Just another day in You-Know-Where (Scarlett_156's blog): Excerpt from "JTPYO / King of the Land of the Dead [3]

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)

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-lizards¹ 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)

1"Fire lizards" (iakhani /im) are large, desert-dwelling reptiles. Unlike the other large desert lizards, the fufrit, iakhani do not live in warrens, use weapons and tools, or walk and run on two legs: They are mostly solitary, large and thick-bodied, and relatively slow-moving, relying on their great strength, particularly in their bite, to capture and kill their prey. The fire-lizards are fond of corpses; upon finding a corpse, a female fire-lizard will consume part of it, then lay a clutch of eggs in its torso, to provide food for her young after they hatch. The iakhani are not as clever and quick as the fufrit, but are perhaps more dreaded, as the fufrit seldom mess with humans.

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Friday, May 29, 2026

Excerpt from "JTPYO / King of the Land of the Dead [3] - a devil's work (the streghi)"

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