolonged life and, to his everlasting
misfortune, he found it. And you also know about that. He could have
been a prisoner changed by a captive elthir or another streghi, or he
could have been lying injured on a battlefield – there were streghi
used in wars but long ago. Any road, it's illegal throughout the
Empire to trade in these creatures, or to hunt them except for any
reason than to kill them, and yet that is what the Governor –
Ploighan, you have been told of him –"
"Yes."
(By the sound, not only was the creature madly howling and screaming,
it was battering and shaking something like a door, or a –)
"Ploighan
bought the streghi from someone and it's being kept in the Temple
Vranaps."
"Ah,
now we're getting somewhere." (It was in a heavy container of
some sort, that tottered from the creature's efforts to free itself.)
"I
became aware of it shortly after we all arrived here. I have never
been here before but the place has a reputation. The thing was to be
transferred to a new owner, in Viragos probably, in Kheoran
certainly, but this was delayed as Ploighan was afraid to attract
attention. Because we were here! Now the weather is getting bad for
sailing. He has to get rid of the creature soon or he will have to
watch over it during the storms and cold."
He's
lying but he's not trying to trick me.
"If he's doing something illegal, why doesn't someone, a
local person, just tell on him? Then they'll get another governor
and –"
"Oh,
you're a fool!" the sorcerer griped. "Ploighan is corrupt
and that's why he puts up with the Children of God being here in the
first place! If he's replaced with someone honest –"
"I
get what you're saying. All right: Never mind."
"Listen,"
Joliel said, his tone bordering on urgency, "Nirith compromised
one of the magicians who is supposed to keep a watch over the streghi
and administer drugs if needed. It's been kept drugged and under
magical compulsion so as not to cause a disturbance for close to a
year now; Nirith made sure a few times over the last few days, and
particularly within the last few hours, that the streghi would not
get its scheduled dose of sedative. She knew they were getting ready
to crate it for transport and she convinced it, the creature, to
pretend to be drugged until after it was secured into the crate, and
then to start pitching a fit."
I
suppose I shouldn't laugh,
Naxosos considered, although he wanted to.
"So
that's what we're listening to," Joliel said. "It's in the
crate and it's going to make as much noise, and try to get out, as
much as it can. It's not in very good condition; they have not fed it
for months."
"It
sounds pretty lively to me."
"Nirith
has made friends with it and she fed it."
"I
see."
"The
idea was that, once crated, the creature would begin to scream and
yell, like it's currently doing, and to try to get out; they will not
be able to take it to the wharf and it will cause them great
frustration. Nirith will then approach them – and one of them
knowing he's in a world of trouble if someone finds he shirked his
duty, so he's not going to say anything about knowing her – and she
will claim to have an enchantment to pacify it until it is securely
on the boat."
"That
girl!" Naxosos laughed. "I was wondering what she was up
to!"
"She's
taking a terrible risk, but she said to me about a week ago, when the
council decided we would begin the move-out; she said, 'I must free
him, I will never forgive myself if I let this happen!'"
"But
won't someone know who she is? I'm sure at least a few people in the
town are familiar with the Second: not just her reputation, but her
face and figure, her style of dress, the beads in her hair, and so
on!"
"Nirith
is skilled at changing her appearance; you know that, you have seen
it. Anyway: She
assures me the streghi is quite committed to escaping captivity –
and it likes her, and it will cooperate with
her: Come what may, it will
not kill her. Saying also,
however, be certain that if it were to escape without any knowledge
of assistance being nearby, it would most likely – most certainly
– go berserk and start killing its tormentors instead of trying to
get away, and whoever might
try to help it might be killed, and
then the streghi would
itself be killed." With
a sigh: "So that is why
we are here: If not for that item,
we could easily effect the
streghi's release from a safe
distance; Nirith would probably just do that, would
have done it herself without
delay, once she'd made certain of at least one of its keepers."
"I
understand." I don't understand.
"I
would rather gain the streghi's goodwill, if you see what I mean –
even if it simply gets loose and manages to get away from the
soldiers and magicians guarding it, it may get as far as the camp and
it would cause a problem, because it is starving and we have a number
of small children now, do we not? And sheep and cattle. So I want to,
as you would say, befriend it, as Nirith has done."
One
thing is certain: He's NOT eager to fight it, whatever
it is. This idea Naxosos found to be quite stunning in its
implications.
"You
and Nirith will befriend it. Good plan, I suppose. Again, I have to
ask: What do you need me for? Am I to offer it a place to sleep? A
cart-ride to the next town?"
The
other looked at him for such a long time, gusts stirring his robe and
hair, that Naxosos in a pique considered telling him just to go on
alone.
Finally
Joliel said, "So, listen, here is the entire thing: Assuming we
arrive before the cart does, we'll hide somewhere near the loading
dock. Without a doubt there will be an armed detail with the streghi
so we will have to stay in cover. They were waiting for dark to put
him on the ship but now he's causing a delay. If this works like it's
supposed to, Nirith will offer her solution and the crate with its
contents will be on the pier some time just past midnight. We will
try to arrive and find a place of concealment before they get there
and, as I'm sure you realize, we must remain under a ward of silence
and shutter any sorcery, including Sight and Hearing."
"And…?"
He's never talked this fast for this long that I can remember.
That the other seemed to be trying to sell or convince him of
something was both strangely exhilarating and dire.
"The
streghi will pretend to be immobilized from Nirith's enchantment.
When the ship starts to approach, it will suddenly spring to life and
start trying to break out of the crate again, and causing a fuss.
This will be a severe impediment to the entire operation and the
safety in particular of Ploighan Groettna, who could be – will most
likely be – caught conducting an illegal operation with a capital
result possible; he will lose a few of his employees, maybe, and the
streghi may come after him and make him suffer before it kills him.
The ship will probably start to head back out to sea rather than risk
the streghi getting on board – they would not be part of the caper
if they were not experienced. Yes, you'll see them leave the harbor
at an amazing speed, I would wager – they will use the oars.
Anyway, with this going on, Nirith and I will enact a spell of
torsion to help the streghi break free from the crate, and –"
"And
what will I do?"
"You
will allow it to drink from you." Quickly, Joliel added, "Ah,
using the chalice, of course! The one I always use! You're a king and
not just any king, but a king of the line of Arigne! A rarity over
ages of time! After being with the Szera, and conversing with the
Redoubt, you doubtless understand that part!"
At
first Naxosos was stunned speechless and could do nothing but open
his mouth, then close it again. Finally he said, angrily, "What
about you? Isn't your blood any good?"
"Yes,
I was planning on helping; Nirith has allowed it to drink. If one's
blood is given without coercion or trickery, there is a lifelong,
infrangible attachment. The streghi can be a most valuable ally –
and you are very inept, you see: You really need all the help you can
get!"
Naxosos
started to speak but again the sorcerer interrupted: "That is
how I became Garisha-vidov's master! You've met him! Is he not
marvelous?!"
After
a moment, when Naxosos didn't say anything, Joliel giggled and said,
"The expression on your face! 'Well, I'm not going to get a kiss
from him tonight, am I?' – that is what it's saying! You are indeed
a very stupid person, Naxo! And so blind!" Leaning in closely,
the other poked him in the chest with a spidery white finger. "You'll
consider this better, and remember it longer, than any kiss, I'll
wager! And you will say so before the sun comes up!"
Sourly:
"I'm not in a betting mood right now." After a pause: "And
the night isn't getting any younger. Let's go."
With
a childlike gasp of delight: "Are you serious?"
"Let's
just go!" Naxosos turned and took a step, but the other grasped
his arm. He's lying about something, but he's not trying to trick
me. Not completely.
"Truly,
I didn't expect you would do this! Nirith told me that she was almost
sure you would refuse!"
"Let
go of me!"
"I
will kiss you, if you like!"
Shaking
Joliel's hand away, Naxosos growled "Some other time! Let's go!"
This
he will do, and ask me to do, but he will not pray with me – or
even pretend to simply to gain my greater affection!
And:
What is he afraid of? What in the name of everything holy
does HE fear?!
And:
If he has broken oaths to the Goddess, he's not
afraid even of her…
And
so they left the prominence and threaded their way carefully back
through trees and bushes until they were on the path again, and
continued on toward Jaraniesca Town.
As
they ran, Naxosos spent some time in wondering whether Joliel would
ever reveal this thing that made
him fear – for, he
recalled, the other had not feared even to die merely so that Naxosos
would have a chance to say goodbye to the maiden Raikha who he had
loved (let's face it, he was crazy about her, too)
and who had died untimely. Clearly, death was
a trifle to
the archmage: for Naxosos,
the experience had temporarily robbed him of all courage, manliness,
and reserve, and, for a short time, his senses.
I
did die, though.
That
you did.
And
here I am.
Here
you are.
On
the other side of the valley, Vranaps's torches were easy enough to
see against the white stone dome and pillars, though low enough to
the ground that, if not for its lighting, might have been the lid to
a cistern or well – flickered dully in the deepening gloom, set
against a steep hillside shaggy and black with many trees.
Soon
the sky would be almost completely dark, as the moon was setting.
And
who was there when you returned to life, to make sure you really had
returned?
Nirith,
the Second.
Now
that Naxosos had heard the streghi's furious, hopeless cries, he
could not stop hearing them.
Don't
be afraid. I'm coming.
***
Before
they had got to the first turning of their road, the streghi's lament
seemed to stop. The sorcerer now ran at Naxosos's elbow, for the way
had indeed grown slick with drizzly rain and the moon had set: a dull
yellow glow was left, silhouetting the westernmost hills. The Temple
of Vranaps was behind them and the town of Jaraniesca lay large,
bright with lantern-light and smoky with torches, directly ahead.
They
were required to run without magic Sight or Hearing, so the going was
a bit slower, for Naxosos anyway.
They
had passed a couple of small crofts lying close to the trail: one was
seen to have a lantern shining from its open door. "Keep going,"
the sorcerer had hissed. Naxosos had run on, skin crawling, trying
not to make any sort of sound.
The
spoor of the fighter Merelioides (but not of his horse) was present
all along their way, but he didn't see this one anywhere; he couldn't
ask Joliel about it as they were keeping silence.
Naxosos
was not sure what he would do if Red asked him to return to the camp:
In mild desperation, he reviewed his last dozen or so interactions
with the giant: This was anything but heartening as thereby it became
all too plain that he owed Thais's brother a good many favors.
But…I'm
the King!
At
that instant the sorcerer plucked at his arm and made a gesture for
them to stop. The road was quite broad here, with some ruts,
obviously heavily traveled, and currently muddy enough that a
carriage might become stuck; they had been running on the margin for
half a mile.
No
lighting or watch was set: he'd
been informed of a tacit agreement between the landholders in the
area, on both sides of the river in fact, and the Celan governorship,
that if they felt the roads needed to be patrolled, the landholders
would supply the men. Probably why they chose this spot for
us to camp, he reflected.
For
some weeks now the Six had been watching over the paths on this side
of the river, and the landowners and shepherds had shown their
gratitude, in fact, by bringing the camp food and other supplies, and
had even brought students to study with the priests to the point that
a large tent for classes with an attendant smaller enclosure for
sleeping had been pitched. (And in their turn, the richer students
brought silver and gold, and the poor ones more food, tenting,
building supplies, and sumptuously woven-and-dyed cloth, for which
the district was famous.)
During
their time here Naxosos had been as far as the town wall, currently
less than a mile from where
they stood. This part of the
district was scattered with fisher
dwellings, the low, long buildings lightless, dead silent, abandoned
in appearance, the closest one about fifty yards from the road. There
was the odor of tenancy by fisher-folk (charcoal and smoke, shit-pits
and dog-pens, fish guts and vegetable rot, and that smell of nets
soaked in brine, slime, and blood, hanging to dry on a line) but no
one was about, and no nets seen
hanging, likely because
fishing was good despite
impending turbulent weather:
Everyone was at the shore.
Naxosos
took this as an indicator of luck, in terms of what the sorcerer
planned.
But
seeing all the structures downhill and ahead of them, a house-full
settlement with a lighted gate, a wall, and guard-towers made his
knees trembly in a way running six miles in the dark had not. It was
still and quiet now, but within an hour or it would begin to stir:
Bells would be rung and horns sounded, vendors would yell, animals
would bellow; shops and kitchens would stoke their fires.
They
are our friends!
Not
all of them. Be glad you stood by your promise.
"Breathe!"
the other hissed into his ear. "Catch your breath now!"
Naxosos
took this advice and waited for Joliel to say something else, which
he did after a few moments. The road and few trees around them were
still, still and silent, though there was a constant rustle of rain
that wasn't heavy enough to make its own sound except as it
collected, dripping off the rocks and branches. The fisher-lodges lay
in a haphazard jumble on mostly open, grassy hillside: It was from
here a good long walk to the shore, but it afforded an excellent,
uncluttered view of the harbor and Channel beyond; the river below –
Kazikah, it was called by the locals, though on most maps it went by
its Celan name, Aghlam-an – teemed with fish at almost every time
of the year.
Joliel
said, "Merelioides is here, he is watching us to see which
turning of the road we will take. Don't look around! Don't talk!
Listen!"
Miserably,
Naxosos nodded. How will I ever be able to run back to my
bed after this? Damn this asshole, this "druid" or whatever
it is called! "Better than a kiss" – watching your just
punishment will be better than anything!
The
sorcerer went on: "We need to hustle if we are to arrive at the
pier before the streghi and its guard! They're on the road now! We
must run quickly and quietly – without any magic at all, without
any sound! until we arrive, and we must conceal ourselves so that we
have a good view of the proceedings! Nod to show me you understand!"
Naxosos
nodded.
"I
know the area so I can probably find us a good spot to hide when we
get there, but if there's any sort of disturbance –"
Naxosos
began to remonstrate, but the other squeezed his arm so tightly that
all he could do was gasp.
"No!
You will not pant, wheeze, cough, sneeze, groan, or say a fucking
thing!"
A
nod.
"If
Merelioides appears, don't take any notice of him – I doubt he's
going to talk to us, I think he intends to trail along behind; he is
waiting for you, or me, or both of us, to do something wrong."
Naxosos
sighed, and nodded.
"If
Merelioides is with us, we don't need to worry that much, but of
course you should be ready to defend yourself."
A
nod.
"That
is an excellent sign, but it also signals we'll probably face a foe!"
A
nod. (Naxosos had to struggled not to laugh, for upon saying these
words the sorcerer had glanced shiftily around and grimaced most
comically. Yes: He's afraid of something.)
"That
goes for Nirith – if you recognize her by any token, do not show it
in any way, unless you have the all-clear or I tell you to!"
A
nod.
Now
the sorcerer leaned in close and his grip on Naxosos's arm tightened
painfully. "Ploighan engages in illegal activity, and he will
doubtless go down for it, one way or another! Nod to show you
understand!"
A
nod.
"However,
it doesn't matter how much of a criminal he is, because any of the
local constabulary will kill us on sight, regardless! The streghi is
currently Ploighan's property, the ship is contracted to him, the men
guarding the streghi are hired by him, and we are stealing from them!
Also, we will damage their cage. The pier may also take damage.
That's all the sheriff and his deputies are going to care about, and
they will shoot at us!"
Now
Naxosos did speak up. "You assured me we would be relatively
safe."
"I
did not! I said I would look out for you! And you came this far
voluntarily, I would even say eagerly!
As though we were just going to a tavern or something! Don't
front
with me, Naxosos! And
when you saw the town walls you were scared!
You are afraid of the town, just like you always are! I took this
into consideration at the last instant. That's why we are going
around Jaraniesca
instead of through it! But we have to make haste."
Naxosos
began to speak, but the sorcerer pinched him and went on, hurriedly.
"If you were going but to drive a cart to market on a nice day
with an armed escort, and everyone in the town was breathless to see
you with the ships all blowing their horns in the harbor, I would
still remind you that you could get killed! Because that's how stupid
you are, Naxo!"
"I
understand what you're saying, Joliel. Let's go on."
There
was a sense of wafting, a breeze and a scent, and a shadow, and
Joliel released his arm so rapidly it was a shock (with an immediate
stinging, needle-like return of sensation), and the warrior
Merelioides was there, blocking out what light there was; Red
was cloaked and he didn't rattle, but from his contours the giant was
hauling quite a bit of gear including a shield. Joliel began to
speak, but Merelioides
grabbed his arm – in much the same manner as the sorcerer had been
been gripping Naxosos's arm only a second before – and motioned.
Suddenly
tractable and without another glance or word, Joliel sighed and made
a little jump, animal-like, onto the warrior's back and settled
himself like a cape of black rags upon his shoulders.
Merelioides
then turned an inscrutable look upon Naxosos, who couldn't think of
anything to say. Finally the other said, in a normal speaking tone:
"There is no danger if he goes back to the encampment – these
lodges are empty and the road is empty and will be so until daybreak;
he has plenty of time and knows the way."
"I –"
Naxosos began but the other then said brusquely, "Follow, or
don't!" whereupon he turned and strode with great speed down
toward the crossroad and the town.
There
WILL be danger. There will.
Yes,
I know. Then, soberly: Red wants for me to go but he can't
order it, nor can he order me to secrecy.
After
a few seconds, Naxosos followed at a quick jog.
The
warriors could walk faster than many people could run, and silently,
if they wanted to: in spite of his size and the heaviness of his
equipage, the giant man was nearly lost to hearing after he had gone
only a few yards, and then at twenty yards – just a few strides for
him – he was almost lost to sight as well, for he blended
remarkably with the landscape. A man sitting up at night might see
him passing, but at second glance (What the devil WAS
that?!) he would already be
dozens of yards along.
The
fighters, he knew, disliked going into a settlement as much or
perhaps even more than he did, but they were always ready for
anything and could accomplish almost anything, despite their
limitations.
However:
Joliel was probably breaking an oath, and if he lived, he would be
punished. Red was helping; Nirith also, if the sorcerer was to be
believed. Why were they risking so much? Why had they drugged or
enchanted the Goddess-on-Earth and part of the camp, if she wouldn't
particularly mind?
He
remembered the streghi's cries. Soon they would begin again – if
they didn't hurry, they wouldn't be able to help Nirith, who was
there by herself.
He
ran.
***
The
detour, through a mile or so of fishing- and trade-district west of
the town wall, was perhaps as nerve-wracking as going through the
town would have been – Naxosos found himself thinking repeatedly
during the three-mile trek to the shore where, turning west, they
would travel a bit further to an isolated, seemingly deserted block
of wharves and warehouses.
At
least he hadn't had to stop and talk to anyone – not
yet, anyway.
It
would be a long road back, however,
after they had accomplished
this thing.
Sunrise would be impending,
if not actually occurring. The
camp would probably be
in an uproar. There would be
people out looking for him, even into the town. That wouldn't be
good. And, of course, the
townspeople would
see them.
If
they got a chance to return. He didn't even want to think, not yet
anyway, about what might happen if their
business took longer than an
hour.
If
it worked out the way Joliel wanted for it to – he considered,
remembering the last time – he might be rendered useless for
anything for some hours, maybe more than a day.
At
least Red was there, although this consideration was fuel for a fresh
spate of worries regarding whether he had been brought merely in case
someone should take a serious wound and need healing.
It
was, realistically
speaking, much too
late to go back.
If he knew anyone's heart, he
knew Nirith's – she could not leave any creature
in distress and could feel a wrong from leagues away (even as she
performed the sacrifice, or
took game, laughing as she
splashed the blood around).
And
God's will, of course, would in any case remain operative.
The
shore district was not devoid of life: Every other doorway or window
on the unevenly-cobbled, wet, street was lighted, and here and there
were sounds – muffled sounds – of people sitting up drinking,
talking, dicing. Even though the weather was not terrible he saw no
one sitting at the stoop, however.
The
houses were set on great wood pillars with plank walls and thatched
roofs and screenless windows, their heavy shutters fixed back; a few
were of stone and a some of mortared blocks. No building was close to
the water's edge and there were numerous walkways and cart-paths,
some elaborately leveled and paved, that led from Jaraniesca's low
cliffs to the edge of the bay.
Tonight
the thoroughfares were blessedly without traffic; Naxosos was glad of
this, but it made him wonder: Perhaps local citizenry – certainly
not of the stripe who would quail at a little weather – were
collectively able to sense the ill and, collectively, had decided
that this was a night to be under a roof, in the company of others.
The
run was mostly downhill and not tiring and the air cool, though the
reek of smoke and various odors intensified through the houses, pens,
and shops.
He
managed to keep the warrior in view: Merelioides, the archmage
perched upon his shoulder throughout, didn't keep to a straight path,
but stayed where the road was most uneven and shadows deepest, making
much better time than even a mounted rider would have.
The
giant paused every so often to glance back and make sure of Naxosos
before hurrying on. It was a trick to stay up with him without
breaking into a dead run that, given the many puddles, would likely
have alerted someone.
As
they neared the shore, dogs emerged from beneath porches and out of
dark alleyways to challenge them, some dashing into the road, barking
and whining; the animals' threats seemed curiously half-hearted,
however, and they were one and all uninterested in pursuit.
And
here I run straight toward what not even a pack of dogs will
approach!
Of
course, the sorcerer was with them: Every animal avoided Joliel. Even
friendly, tame animals among the herd would balk and hiss at the
sight of him; the camel Derecho, familiar with the sorcerer over long
years, still would bare its teeth; the war-horses would tolerate him
being near – a little – but if they were at liberty to do as they
pleased, they stayed away from him.
In
any case, they were not pursued and there was no outcry; Naxosos ran,
however, with every nerve jangling, hood held close about his face,
expecting at each second to be hailed – or, even worse, for the
streghi to begin its howling and crate-rattling again, at much closer
quarters.
They
had gone beyond the tenanted dwellings, now among warehouses.
Darkness made it hard to keep Red in sight.
A
woman stepped out from between two of the buildings and spoke his
name in a low voice: So great was his shock, he stumbled and nearly
fell.
He
thought it at first to be Joliel disguised, then realized it was
Nirith, substantially changed in appearance, and more: even her smell
was different.
"Naxosos!"
she repeated. "Sshh! Listen!"
"Where
is Red?!"
"No,
they're all right! Let them go on. Listen!"
Once
he got a closer look at her, Naxosos was amazed: They were in the
profound shadow of a gigantic, clearly empty stores-house; there was
almost no light in the sky, and her form was cloaked, with only her
face and hands visible, but before him stood a weathered, bent fisher
woman with straight, gray-streaked black hair. Her features were
small and so nondescript, with a pale oval for a face, lashless black
eyes quite close together, hardly any eyebrows, smudge of a nose, and
thin line for a mouth, that Naxosos marveled at the sight and
wondered how he had managed to recognize her.
"Thank
you, Lord, for helping us!" Nirith said. With a giggle: "I
lost money to the archmage tonight! He said he knew you would come! I
thought you wouldn't dare leave the camp, finding so many people
missing!"
("So
many people missing"…?)
The
Second was now easily identifiable due to the customarily jolly,
almost careless manner in which she confronted perilous situations,
including extreme danger. All at once, he felt much more sure of
himself and willing to go on. That Nirith would go out of her way,
even at risk to her life, to help a luck-forsaken creature as this
streghi was…well, of course: What else would she have done?
He
wanted to ask her what had happened to Thais, and whether whatever it
had been, a drug or a spell, had been similarly administered to him,
but decided to leave the topic for another time.
"I
should have stayed, in fact," he replied evenly, having regained
some composure. "I'm regretting that more every second, my dear:
believe me!"
"You
can go back," she said now, lowering her voice; then
preemptively: "No! Even now, if you turn and run for all you're
worth, you'll make it back to the fisher-lodges before you grow
tired!"
At
this Naxosos had to laugh.
"But
I think you should stay in this spot until Rel- until Joliel, or
Merelioides, gives the all-clear!" she went on.
"I
can't see the pier! Isn't it still like a stadium off?"
"You
shouldn't risk letting the streghi see you until you know it will not
try to attack."
"Attack?!"
Naxosos sputtered.
"Lower
your voice!" the Second hissed.
"Joliel
told me that if it gets loose it will kill everyone in sight!"
"Let
me give you the information you need and stop interrupting, my
dearest Lord!"
"Hurry,
if you will."
"The
streghi – his name is Yrinyi, and he is quite old, but he is very
strong – means to break out of the crate one way or the other, with
or without our help. We will be able to fend him off if he comes
after us, and probably kill him, but
we won't have to…ah, at least I won't have to, ah…fight him."
"I
understand, my dear girl," Naxosos replied with a short laugh.
"Do by all means continue!"
"But
we do
not want for anyone to have to fight and
we do not expect it; we are
simply planning for the worst. If
there are dead bodies that will cause problems with the village, of
course."
"Right."
"That
is why Red is coming along, I think, in case there's a mess that
needs cleaning."
At
this, Naxosos chuckled.
"He,
the streghi, is
most likely to go
after those who imprisoned and mistreated him – and I have made
sure to a great degree that he will not injure me or any of my
company. But he's not in a great state of mind – he has been driven
to the brink of insanity."
"Yes,
I heard his cries. Believe me, Nirith, I am going to do whatever I
can to help – no worries there. This is a little out of my range of
experience, though, I'll admit." (The more they talked, the
better he felt. Too bad, he thought, they couldn't just abandon the
project and make a leisurely time of it getting back to the camp!)
"Oh,
Naxosos, you are so much braver than you will ever believe! And you
have more experience than you think! But let me finish telling you:
The streghi appreciates us
and so
far, so good, but there's a
slight chance – there will be ten or more armed men on the scene,
not including Red.
In any case, we would
rather him not see you right
away. We
would rather that no one see you!"
"I
get it."
"They
have not fed him."
"That
is what Joliel told me."
"Even
a rat or bird, he was not allowed to have!" Then, with
a little wail:
"The way he has been
treated! But anyway. If we don't help him, or
kill him, we risk having him
in the camp – Joliel probably explained that. I have already let
him drink and so he is much stronger than they think he is, but I
wanted Joliel to help us so I asked him, for as you know –"
Repressing
a shudder of revulsion, Naxosos answered for her: "We're moving
out."
"Don't
worry!" Nirith answered brightly, "it won't be today!"
"How
can Thais not know about this?"
"She
does know! But not the entire thing!"
With
a sigh: "Oh, goodness. So this governor, Governor –"
"Ploighan
Groettna," she said.
"He's
been sort of waiting for the refugees to clear out, then."
"Yes!
But listen!"
He
nodded for her to go on.
"Yes,
he saw the road was clearing – and the storms are coming. He wanted
to get rid of the streghi back in the summer, but there was too much
traffic in the bay! Oh, but listen now, Lord: I was part of the
company with the crate and I went ahead of them – a few minutes ago
– to make sure the dock was clear and the ship awaited our
arrival." This was followed by an impertinent smile.
Smiling
back: "Of course you did!"
Staring
intently, she declared then: "Oh, Naxosos, you are a great
Lord!"
"I
don't know about that, but it's nice to hear."
"So
they are waiting for me," she went on, "to return and say
that there is no one around, so they can port the container the rest
of the way to the dock. There are five men dragging it on a cart, and
five men watching! They could not get a team of oxen to go near it! I
saw them try, and the animals started making noise before they were
within fifty yards! It was funny! And they have crossbows."
"Those
are slow," Naxosos, proud to have knowledge of something
martial, commented.
"They
are," the Second agreed; continuing, she said "And there
are five magicians, three of whom are under the age of thirty and not
very experienced! Now, we have to make sure there are no lawmen
around, because –"
"Yes,
I know that part. I'm actually more worried about them getting into
our operation than the, than Yrinyi getting loose." (Her aspect,
manner, and odors were so changed that even now that he was certain
he knew her, he was still not certain exactly how he knew
her.)
"Yes!
But here is an important thing: Yrinyi means to escape, and if he
gets out of the container on board the ship, he will be able to swim
all the way back here – no matter how many leagues – and he will
find his captors and kill them all, and the Governor, and as you know
there are many Children of God who will be on the road then and there
will be some of us in the town. He, the streghi, likely will not
touch a one of these, but it will cause a persecution! And it could
be weeks from now! And think: What if he were to escape once he gets
to Kheoran? For that is where they mean to send him!"
"Ah!"
Naxosos exclaimed, and pulled at his beard. (It wasn't purely the
injustice of it all, then – it represented a possible long-term
threat to the tribe.)
The
woman nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Now you see!"
"Now
you listen, Nirith: I appreciate your advice but to tell you the
truth, I would rather try to keep up with Red. I will not feel the
least bit secure standing in this gloomy, stinky, mouse-ridden place
waiting to see what will happen!"
"I
was afraid you would say that!"
"Ha!
And yet however afraid you may be, my dear, believe that I'm at least
ten times more afraid than you!" In spite of her appearance, he
was inordinately compelled to chuck her under her chin, although he
didn't.
"Listen,
Naxo, this is very important: When you hear the streghi start to make
noise – you have heard it, yes?"
"Yes."
"When
he starts to make noise, things will go very quickly after that; you
will have to be ready for Joliel to summon you; it seems the
villagers will not want to come see what's going on, no matter how
much noise there is, but one never knows."
"I
understand." I'm going to kill him.
"I
have to go!" she said.
"I
would kiss you if I wasn't sure it would cause some sort of upset to
our plans."
With
a giggle: "Oh, Naxosos! But you're right. Anyway, wouldn't you
rather kiss me when I look like myself again?"
"You
are still you, no matter how you look, and I would kiss you, why not?
I suppose you should go. I will creep closer until I can just see the
pier, and I'll run if things get crazy."
"Don't
take it lightly, Naxosos! Things could go very, very wrong! The Celan
magicians are not play-actors, they are not little boys, although one
of their apprentices is quite new to the job! Thank our God, who
makes a way for us!"
"Indeed;
praise God!"
She
stared at him a moment longer, then without word or sound, vanished.
(She was almost as good at that as Joliel.)
It
hadn't been more than a week ago, Naxosos now considered and now
remembered quite well, that Tolalo had asked him to sit for a
discussion of the weaknesses of Celan sorcerers and descriptions of
some of their usual tricks.
He
now, finally, remembered to shutter all mind-speech and dampen his
thoughts; he wasn't even mending nets anymore, but just proceeding in
a direction without a single idea, nor any desire whatsoever, in his
mind.
For
a long count of thirty he waited, and continued on, slowly this time,
and meanderingly, with a somewhat staggering gait, like a drunk who,
having lost his way, now risks getting caught by the tide.
***
The
first thing he could see from between the rows of long, empty
stores-barns – besides more stores-barns, there must have been
fifty of them in the immediate area, all built up on terraces that
rose to the shore and all to appearances empty – was, to the south,
a long smear of ash-colored water, Jaraniesca Bay under a sullen sky.
Naxosos stopped while he was still in cover and tried to get a better
look at the scene.
About
a quarter of a mile out bobbed a lightless slave-galley at
half-anchor and up-oars, sails down and no flag set. As Joliel had
described, they were prepared for flight.
There
were no other boats anywhere within a mile of this part of the shore
but only a handful of pale dots, ship-lights back to the east, in the
direction of the town, and no craft underway that he could discern.
The
bay at this hour was, like the streets, virtually empty of traffic –
and one did receive an impression that it wasn't usually this way.
Peering as far into the west as he could manage with normal sight, he
could just see the lighthouses at the port's far end.
Puffs
of mist rode languorously upon the nighttime air; these seemed to be
increasing. Daybreak might bring a troublesome fog. He traveled on,
dwarfed by the giant, echoing, empty-eyed buildings assembled on each
side.
Warehouses
with nothing in them, no boats, no sign of anyone around. A
large ship with no stripe or flag. No watch set. No lights in
the dead of night. With
annoyance: Typical Celan jiggery-pokery!
With even more annoyance:
Stop thinking!
Trying
not to look at or pay attention to or listen to any particular thing,
Naxosos bid random, directionless thoughts to pass through his mind:
He couldn't zig and zag so much as to attract notice (no one will
believe I'm out at this hour picking up shells) nor walk in a
purposeful line, nor have an intention…
This
was, on the other hand, something he had learned from teachers and
spent time practicing. Hours of practice. Wandering through the
orchards of Sha-halom; not off the path, necessarily, but having lost
track of purpose or intention: Vapor drifting.
In
another fifty yards he would be out of the warehouses. The beach was
littered with large obstacles, but in spite of this he would be more
exposed.
The
Great City of Men Viragos was full of Celans and their presence was
quite strong, although their rule was not as complete as they wished.
He had as a citizen there known of their potential for brutality but
had never, until his last few years with his people, witnessed it:
Even their galley-slaves that he had seen at the docks in his youth
seemed well-kept and more or less pleased with their lot in life.
(Chaeneth and Vlaitor's two other slave-women had recounted being
raised in the Celan pens, where they had always been treated with
great gentleness and yet firmness, having never been chastised except
for scoldings – though they had seen others beaten, who had broken
crockery or rules.)
The
image of Chaeneth was too much, causing emotions.
It
was easier to see out into the bay now – he wasn't out of the deep
shadows just yet – and let the grayness, the silence, the water's
weak sloshing subdue him and the nothingness absorb his perceptions.
He
had seen the Celan governor over Viragos province a number of times –
Darschas Hraeno, a little, fast-moving, fast-talking, brown-skinned
man who had taken a Kheorani surname, and looked and behaved more
like a wine-seller than a government official – but always at a
distance.
If
Nirith was their advance scout, there would be no problems.
Merelioides was here, and Joliel.
Then,
in a burst of despair: It's too late to go back, anyway!
She knows! She was just trying to excuse my weakness…as usual…
Other
Celans he would see on the street or at the docks. Their guardsmen
would every so often patrol the Aringene quarter, though it seemed
only a token, to remind everyone of their presence – his mother had
said it was so they could collect bribe-money. They had to his eye
always seemed to have an easy command over themselves and their
surroundings, though they were scarcely popular. (He found that he
somewhat liked the sight of them, in fact, now that he had seen more
of them, as most were no taller than he, or only a bit taller. He had
seen very few Celans tall enough to look Thais in the eye.)
After
the last building, a slender spit of scrubby land jutted westerly,
running at first parallel to, then descending onto the beach; Naxosos
took this way down to the shore. That
he might be seen by anyone with a sharp eye, even in this oppressive
dark, he tried not to think about.
Someone
was walking beside him. He knew not to turn his head, and he just
kept going because it was the angel.
I'm
really in trouble, aren't I?
Yes,
you are. But you won't have to leave your friends today.
A
dark, small
person, barely to his shoulder. The sorcerer Joliel was only a bit
taller. He, the angel, was
clothed in a fisher's hood and cape and ragged tunic, breeches in
tatters to the thigh, and barefoot.
(Don't
look at him. Don't think about him.)
Almost staggering – like
maybe he, a drunk fisherman, knew the risk of cutting through this
area on the rising tide, and was trying to hurry, but also
knowing he's too drunk to
walk quickly in a straight line, and (as
always) eager to avoid
anyone's attention –
Naxosos made his way along.
There
had been a fellow in the neighborhood in Viragos: Without notice,
crier, or sign, he made little pretense at being anything but a Celan
tax-assessor, magistrate, or something like it. The man's office –
that kept a lamp burning morning, noon, and night – was within view
of the larger kitchen window of their apartment. He had seen the guy
a number of times, who had the appearance and manner of a
middle-aged, weather-beaten, shaved-headed, scarred Celan veteran who
still wore his colors but not his gear. As with all other suspected
Celan tax-assessors, people tended to act like he wasn't there and he
passed everywhere unremarked and alone. Naxosos had felt the man's
eye upon him once or twice before he had left Viragos but had thought
nothing about it; that he was a tax-man explained everything. At the
time.
The
last time he had seen the angel had been when he had decided to leave
the Children of God in Aslel Aheyah, he reflected: It had turned the
pages in the guild-clerk's map-book to show him Waresh-Ghlia, and
whispered to him.
Strange
that he would remember the Celan now; the first time he had seen him
up close, he recalled, had been the first time he had tried to go to
general prayers at the Temple – in which attempt his mother and her
friends in town had been successful with their influence among the
other ladies of the quarter, for the Gorardeno Nathaniel's visits to
the home were so infrequent as to have aroused comment about whether
Naxosos was really one of the Gorardeno's children. (His mother had
explained to him with a lot of repetition and in great detail, before
he had gone to the Temple, what he was supposed to say if anyone were
to ask; it had all been quite dizzying at the time and very
confusing, since Naxosos had been to general prayers at the local
chapel at least once a week, when he was at home, for years without
anyone remarking on it. That he had known of. Except for trips to see
family or hang out with Nathaniel on one or another of his ships, or
the one, two, or sometimes three weeks a year he spent at Sha-halom,
until recently all he had known was that he had always lived in the
building at the cliff's edge.)
Now
the weed-grown spit declined toward the beach. Against the pale sand
and water he would be a moving target.
The
closer he walked to the water's edge, the less able he was to see the
slave-ship. There was a soupy feeling to the sand and when he looked
out into the water, it had the appearance of a low hill, with the
ship barely seen just beyond its crest: The tide would advance. (How
does he see it if he's in the buildings?)
He
had never been familiar with any Celan, however, until having met
Korsis Zarodi. ("Darschi," Korsis had said of Viragos's
Governor Darschas, who he apparently knew and had roomed and partied
with a couple of times in Cela, "is a great guy! He loves money!
You can always trust a guy who loves money that much!")
Now
he knew Korsis's father and older brother – they were honest,
well-spoken men, but like all the other Celans with whom he had
become familiar over the last few years, they were at the same time
unpleasantly sophisticated and sly, and ruthlessly competitive to a
degree that puzzled Naxosos, whenever he chanced to think on it.
He
had probably, he now believed, been kept apart from the local
politics of his home town, and from politics in general, because it
would have attracted too much attention. As usual, the idea made him
angry at first, though sadness and rue, as always, followed close
behind.
You're
thinking aloud!
With
quiet and disconnected thoughts, therefore, he advanced until the
listless, iron-colored wavelets and lighter-gray open water beyond
were close at his left hand. The angel was at his right.
I
can be seen!
He felt that Joliel, at
least, was seeing him, and probably Red, too. That
was nothing, however, and
he was mending nets…
Not
being able to use magic Sight required him to advance most slowly.
There weren't just a lot of large rocks everywhere, there were a
great many smaller ones, too, that could be nearly buried in sand and
still turn one's ankle.
The
night and surroundings were very
dark; however, the
water was a disconcerting,
uniform pale gray that, by
its contrast, improved
visibility.
Without
thinking (too much) he continued forward, holding his cloak carefully
about him to keep it from flapping. The many large boulders were
excellent cover.
In
another twenty paces he wasn't between buildings and was able to
view, downhill and about fifty yards west of him, a long piece of
shore. This went on for perhaps a mile, then plunged into the inky
shadow of the ridge to the west and was lost.
The
pier, black, solid, fashioned of big square blocks set on stone
piles, rose a few feet above the rocky beach and extended into the
bay a few dozen yards.
The
tide was out; Naxosos could see that at a very high tide, this
structure might not be visible above the swell and might in fact pose
a hazard to any craft trying to land unaware.
There
were other reasons fishers would avoid this otherwise likely stretch
of beach, such as the many great rocks – and some gigantic chunks
of masonry, he now noticed – strewn about that, now that he had a
view of them, looked like they may deliberately have been placed to
prevent landings.
He
was certain that Joliel and Red must be somewhere near: now that he
knew Nirith was present, he was that much more certain that so far
nothing had gone wrong.
Wet
gusts blew through – the rain had let up, but everything was very
drippy. The long, hollow buildings seemed about to collapse in upon
themselves from damp, disuse, decay. The smell was bad, although
he could, when the wind
gusted, get the faintest whiff of the sorcerer Joliel somewhere
ahead; he could not smell Red at all, but
that was expected.
Silvery-gray
mist came creeping from the Kazikah's broad and lazy delta: This lay
on the other side of the ridge, but there was plenty of mist that had
spent much of the evening making its way slowly down from the height,
now to spread by degrees over the beach and water.
Would
they be done with tonight's business and on their way back to the
camp before the sun started to come up? Nirith had said it would be
quick.
He
heard the cart, and felt the soggy earth grumbling at the approach of
something heavy, long minutes before he spotted it.
***
The
tent-roof was starting to pale with dawn-light before anyone came
looking for the Tagros Naimejo. This was inordinately vexing, as
Naimejo had been lying awake, conscious and fuming, but unable to
move, for over an hour. Someone had done his work well, doubtless the
sorcerer, whose lust to get at the streghi trapped in the Vranaps
Temple was a burn mark on the Fabric of Everything – impossible to
wash out, patch, weave over or dye through, its odor always present.
Judging
from his unmistakable spoor, Reltras had been close to the camp for
days and days now; the priests had a week ago given the word that
neither that one nor the Second were to get anywhere near the King
until the main cohort were well along with the move-out, and perhaps
not even then.
In
spite of the evidence of his hanging around, since he had made the
Prediction upon the Jehnehannu, Reltras had not made even a
suggestion of an appearance: Naimejo had not seen him a single time,
and neither had anyone else, at least by report.
(If
he discovered you were trying to catch him at something, your
subsequent attempts to keep from being set up would occupy almost
every waking moment from then on out, indefinitely; Naimejo tried,
therefore, to keep the sorcerer out of his thoughts as much as
possible, and to care about what he was up to as little as possible.)
Naimejo
had been present when Tolalo (acting as Hierarch for the Children of
God) politely yet firmly had advised the Second that she would not be
admitted to the camp proper until after the tribe's exit from these
lands: The woman had received this news without any comment but a
saucy moue and giggle, as though immediately discounting, then
disregarding what she'd been told; Tolalo, he recalled, had laughed,
too. To the relief of all she didn't ask for a reason and then simply
turned, sauntered off, and disappeared. Her tent remained in its
usual place, but her presence was not detected after that day. Thais
had not been pleased, but like her Second had said nothing.
(If
Naxosos had marked any of this, he had not by word, glance, or facial
expression given it away: To all appearances the King was gladsome
and gratified that so many Pavrani noble clans were ready to ally
with his cause and to join his incipient nation, even to the point
that they would confess their sins and accept baptism, and agree to
leave their ancestral homes for the chance at new life in a new
kingdom upon wild, but very fair and fertile northern lands; indeed,
King Naxosos seemed not to have a single care in the world, though
Naimejo was aware, as were most of the rest of the Children of God,
that he was heartsick that the sorcerer no longer kept company with
him, and moreover sometimes he fretted and wept aloud over it like a
lovestruck virgin – which to all appearances embarrassed him not a
bit, though others were not so lucky.)
Any
road, despite every and all precaution, they had as it turned out
been looking in the wrong direction. Every single one of them.
Naimejo
found he could clench his jaw, now. Some movement was returning,
praise God.
A
portion of comfort lay in the knowledge that the sorcerer would
likely face a punishment, if he had drugged the camp.
Someone
approached with slow steps through saturated overgrowth. "Naimejo?
Are you wakeful?" It was the old man.
Maybe
I can make a noise if I get a deep enough breath…
was his desperate thought.
Tolalo
heard the attempted inspiration and,
pulling back
the tent-door,
wailed
in mild despair
"Oh, gods!"
(Naimejo couldn't see his
expression, but only a head-shaped patch of darkness against the gray
light that, despite its
faintness, almost dazzled.)
Tolalo
had, it seemed, expected that he might be paralyzed: Within a few
minutes Naimejo – limbs leaden but at least they worked – was
sitting up, sipping an infusion from a tiny, quite familiar bottle
the old man kept with his few possessions.
He
was within another minute or two able to see with clarity, and within
another minute, to speak, although his speech was, in his own
opinion, that of a half-frozen drunkard pulled from icy water right
before he went under.
"Did
it…happen…to…you…?" Naimejo was finally able to mumble.
With
a chuckle: "No; well, yes, but differently: I strayed. I
wandered."
Handing
the flask back, he said: "Help me get up."
Tolalo
urged: "Drink a little more."
"No…I
have to pee. Help me up."
"Ah,
you really are on the mend. Praise God."
"Praise
God."
The
morning air was very wet; branches were dripping but there was no
actual rain. "Misting heavily" was how Naimejo termed the
phenomenon – his father would say this sometimes when they walked
the family orchard and vineyards in early morning, when he was a
child, before he had gone to the Temple. (Long before Naemas's
appearance, he now remembered; then, after another moment of
reflection: Naxosos was only a baby when I went to the Temple!)
But
Tolalo had been his friend and teacher even then. The Old Man.
"Misting
heavily." If it occurred at all in Kheoran-Arigne, it would be
during the season of growth and rains: Here it was most mornings. He
was grateful and glad they would be on the road, heading south, by
the time of frosts here.
"Where
is Naxosos? Do you know where he is now?"
"I
think he is some way off, in fact, toward the town. It seems he's
well, but I can't really tell anything from here. There's a lot going
on."
Daytime
creatures had started their vocalizations. It was an unpleasant time
of day for perambulation, however, as the vegetation growing rank
along the ground was always soaked in dew, even if there had been no
rain, and clung to one's feet. And it was cold.
Naimejo
would, weather and opportunity permitting, camp by himself beside the
priests' complex, so he could be alone with his prayers. His bivouac,
tiny and low-slung, often was a trick to exit with any grace.
This
Tolalo knew, and assisted with a hand under his elbow (and patience,
as standing on wobbly legs took an additional few minutes).
He
had been afraid that he wouldn't, when it came right down to it, be
able to piss, but fortunately Tolalo had brought the correct antidote
to whatever he'd been doped with.
Perceiving
his surge of ire at the sorcerer's meddling, the old man said, "Eh!
For now, just forget it! Later!"
He
knew this was the correct advice, but as usual it was hard to accept.
"Believe
me," the other went on, a smile in his voice, "the least
amount of harm has been done in this circumstance!" (Even now
that it was fairly certain no one could overhear them, they avoided
direct reference to the streghi.) "Of this I am sure." He's
not sure.
Doing
up his breeches, Naimejo replied "So, you're only checking on me
and everything's well?" (It was a joke, of course: It was easy
to tell Naxosos was still outside the camp somewhere, his exact
location unknown. The other, it appeared, was not certain of his
judgments.)
"As
I said, he may be some miles out." After a pause: "Shall I
fetch out your cloak, old fellow?"
When
Naimejo, who at the moment could not stop yawning, nodded, Tolalo
then returned with a well-worn joke of his own: "In an hour
you'll be sending for a cart!"
After
rummaging in the tent a moment the old man emerged with a heavy
cloak, dark-brown oiled sailcloth over fleece. "Enjoy the chill
while you can," he advised, as Naimejo gratefully shrugged the
garment over his shoulders, gathered it around his neck. God is
good.
Tolalo
continued: "We're going to be back where it's hot even at the
solstice within a couple of weeks."
"That
might be a little optimistic, don't you think?"
The
other was silent for some seconds while Naimejo, clutching at his
cloak, struggled not to shiver, blinking, yawning, and eyes watering
like hell. The air lightened by degrees and with the light, the
birdsong increased: Within another half-hour, assuming the rain and
mist dissipated, the day-noises would be overwhelming. He could see
the trunks of trees now, and the differing hues of the plants
surrounding the tent; he could see Tolalo's sandaled feet (though he
didn't dare look up yet – the sky's minimal light was still too
much).
At
last Tolalo spoke: "Our divination has shown that we will be
entertaining the Satrians when our Lord's child is born, far to the
south of here. The girl is in her six month of pregnancy now. Within
two weeks, assuming that we leave within the next few days, we will
be at the Tributaries – the seasonal winds will favor our travel
into the east, but it will be cold and rugged going –"
"He'll
never see that girl again, except in his dreams," Naimejo
interrupted dismissively. It angered him when people would discuss
wives, girlfriends, and children, for he had not seen his wife and
children – who had survived the destruction of all the structures
and ships at Bourskina, and the slaughter of almost half its
villagers – in years now. They were still alive – that he knew –
but he had little chance of seeing them again any time soon, and even
though Matilli knew how to write, and moreover write in code, she
dared not send a letter from their current location, which was one of
concealment.
So
he would, they would all, have to wait – waiting would not be
improved by thinking of King Naxosos and his impermissible trysting.
"The
child and the girl are more important than you know – but we'll
discuss it later. How are you feeling? Are you up to seeking Naxosos
out? Your brother wants to go; I met him, he was heading in this
direction. I told him to go back."
"Naemas
needs to stay with the camp." To keep the Second and the
sorcerer from getting in. "Where are they? Are
they all drugged, too?"
"Some
are mustered to defend the Children of God; ah, the Szera seems to
know about the streghi – I can read his thoughts. He advises that
if anyone goes to seek the King, it should be a couple of priests, in
case…and then he just gives me a look, right?"
In
case he was scored or bitten,
Naimejo thought dourly. "Are
you coming along, then?"
"The
Goddess bids me stay; she was drugged. It's plain to see she doesn't
know where either the King or the sorcerer are at this moment; she
feels inadequate to guard the people by herself."
"'The
Goddess,'" Naimejo snorted.
"All
right, sorry," Tolalo said, making a weary face. "Can you
go alone? I don't think there's any danger, and no one is ill or
injured – many are however frightened past their wits – but we
need to know everyone's location or direction of flight, especially
that of the creature. I don't feel it's within the Vranaps anymore."
At
the point of requesting assistance, Naimejo took a moment for
consideration. They know he won't hurt me; he wouldn’t dare!
Then:
…Would he?
Hubbub
erupted from the direction of the main encampment. Tolalo said,
lowering his voice: "There are people missing from their tents,
who found themselves somehow in other parts of the camp."
Naimejo observed with amusement that the old priest's heavy gray
eyebrows twisted together, and went up and down a couple of times,
before he said finally, "That is what happened to me, in fact! I
awakened outside the scholars' enclosure; everyone within was sound
asleep, as though drugged – and I suppose they were – and I was
sitting outside, my staff beside me –" (here he gestured
with his staff, as though Naimejo might not have noticed it
otherwise) "wrapped in a blanket! That was almost soaked through
with dew!"
"I
suppose we all need to get used to sleeping in the open again, don't
we? For the road ahead."
"I
had no idea how it happened, either!" Tolalo went on. "I
distinctly remember going to the Complex after dinner, and talking
with Father Jaursho, although I can't remember the topic of
conversation now, when I think about it; and I wasn't drunk!"
This
drew a chuckle from Naimejo.
"I
cannot – no, listen! I cannot remember a word of the conversation I
had with Father Jaursho to save my life!"
"Try
not to worry," Naimejo responded, his mind racing. If he went to
search for Naxosos along the road, he considered, he might chance to
meet the sorcerer: If that one had been involved in a rescue of the
streghi, he might be substantially weakened, and…
"I'll
go," he finished. He tried a couple of experimental steps: it
was not impossible, though his feet felt like he had cushions
attached to his soles. It would be slow at first.
"I'll
walk with you to the Cloud Doorway, how does that sound? And if you
feel faint, I'll go find someone to accompany you. I heard Sabelko
talking to an angel just before the sun started to come up, and –"
"No…why
don't you go back now and do whatever you have to do, watch over the,
the woman – the women – or whatever it was you were going to do."
Naimejo felt, suddenly, that he knew Naxosos's location and moreover
that he definitely didn't want anyone tagging along.
The
other seemed to divine his thought and with cheerful resignation
declared: "Very well, I see some resolve in you. I'm glad I came
looking for you when I did, as –"
"Any
later and you'd have found me laying in a puddle of piss!"
Naimejo exclaimed and they shared a laugh. "I'd still be
fumbling around trying to find some clean clothes!"
"I'm
glad I came looking for you," Tolalo repeated. "I wanted to
stop Naemas from heading out to try to find our Lord."
With
the same degree of scorn as when the other had referred to "the
Goddess," Naimejo again huffed, "'Our Lord!' He's a
snot-nosed…kid…" After some effort, he took another step.
This one was easier. His legs were heavy, but that wasn't such an
inconvenience, for the ways were bound to be slick: slow, steady
progress was indicated. He hadn't had a run for some days, and he
needed to get in shape for the road, anyway.
Tolalo
ignored the jibe. "Go with God, Naimejo," he said,
immediately turning back toward the priests' complex, struggling
uphill through the dew-heavy overgrowth, leaning upon his staff. He
didn't look back.
"Go
with God," Naimejo replied and turning began along the
rush-strewn path to the camp's southernmost access. (Trying as he
went to listen for Sabelko, reported by Tolalo to be in conversation
with an angel; he heard only a babble of voices, however, as people
who'd been asleep, whether they were drugged or not, started to
awaken – neither did he perceive any sign that an angel was
around.)
Once
he got moving the infusion he'd been given awakened his muscles and
his senses. God is always and in every way good.
Here
on the west-facing slope of the gorge, the sun's rays would not
strike the ground for a handful of hours.
He
knew where he would find Naxosos; Tolalo was right, he was unhurt…but
this was strange, much more so than his sneaking out of the camp in
the middle of the night (for which he was moderately famed).
Something
had changed. No one was hurt, but something was different to the
point that it was going to shock.
Of
course he wouldn't be anywhere near the town; he's got to be at the
overlook.
The
trail seemed deserted – of course, the warriors would be somewhere
between the camp and the town.
Certain
of the priests had already discussed what to do if "anything
happened" with the streghi. Naimejo had come up with his own
plan, as it was opined – with which he mostly agreed – that in
spite of every precaution, it was possible (or probable) Naxosos
would become involved.
Secretly,
therefore, he had devised a plan: As of this morning, however, it lay
foiled by the sorcerer. (He'll be punished…He'll be punished…)
A
stadium down the road, he heard a signal from the camp: Three short
bleats from a shepherd's horn, repeated three times: The able-bodied
men of the camp, and the archers, were all to assemble in the common
area. It wasn't an alarm, but could easily turn into one.
This
prompted him to start trotting. He knew where Naxosos was; he would
get there before anyone else, and it was important. (And they
wouldn't be sending Naemas after him.)
The
first few steps running were not easy; in fact, the effort made his
sight gray and forced him to walk; his hands and feet remained far
away.
Blessedly,
the road – expected, though still strange to see – was not just
free of traffic, but devoid of it. There were plenty of remnants of
its late occupation by Pavrani refugees in evidence, although an
effort had been made to freshen things up, and remove or hide the
scraps, shards, shit-pits, and other signs of passage of a horde.
Naimejo
persisted and soon was making decent time down the rocky, slippery
path into Jaraniesca Town.
The
sunrise began to announce itself at his left shoulder, strong beams
of silvery white piercing and driving back vaporous air. The dripping
sounds began to die out, and the songs and calls of an awakening land
increased.
From
somewhere up the hill to the east could be heard a shepherd and his
cloven-hooved assemblage – not trying to be quiet, but it was not
on the other hand loud: The herders of Jaraniesca Province kept a
distance from and tried to escape the notice of the Celan occupiers,
who always (at the very least) wanted to take their animals to feed
and clothe their army.
He'd
made a little more than a mile when first he smelled, then rounded a
bend and saw his brother lounging against a cairn-like jumble of
boulders upon the roadside. Even though almost a stadium separated
them, there was no way it would not be Naemas. He was not trying to
hide.
The
other spied
him right away too, greeting
him with a cheery wave.
(Damn it!)
Naemas
stood and, brushing his clothing off a bit and shaking the dew from
his cloak, came trotting lightfootedly up the pathway, continuing to
wave as though anxious that he might be missed.
Naimejo
noticed immediately that it seemed the other wished to intercept him
before he got to that part of the road. Damn it!
He
decided to stop and rest, as running some distance after having been
drugged had tired him.
It
was their usual way not to call out, but Naemas rather annoyingly
gave the hand sign for "keep silence" when he was a couple
of dozen yards away.
He
considers me a fond fool, doesn't he?! Let him!
When
finally they were flush, Naemas passed him and went on, pointing to
indicate that Naimejo should follow. Sighing in annoyance, Naimejo
decided to follow his brother back up the road.
Once
they had made half a stadium or so (All my progress LOST!),
Naemas stopped, making the signal that they could talk now.
"Did
you find Naxosos?" was the first thing Naimejo said to his
brother.
Glancing
toward the west, he observed that although the ridge on the other
side of the Kazikah would not actually be struck by the sun's rays
for another couple of hours, the peaks and rocks were starting to
reflect back the sky's light. Blue-white columns of mist floated
lazily up out of the river gorge.
"Tolalo
told me not to go look for him, so I decided to go see if I could
find out what happened to Joliel." The other's nostrils widened
and his face colored as though in anger or indignation. Peering more
closely (Damn it! My vision isn't back all the way!), Naimejo
thought he did appear genuinely upset.
"Tolalo
told me that he had told you to stay at the camp."
"Well,"
Naemas said, the sound of a shrug in his voice, "I may have
heard him wrong, I guess."
"How
did you get here before me?"
With
a laugh: "I know all the ways!"
"Hrmph!
All right, then: Do you know where Naxosos is?"
"I
don't, but he's probably at the river overlook, down the road."
Grumpily:
"Yeah. That's what I was thinking. Tolalo says it seems like
he's unhurt, and –"
Naemas
blurted out now: "I found Joliel. And Nirith. They –"
Quickly,
Naimejo cut him off. "No details, if you will, brother. Please,
not now." (Any road, given Naemas's anger, what else could it
be?)
Naimejo
tried to feel sympathy; it was not easy, but after a few seconds,
finally, a small measure was uncovered. In whatever way and for
whatever reason, the woman – despite also belonging to Naxosos as a
part of his household and having had a child with Naxosos – was
Naemas's wife: He had traveled in her company since his age of nine
years. (And their mother and father had said not an ill word about
it, or their older brothers: in and of itself surpassingly strange.)
And
Naemas was jealous over Nirith, and envious of Joliel for a number of
other reasons; things had grown more and more disturbed (hadn't
they?) these last four years since he and Tolalo and Naxosos had set
out for the Home of the Elite in Satria.
"I'm
going to kill him." Naimejo gazed deeply now at his brother –
younger than he by ten years, the youngest kid in the family and, in
their mother's eyes at least, completely without any sort of fault or
flaw – he saw that Naemas was smiling. "I'm going to kill
him," the other repeated in a carefree tone.
"Not
if I get to him first," Naimejo joked (admitting privately,
however, that there had indeed been an expectation of meeting the
sorcerer who, after work involving a streghi, might be in a state of
reduced energy).
He
added: "You won't attack him, Naemas. You know it'll be your
death. You're not going to attack him, are you?"
"Not
today, brother. I'm just telling you I'm going to kill him.. Someday.
He thinks he knows me but he doesn't."
(Naimejo
would not tell Naemas about his and Tolalo's divinations yet. But
someday!)
"Naemas…"
Make it sincere. Sincere and succinct.
The other seemed to await his
speech; that was good.
"Naemas…you
did well obeying Tolalo today, if you didn't in fact obey him to the
letter. But regarding your pain: You hurt only yourself. You know the
nature of the woman, and her affliction, and you know the animal
Reltras quite well, don't you?"
"That's
why I'm going to –"
"Right.
But most of all, you are my beloved brother and Naxosos is our
beloved King, and our leader. He is Chosen of all the angels and our
Almighty Father. We – the priests – feel it's best therefore to
let Naxo choose as he sees fit, with the least possible interference.
You must know Tolalo and I feel we were a bit remiss in neglecting
certain parts of his instruction, and –"
"He
didn't know about the creature over there at that, the Vranaps, did
he?" Naemas interrupted.
Naimejo
was a little surprised at this. "Did you know about it?"
Did everyone in the camp know about it…?
"He
doesn't know about what they do," Naemas said, leaning into his
face a bit. "Does he?"
"It
seems he does not. However –"
Naemas
interrupted: "And he doesn't really know what a streghi is, or
the elthir-evo, the b'vaiach. He doesn't know. No one ever bothered
to instruct him, and it wasn't –"
Naimejo
tried to stop him, waving his hand and saying, "I never knew one
of those things to come into the city, or anywhere near it, not in
the last hundred years! He –"
"It
wasn't until he came into the desert and joined the Children of God
that it became an issue, and even then no one tried to tell
him what was going on! He just thought Joliel was some weird-looking
guy, obvious sorcerer, from up north, right? One sees people like
that all the time in Viragos! I could tell from Day One he had no
idea what he really was!"
Sighing,
Naimejo put his hands beneath his cloak – he was getting chilled
standing here, and supposed that whatever he had been drugged with
was still working its way out of his system. "We need to discuss
this later." (Of course, there would be no "later" –
one predictable thing about Naemas that if he declared something when
he was in a passion, he would never mention whatever it was again,
and might even deny it entirely if pressed.)
"I
just wanted to tell you that I found Joliel and Nirith and they are
up there at the –"
"I
know – again, let's not go over the details because I might just go
up there and kill them both, all right?" (An overgrowth of tall
and medium-sized coniferous trees stood a short walk up the slope,
where there was an outlet for a little stream; he knew it to be quite
a pretty place: Likely where the shepherd was headed with his flock
and wouldn't that fellow be
surprised if he and his animals were to stumble
upon the sorcerer and the
Second unwholesomely and
without shame dallying
there…?)
I
DO feel sorry for him, now!
Naimejo thought, as he
hastened to drive the images from his mind.
"You're
praying, aren't you?" the other inquired after a few seconds,
then, ironically: "Good old Mujo!"
"Yes,
I'm praying. Tolalo tried to reassure me that no one had been hurt.
Now I wonder."
"Joliel
and Nirith seem hale," Naemas remarked, again with bitterness in
his tone.
"I
don't give a shit about either of them, I'm talking about –"
Naemas's
demeanor softened a bit. "I don't think he's hurt, either. Just
so you'll know."
Naimejo
was of course aware that his brother had no perceptible aptitude for
any kind or sorcery, mind-reading, or foretelling.
Interrupting
his thought, Naemas spoke further: "But there's something scary
– something weird happened. I'm scared."
A
chill running up his spine Naimejo decided to leave this topic alone.
"Why do you not think he's hurt, then?"
Leaning
close as though sharing a confidence, Naemas said in a hiss, "If
Naxo was hurt, Joliel would have come straight to the
camp to find me and tell me!"
With
a haughty sniff: "All right. Tell me you're going back now, to
the tents – not later, but now. I want to hear you say it."
"I'm
on my way, then. To the tents!" Turning quickly, pushing his
cloak over his shoulders, Naemas started up the path. He didn't look
back."Go with God, brother!"
"Go
with God," Naimejo muttered with some irritation, though he
repented of this almost instantly, especially when he turned to his
road and realized that he would now have to pass the boulders. (The
boulders, site of Naemas's lounging, had been placed, in fact, to
protect a conduit fashioned to carry the stream – site of the
sorcerer's romping – that passed under the roadway.)
After
some thought, Naimejo began to trot – slowly at first – down the
road that led southward into Jaraniesca Town. He didn't try to be
silent, but after a few steps (making sure that his weakened legs
wouldn't collapse), he started to sing "Rejoice at the break of
day," a Temple hymn, at the top of his lungs.
"Spirits
of cold darkness recede: Evil tide that sucks out my breath, roll
away before the face of the sun!"
At
the place of the boulders, he heard nothing but his own voice,
birdsong and the soughing of pine trees catching the early-morning
gusts, and a whisper of water passing beneath the road and, singing
determinedly, he proceeded on toward the overlook – still more than
a mile off, but he was fit for it now. Soon he would have to bunch
his cloak around his shoulders: he would be sweating as the air
heated up.
(He
did catch Reltras's spoor at just that place, however, and also that
of the perfumed oil with which the Second routinely doused herself:
Naemas had not misled him, at least.)
Lustily
singing, he traveled on, making good time because it was mostly
downhill.
The
sky had turned pale gray-blue and the mists hovered at the edge of
dispersion when the prominence came into view.
Yes,
he's here.
And
by himself, too: A rare thing, to find the King unaccompanied;
Naimejo found himself in consideration of a notion: That the sorcerer
had remained close to their King until his unscheduled decampment in
Aslel Aheyah: Day and night, for four years. His mind, he could see
now, had avoided it.
Taking
the spur that, leaving the roadway, wound through thick-growing
bushes, then up the slope with its stands of coniferous trees and
ended at the prominence jutting over the Kazikah's gorge, he was able
to perceive that Naxosos knew of his approach and happily awaited
him.
"Naxo!"
he called (not loudly, for he couldn't be sure the sorcerer was not
trailing in his wake).
There
was more murk than light, and the wet grass and undergrowth clung to
his boots. The damp clogged his breathing and trepidation strangled
his will. "Naxo! It's Naimejo!"
He
was about to call again when he heard and saw movement: Where the
trees ended in a bare rock spur overhanging the river gorge (where
Night still battled burgeoning Day) could be seen an odd, floating
radiance that he believed at first to be an elevated lantern.
Then,
in stunned surprise: He's shining…! (Naimejo was not
altogether unacquainted with the phenomenon – it had happened twice
to him, in fact – but he had never expected to see it happen to
anyone else, and certainly not Naxosos, the Gorardeno's stepson.)
From
the stand of trees could be seen a bluish-grayish luminescence upon
the air, containing the features of a man (bearded, cloaked, with a
mop of curly hair, in the usual garb of their tribe: muslin tunic
over breeches with a belt and scrip, booted to the knees in hide),
etched upon it, but in reverse lighting – light for dark and dark
for light, mutable shades of gray-blue in between. (His surroundings
had appeared thus, Naimejo recalled now, when he had been in the
transcendent state.)
Glancing
about, he observed the shimmer of manifestation outlining the leaves
of the surrounding bushes, and the rocks.
Through
dew-soaked, tangled bracken, trembling and queasy, cold and sweating
at once, he stumbled toward the apparition, terror a clutch of
fire-lizards
hatching in his belly.
Yes;
it was him; it was Naxo – the Viragan, he had heard some of the
Brothers call him when he had first gone to the Temple.
He
was shining.
"It's
all right, Naimejo," Naxosos said. "But keep a distance;
maybe stop there." Despite that it had a faintly echoing
quality, Naxosos's manner of speech and tone were recognizable: It
could be no one else.
Naimejo
would have had to stop in a moment, anyway: His knees were growing
perilously shaky.
"Great
Lord!" he managed, at last, faintly to rattle, upon viewing
Naxosos transfigured.
He
stumbled forward to fall onto his knees on the pocked, pebble-strewn
clifftop: Fear all but mastered him then: he couldn't stay up, and he
sprawled forward and lay prone, only just managing not to whimper.
"It's
all right, Naimejo," the other repeated. "Don't feel bad.
You've done nothing wrong."
"I'm
simply afraid!" Naimejo managed to groan, his face pressed to
the wet, cold ground. I've been vain, stupid, and so
wrong about him! And he knows it! God forgive me!
"And
I am simply ecstatic," Naxosos said, an easy smile in his voice.
Then: "You must get up, I can't abide to see you groveling."
Weakened
by fear – a large portion of which, he now understood, was of
Naxosos being able to see him, really see him, in all his
cowardice, his weakness, and his pompous, overbearing nature –
Naimejo struggled to rise, whereupon he witnessed again Naxosos
transfigured, hovering a few feet above the ground and more distant
than was reasonable, for if he was really as far away as he seemed,
he would be over the gorge. He seemed then to approach via a long
hallway, the unusual reverse-lighting effect decreasing bit by bit,
until finally his friend (Longtime friend! stalwart,
beloved friend! and King! our sovereign!)
stood before him, his expected coloring and contours restored; a
little bedraggled, moreover, wetted down by the mist.
He
smelled sea water – in whatever part of the adventure, it seemed
Naxosos had gotten drenched. (Which could explain the lack of
perceptible blood-spoor.)
"Yeah,"
Naxosos agreed soberly with his thought. "I could use a bath and
a change of clothing, that's for sure."
"I
just, I just wanted to ascertain that you are unharmed." Whether
you were bitten.
Again
the other divined his thought. With a grin, gesturing for him to
follow, Naxosos turned and proceeded on to the furthest outcropping,
the overlook.
Obediently,
heart racing and limbs failing, eyes downcast, Naimejo trailed after.
(God's will be done!)
So
far did Naxosos ramble out onto the promontory, Naimejo feared he
might do something outrageous, like attempt to take flight. Upon the
point of calling out, he bit back his words when the other stopped at
the very edge of the precipice and stood, seeming to relish the
morning air.
It's
just him. He would never hurt me…
Before
speaking Naimejo took a couple of deep breaths: the river gorge in
the early morning, its rainy mist and breezes ascending through pine
and laurel trees, was a tonic: that much was certain; Paranis the
boat-master had a lung condition that plagued him whenever he was any
distance from open water and was therefore was often missing from
morning prayers in the camp, invariably to be found as close to the
Kazikah's gorge as he could reasonably get, savoring the air.
Calm
and measured, like –
"Like
Tolalo," Naxosos finished for him. Turning, he said: "This
has happened to you, has it not?"
"Guilty
as charged," Naimejo said, hoping that his face bore a smile and
not a grimace of fear. He said then, quickly, before Naxosos could
again interrupt him: "I was preparing myself to intercept you
before you flew off into the ravine, because – yes – that's what
I felt like the first time it happened to me." Finally, with a
weary sigh: "I had been counseled never to attempt levitation or
flight, however, so here I am."
"Do
you think you could have flown?"
"Perhaps."
The easy familiarity was to a degree calming; however, they were side
by side now, and the drop from the overlook – its bare rocks
shining with the mist and dew – ensured that the Tagros Naimejo's
terror didn't drizzle entirely away.
Naxosos
went on: "Everyone has read accounts of this happening – to
various saints and so on. Since I never saw anyone do it, I never
thought about it much. But now I know it has happened to you."
Then, quizzically: "Why, in all the conversations we've had,
have you never spoken to me of this? Why has Tolalo not spoken of
it?"
For
this, at least, Naimejo had an answer at the ready: "You never
took orders, Naxo. You never took the Oath of Preservation."
Except
for smelling strongly of seawater and being depleted of energy, King
Naxosos seemed not just hale, but joyously so. ("In the best
shape of my life!" another man would say – though no Brother
of Sha-halom would ever make this statement; and, Naimejo reminded
himself, Naxosos was their brother; though he was not a
priest, he was Hara-ehn, a doctor – a professor.)
"Naimejo,"
Naxosos said, "I want for you to know, and for you to share this
with Tolalo, that I'm not resentful or upset in the least that I was
never told about the b'vaiach, or the streghi, or Celan magicians, or
the Undead, or the voste forest-folk, or any of those things. You
sorrow that you neglected some parts of my instruction, but do not.
There is no blame." As he said these things, Naxosos continued
to gaze tranquilly into the river gorge, taking deep breaths and
smiling like a man who had just found out all his debts had been
forgiven.
He
WAS thinking about flying,
Naimejo
considered all these things, and a sudden, nerve-tingling horror –
mostly at the thought of possible consequences if he should return to
the encampment with the news that King Naxosos had fallen to his
death – made his bowels clench painfully, and the back of his neck
go cold.
"And,"
Naxosos said further before Naimejo could speak, "in particular
I am glad that you didn't tell me about the streghi, and that I never
knew of such a thing until yesterday."
"Ah…why?"
Naimejo finally managed to say.
Now
the other grinned into his face. "Because I never would have
done what I did, if I had known, the streghi, and the Celan magician;
if I had known about them."
"You…are
unharmed."
"Yes,
by the grace of God, I'm well. And, well, you witnessed my, I guess
you would call it my transfiguration."
"Yes."
"Yes,
you did – and it has happened to you. I want for us to get together
and talk about these things."
With
a sense of irony, remembering all the times he and Tolalo had tried
without success to engage their sovereign into discussion of
important issues, Naimejo overbore his pride, saying mildly: "When
we are on the road, that is a good time. Tolalo is eager to talk to
you also."
"Yes."
Then,
feeling his resolve about to crack:"Why do you – all right,
you smell like you went overboard into the net on a trawler. Why is
that? You look like that's what happened, too – except you still
have your things with you, your scrip and so on, and your cloak."
Speaking thus was making him feel better, so he continued.
"Did
you run…all right, did you, did you run from the camp into the
town, or to Temple Vranaps? Or what? At what point did you get
soaked?"
Naxosos
laughed. They stood at the edge of a river gorge, so it echoed.
The
Tagros Naimejo knew and was assured of his own attractiveness to
women: In fact, he found himself frequently angered by women (and
sometimes men) making passes at and mooning after him, and pretending
to be interested in his knowledge, when it was obvious they weren't
in the least.
It
was something he remembered his own father and Tolalo – who had
been his teacher and friend nearly his whole life – giving him
advice about, which had helped a great deal. (His mother had when he
was little been silly about his hair; he remembered her oiling and
braiding his hair, giving him treats from the kitchen so that he
would sit still, until Father had told her to stop; she had been the
first, certainly not the last, woman to rhapsodize over his
features.)
But
my flame is pale, and weak, and flickering out,
compared to his.
Again
the other picked up his thought and answered it: "I realize that
I'm going to die in the next year or so, this apart from Joliel's
prediction, which at the time I discounted, as it seemed to have
arisen from a moment's spitefulness; I knew he was angry at me."
Once more Naxosos laughed, and the sound of it echoed through the
great vale of the Kazikah.
Naimejo
marveled at him, though he this time he tried to muffle his
impressions by concentrating on the sounds of nature. "We all
know the story," he muttered. The birds. The winds…
He
was about to speak again when Naxosos interrupted with a command:
"No! Listen!" (A trifle absurdly, he then put a hand to his
ear as though concerned that Naimejo may not have understood.)
Naimejo
listened. After a moment or two, Naxosos comically mimicked his
open-mouthed gape of amazement, then chortled – a wholesome,
careless, childlike sound – yet again.
"You
hear it, then!"
"Ah,
yes," Naimejo replied. "Yes. I hear."
Across
the ravine – a good quarter-mile of mist and air – Temple
Vranaps, its torches out, lay mostly obscured to regular sight by the
thick-grown trees.
The
cries and keening of the streghi were absent and the entire site
(usually only busy at night, but during the day, when it was almost
completely hidden from view, still had its distinctive sounds) was in
fact as still as a mausoleum.
"You
knew about it; you could hear it," Naxosos remarked, glancing
sidewise at him.
"Yes
– only in the last couple of days has it been audible to normal
hearing." We knew the sorcerer to be at work, somehow.
"Yes."
"Is
this why we are here? I mean, in Jaraniesca Province?"
Naimejo
hesitated before answering. "Everything happens for a reason,"
he said finally. "There is no purpose in me except to follow you
and try to keep you from killing yourself." This at least is
true. "I can't speak for any of our other friends or
hangers-on, only for myself. I don't know what the others are here
for; I can only guess." This is mostly true…
"Part
of the reason I value you, in fact," Naxosos remarked, "is
that you are vain." Before Naimejo could even begin to register
his indignation and shock, the other went on: "I'm not sure why,
but your vanity makes me trust you. In this you are somewhat like me,
but your vanity is more profound – it gives you power. You are a
true sorcerer. Tolalo is a more a priest, a Brother of El-thoni. He
can't abide hurt, deception, stealth, and killing; I learned most of
what I know from him."
Taking
a long breath, Naimejo turned and looked out over the river gorge.
(Thinking: Tolalo knows more about hurt, deception,
stealth, and killing than you will ever believe!)
The
solstice, though weeks away, was approaching: the sun was later in
the day to make its appearance over the eastern ridge-tops. The air
rising from the gorge was a bit cold. He realized the knees of his
breeches and shirt-tail were wet and a bit soiled, as he'd been lying
face-down on the ground. Now he saw a bit of blood on the knee of his
breeches. Oh, wonderful!
"My
vanity arises in a welter of ignorance," Naxosos continued, with
a little laugh. "I'm vain only because I don't understand what's
really going on at any given moment, although I pretend that I do."
At
this Naimejo chuckled, thinking about the vices he knew Naxosos had,
that they had yet to discuss at confession; this was one of the
biggest flaws the other had admitted to date. But now he knows
everything, doesn't he?
The
annoyance Naxosos's remark had provoked was (almost) gone, so now he
could look at the other, whose aspect was untroubled.
Again
Naxosos responded to his thinking: "Oh, I'm plenty tired!"
with another laugh: "I'm afraid to go to sleep! I just, you
know: The change. I saw things."
Naimejo
nodded, and was about to speak when Naxosos said further (and now a
small frown did cross his features, and anxiety colored his tone):
"This has happened to you; tell me, did you meet and converse
with your ancestors, when it, when you changed?"
Now
he had to try not to smile: Of course what most occupied Naxosos's
thought at this instant would be questions.
I
have always been able to handle him, Naimejo considered.
Almighty Father, keep him safe. Keep us all safe. Let us live to be
old men whose tales of daring are considered fanciful by those around
us!
At
least one very important question, however, was answered. The rest
would be easy.
"Give
me some answers, if you will," Naimejo (whose composure had
begun to return in leaps and bounds) responded briskly. "And
then I'll answer your questions. We can talk until it seems safe for
you to fall asleep. How does that sound?" Hale and hearty.
Hale and hearty.
"That
might be a pretty good deal. We should walk and talk, though! At some
point I will start to tire; if we wait too long, the sorcerer will
think to come looking for me."
Nose
wrinkling in an uncultured snarl, Naimejo replied, "Were you
aware that he's – the, Reltras – is by the waterway up the hill –
the one with the boulders – entertaining one of your wives?"
I'm damned if I call him "Joliel"…!
Naxosos
surprised him very much when he said now, once again laughing, "What
a dear she is! Don't worry, she was doing what I wanted – I didn't
tell her to fuck him, but I figured that would be the way she would
take. Those two have a child, you know that, right?"
"Yes
– but you must answer my questions first. Are you ready?" I
have to remember to shield my thoughts from him, from this point
forward.
Smiling,
with a gesture: "You are fresher than I – you go first. But
when the road widens out, we will run or walk together so that we can
talk, per your insistence."
"There
will be Children of God in the road and pastures, looking for us!"
Looking for you.
"If
anyone needs me for anything, I'm sure Tolalo will tell him where we
are! You said he knew there was nothing greatly amiss, didn't you?"
Then, without waiting for an answer: "So we're covered!"
Again
Naxosos gestured grandly at the path back into the bushes and trees,
and thereby to the high road, as though escorting a valued guest into
the main hold of his keep. Naimejo had to smile.
He
had regained control, not just of himself but over the other.
"Naxosos."
"We're
wasting time, but what?"
"The
sorcerer has been here over and over; this I can intuit. However, you
have, have
not visited this place, more
than a few times in the weeks we have been encamped.
Did you truly not know anything about the streghi until yesterday?
For that is what it seems like –"
Cutting
his speech off with a wave: "Believe me: My mind was on our task
and nothing else. That is, the task of, responsibly and with as
little fanfare as possible, exchanging counterfeit sulindars for real
money!"
Naimejo
had to laugh, even as he reflected that he had been one of the main
advocates for getting the move-out under way: The issue of the
sulindars had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks now.
"See?"
Naxosos crowed. "That's all you've been thinking about, too!"
(Of course it was a joke, but it was good to have the subject brought
out into the open.)
Before
Naimejo could speak again – his heart overflowing with relief and
gladness – Naxosos declared imperatively: "Let's go!" and
once more motioned for him to take the lead. They started back toward
the main road at the steady jog of seasoned foot travelers, who will
keep a (reasonably) brisk pace on an uphill course, to make time
before the heat of the day has risen.
Before
they were quite to the road, Naimejo heard the other call out:
"Naimejo, have you by chance seen, or do you otherwise know the
whereabouts of the warrior, of Red? Merelioides?"
"This
morning I have seen you," Naimejo replied, "and I saw my
brother, and I heard a shepherd with his sheep somewhere up near the
ridge, and I spoke with Tolalo upon awakening – he had to bring an
antidote to the substance I was drugged with, and –"
Here
the trail became steep for the last few dozen yards before it
connected with the main thoroughfare; Naimejo had to stop talking and
lift the hem of his robe as he struggled up the incline; in so doing,
he noticed that he had cuts on his knees, from having fallen onto the
rocks – he couldn't feel them at all.
"So,
you were drugged?" There was a hint of a laugh in Naxosos's
tone.
Attaining
the roadway, the two halted. Naimejo was still puffing a little (and
wondering how he would manage the couple of miles, mostly uphill,
back to the camp), when Naxosos spoke again, saying in what seemed an
attempt at reassurance: "I'm pretty sure he drugged me, too."
"That
fucking dog! He's –"
Naxosos
waved his hand. "Oh, he'll pay, don't worry." Then,
quickly: "Naimejo, listen: There's no blame on the sorcerer,
either – at least, he hasn't sinned against me."
Naimejo's
angry shout boomed up and down the rocky mountainside. "WHAT –?!"
Before he could launch into a tirade, Naxosos said, "He's upset
because he realized a long time ago that if we return to
Kheoran-Arigne, and especially if we go anywhere near Shoela-hari,
it's likely to be the last trip I'll ever make before I go into my
grave. I know – I know! – that he made his prediction in an
effort to save my life. He was trying to scare me." Then, with a
little laugh: "You should see how red your face is right now!"
Naimejo
reminded himself of the vow to keep his thoughts – and expressions
of emotion – private from others from now on, then felt his outrage
dissipate like the mist-clouds rising from the river, now vanishing
as the air continued to warm. It's no big deal. The fault
is mine for not teaching him.
Naxosos
said then, with a particularly intent gaze, "The same goes for
Joliel as for the streghi: That is, that I am glad no one warned me.
I can see why it benefited me – but was a sacrifice for you, and
for Tolalo." After another moment, smiling once again, he added
"But can you see? Can you see, even though we struggle against
and fight it, even kill it, and scatter its disunited parts, that the
thing will ever re-coalesce?"
He
knows.
"Yes,"
Naxosos replied to his thought. "Now I know – the creature
that we encountered, it told me some things." He grinned, and
his large gray eyes went wide; added to his bedragglement, this gave
him the appearance of a crazy man.
"I
might have to stop and rest on the way back to camp," Naimejo
said finally.
"Do
you know where Red is, by any chance?" Naxosos inquired yet
again, and the Tagros Naimejo, Celebrant of El-thoni, felt a chill
race up and down his spine, even as the morning breeze dried the
sweat on his chest and arms. (But it was Naxosos, his longtime
friend; his stalwart friend.)
Who
was the King of Arigne.
Maliel
was his close kin; that was how he was able to transfer the spirit
without degradation to it.
"If
it's the last thing you ever do, Mujo," Naxosos remarked dryly
after a couple of moments, "you will try to figure things out."
"Lord,"
Naimejo answered with a slight bow, ignoring the jest, "I have
not seen him a few days now: that is the truth!"
Naxosos
could not have failed to notice this deference, but replied only with
an insouciant chortle "I believe you!" With yet another
histrionic gesture up the road (rocky and muddy, but devoid of
traffic, at least) he said, "We don't have to run! Someone will
come looking for us soon enough; maybe they'll bring a cart!"
They
started walking. "If you don't know where Red is," Naxosos
persisted, "what about the other warriors? Do you –"
"I
have not seen any of them; I don't usually look for them, if you must
know," was Naimejo's somewhat testy answer.
"What
about –"
"I'm
asking the questions – if you recall."
"Sorry."
They
walked on for some way, and then Naimejo said, "I feel that I
can run."
"That's
not a question!" Naxosos began to trot along; Naimejo tried to
keep up.
Naimejo
decided to begin with the thing he was most likely to be asked first
by anyone in the camp: "Where is the creature right now? Do you
know?"
"I
don't know his exact location," was the blithe reply, "but
I know his direction of travel – as you and the other clerics call
it – and what his general plan is."
He
wasn't contaminated by it; he gained its trust…or cooperation.
"You
ask about the warrior, Red as you call him."
"I
thought you might have –"
"Was
he part of the project?"
"Well…"
"All
right. Let's start at the beginning. You were drugged, and then you
weren't, and you rose from your bed and went on an adventure. About
what time was that?"
With
a smile and a laugh, Naxosos began his accounting of the last six
hours, and the two continued up the road.
***
Upon
the tree-clad mountainside of the Kazikah River's gorge, some miles
from its outlet into the Channel, Merelioides (scion of Coaechenath
and Bere-Imlabralaoe) witnessed the streghi – called Yrinyi (his
longer name connected him to a noble house that had existed in
Kheoran a thousand years prior) – pursue, capture, kill, hang, and
begin to clean a yearling hart before walking back into the clearing
to begin the cooking-fire.
The
night's work had left him hungry – and he knew the streghi had not
had any meat for an entire season.
The
streghi had been turned, there was no longer any doubt: Merelioides
didn't have to watch as the other cut the hart into pieces and
prepared it for roasting.
Yrin
(son of Rafamaz, son of Antemephe-alim) had been turned into a man –
a visually unappealing, seemingly deformed man, but he was indeed a
man. The streghi was changed.
Merelioides
had never heard of such, or learned of it, or been told of it, but
the evidence was right in front of his eyes.
The
streghi – no longer to be called such – finally entered the
clearing; the cooking-fire and spit awaited the haunch and piece of
neck he carried.
Yrin's
nostrils went wide at the fire's scent. "Master," the poor
creature uttered with its unwieldy, heavy, hairy jaw. (Its Tramrini
was passable – it had been prepared for its scheduled trip into
Kheoran-Arigne and was conversant with humans.)
Merelioides
observed blood on the tunic it wore, that they'd managed to remove
from one of the cart-draggers before the tide had rushed in. The
porter had died of a broken neck and the blood was the hart's – and
only a few smears, as would result from careful butchering of game.
"Yes?"
"Master,
may this one have some water to wash the blood from his clothing?"
"I
have a spare shirt and cloak in my kit," Merelioides
replied, feeling pleased and satisfied. "He is welcome to these,
and some water also; however, he must wait. Give me the meat and I
will put it on the fire."
As
the streghi – no longer such, but a man – handed the pieces over,
it said, struggling with human speech as it would, doubtless, for the
rest of its life: "Praise God and serve him, Merelioides."
Red
(he had started thinking of himself thus within the last few years,
though he had said nothing to anyone about it) said, answering
carefully: "He is welcome." (Still he would not say "praise
God," though his sister had been cross with him a time or two
over this.)
Yrin
saw this in him, his reluctance, and smiled understandingly. Though
there was little way he could not be ravening at this moment – and
Merelioides
had witnessed that he had consumed neither blood nor meat from his
kill, or from anything killed in the last few hours of work – the
streghi would clean himself off, dress, and wait until his portion
was served.
Thais
would be ecstatic over this, was his thought. (He had not started
thinking of her by this name, her slave-name as she called it, until
the last couple of years, and it still made him feel a bit guilty.)
Even
though his feat had not equaled the Naxosos King's, Merelioides
felt he had played no less an important role.
***
(19 February 2025 / 17 March 2025 / 4 April 2025 / 29 May 2026)
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