by Devin Madson
The stink of burning herbs hit as we entered the main room, and Matsimelar screwed up his nose in distaste. He halted, seeming to want to keep distance between himself and the trembling ball of blankets. Peeking out of it, the woman smiled in wan welcome.
“I’m not sure it is safe for us to be here,” the young Levanti said, twisting his long, slim arms before him like a nervously woven shield. “She looks sick.”
“We won’t stay long. I just need a few answers.”
Matsimelar glanced back at the door, wistful. I hated I could not do this without his help. But how much more must he hate having no other purpose but to facilitate other people’s conversation.
“Introduce us,” I said. “Please. Just names, not titles. I don’t want to frighten her.”
Letting go a small sigh, Matsimelar pointed to himself and spoke his name, then mine, before saying something that sounded like a greeting. The woman’s reply was split by a sniffle.
“Her name is Livi,” he said. “And she welcomes us with God’s blessing to her home.”
Hardly her home, but I let that pass. “Ask her why she is not with the others and if there’s anything we can do to make her more comfortable.”
“I’m sure Dom Villius or Lord Nishi has already—”
“Just do it, Matsi. Please.”
He scowled at the shortening of his name but did as I asked. “She says she has a chill upon her lungs. She wished to go, but the rain would have been bad, so Veld blessed her remaining behind. She is sure it will pass, though some warmed wine and soup would be appreciated.”
“Tell her we shall send someone back with both when we leave.”
The translation of this was met with another wan smile and many thanks. That was one of the few words I did recognise, though the Chiltaens and the Kisians said it slightly differently, determined not even to have a language in common.
“Now tell her I have a few questions about the faith and ask if she will answer them.”
Matsimelar hesitated but translated my question. I had expected the woman to scowl and shake her head, to be as skittish as an untested colt, but her smile broadened to show yellowing teeth and she nodded.
“Anything you wish to know, she is more than happy to share the knowledge and the blessing of the One True God.”
Once more biting back a sarcastic reply, I knelt across the brazier from her, preferring the smell of the burning herbs to that of her sickly-sweet sweat. “Tell me about Leo Villius,” I said. “You called him Veld, why is that? Is it just another title for a religious leader?”
No sooner had the translation left Matsimelar’s lips than she was off, words spilling and her eyes overbright. It was too long a ramble to wait until she had finished, so he translated as she spoke, haltingly, staring at her lips and her gestures as he fought to catch her meaning if not the exact definition of her words. “No, the hieromonk is the head of the faith,” he said. “And his… position is passed down generation to generation. Not in the same family. To a Defender. Guided by the spirit of God.” Matsimelar’s lips moved even when he wasn’t speaking, as though it helped him understand her words. “He… no, Dom Leo Villius is special. He is as Veld. The foretold one—no, not foretold. The old one. One who has been before, I think.”
“Veld Reborn. Is that because he keeps coming back from the dead?”
“Probably?”
Livi had paused to look from me to Matsimelar and back.
“Ask her,” I said. “See if that’s what she means.”
“Captain, can we just—”
“I know you don’t want to be here. I know this shouldn’t have to be your job, but I need you and I’m sorry for it. Please ask the questions then we can go.”
He looked away, a hint of a flush upon his cheeks. “I just don’t see what purpose this serves.”
“Wise is the warrior who learns first and kills second. If His Majesty is intent on accepting Leo Villius into his court I must know all I can about him. My duty is to protect.”
In the silence Livi continued to look from one of us to the other, unsure. Then Matsimelar asked my question and once again translated as she answered. “In their… holy book”—the woman touched the worn cover of a book beside her on the floor—“Veld was the founder of the old holy empire, conquering divided heathens to build a glorious, unified people in service to the One True God. It was the purpose he was sent into the world to achieve, and he was killed six times and sent back by God six times before his purpose was complete.” Matsimelar halted a moment then added on his own, “So I think she means both. Dom Villius was reborn by their god, but Veld was a… historical figure who has been before. Who was also brought back by their god.”
“And they think Leo is here to do that again? Veld… reborn.”
“I guess so.”
“I remember the missionaries telling us the story, but just in case I have recalled it wrong, please ask her how Veld built an empire?”
Again the woman touched the cover of the book, drawing comfort from its presence. And when she spoke, it was with her eyes closed and her face upturned to the dark shadows lurking above. “By living God’s truth and God’s way,” Matsimelar translated. “By bringing people together rather than dividing them. By… gifting sight? I think she is saying, and wisdom, mercy and justice and love for all regardless of wealth or rank or people.”
She was in raptures now, blankets falling from her pale, scrawny arms as she held them aloft, trembling with the effort. “Peace can be possible in the empire of the One True God, and all who turn toward his benevolent sight shall be rewarded by his love. To the One True God we gift our bodies and our souls, our hearts and our—” Matsimelar winced. “She’s going too fast for me, but it sounds like all the sorts of things we say about our gods and isn’t very… practical.”
After a few more moments of rising pace her words became a chant and we let her go until her religious fervour burned itself out and her arms dropped. As though realising she had done a lot more than answer our questions, Livi pursed her lips in a sheepish little apology and once more drew the blankets around her shoulders.
“God is everything to me,” Matsimelar translated over the woman’s now husky voice. “God ought to be everything to everyone. If they but knew the peace he gifts to such devotion.”
“Then you came here to worship Le—Dom Villius,” I said. “Because you believe he will do the same thing Veld did in your book and create one unified empire under God, by… dying repeatedly to become a god.”
Livi started nodding before Matsimelar had finished. “He will. It is written,” she said, and I heard the conviction in her voice that words alone could not translate. “He will die again before it is complete and we will be there to protect and honour his fallen body, for there will be many disbelievers.”
Footsteps sounded in the passage and all three of us turned, Livi with the same weak smile she had worn upon our arrival. I tensed, fearing the very man we had been speaking about, but another Chiltaen woman walked in, dripping rain. She looked from Livi to us and also smiled in welcome. I still had questions, but her arrival meant the return of Leo to the compound and it was time to go.
Matsimelar spoke thanks for the hospitality and the conversation while I watched the interaction between Livi and her companion. There was nothing of suspicion there, nothing of silent communication, each as open and friendly as the other. Both entreated us to return should we ever wish to talk about God again. Livi’s hand never strayed from her holy book.
“Ask if I can borrow her book,” I said, not stopping to wonder if it was a rude question.
With the prospect of freedom so close, Matsimelar translated without argument, but Livi shook her head. “She cannot do without it,” he said. “But she believes Lord Nishi brought some copies with him for those interested in studying the faith.”
With nothing else to say, we left. Matsimelar let out a huff as we stood together on the steps, drawing up the hoods of our st
orm cloaks. “I don’t hate it,” he said after fussing with his long hair, trying to get it all beneath the hood. “I mean… I do hate it, but not for the reasons you seem to think.”
It took me a moment to realise he was talking about translating. “I’ve always loved languages,” he went on. “And I feel… special, I guess, needed, valued. This would be impossible without me and Oshar, but…” He stared out at the rain. “It isn’t a job, within a herd. Translating. I don’t know about the Jaroven, but the Torin had traders who knew enough to speak to merchants, but their job was to buy and sell and they were valued for bringing back goods we needed, not for just… speaking. We haven’t had… time to develop appreciation and value for what I do. It is not even valuable enough to warrant being Made.” Those were bitter words, but he folded his long arms over his cloak and looked no accusation at me. “Change takes time and important work is never easy,” he added, and I wondered if he was quoting Gideon, if he had asked to be Made and been denied the opportunity.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but what good would it do no matter how much I meant it?
Nearby, Lady Sichi and Nuru stood amid a circle of Levanti, snatches of laughter floating our way. It sounded as though she was practicing Levanti words and phrases to much acclaim, and I didn’t have to turn my head to know Matsimelar scowled. These were the very same Levanti who did not value our translators though they held all our dreams together.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing there were better words.
He shrugged like a man shaking off a troublesome fly. “It’s fine,” he said, his tone betraying him. “It’s good one of them is trying to talk to us rather than expecting us to learn their language. Grace Bahain hates it, you know. I heard he’s forbidden her from making these… displays, he calls it, says she is demeaning herself.” Matsimelar turned a smirk my way. “Really I think he just hates that she’s becoming far more popular with us than he is. Oh, look, the man himself.”
Grace Bahain strode down the shallow steps from the manor, with a man in uniform whom I often saw in his company. They looked to be having a heated discussion, or at least the duke was, his companion weathering all without comment. Lady Sichi looked up as they passed, the slight straightening of her back and rolling of her shoulders the only sign of recognition she showed. His step faltered and I thought we were to be entertained with the sight of them shouting at one another in the drizzly courtyard, but Grace Bahain gathered himself and strode on. He and his companion passed close by, the duke’s low grumbling like the growl of an animal.
I looked at Matsimelar before I could stop myself. He rolled his eyes. “He’s just complaining about Dom Villius. He dislikes the priest’s influence with Gideon even more than he hates Lady Sichi’s popularity. It sounds like Dom Villius is in there now and Bahain is having to wait for a meeting.”
“In there now? They’re back?”
Grace Bahain’s head snapped around at the sound of my voice. He did not stop walking, but he stared at me until the wall of the building stole him from view.
“I have to go,” I said. “But thank you. I’m sorry not enough people value what you do, but for what it’s worth, I do.”
He gave me an awkward nod and a strained smile, and unable to go on standing beneath the weight of my own self-conscious embarrassment, I mumbled another thanks and hurried away.
Returning to the manor, I found Jass in the entrance hall. Catching sight of me, he tucked his hands behind his back in a way that accentuated the muscles in his arms, although in truth anything he did tended to have that effect.
“Captain.”
“Waiting for me again?” I said, deciding I had energy only for bluntness.
“No. Yes.” The gods only knew how a man who looked strong enough to rip off limbs could appear so awkward. He had been all easy confidence when we’d first met, but it seemed to have abandoned him. “Yes, I was waiting for you, Captain. I had something else I wanted to say the other day and I didn’t so I’m just going to say it now.” He glanced briefly along the narrow hall, but for all the distant sounds of activity farther into the manor, we were alone. “After I got over myself the other night and realised I’d been a total ass, I also realised you wouldn’t have been so upset at me unless you were already upset at something else and maybe you needed someone to talk to. And I…” He sucked a breath and let it out hard. “Want to be that someone.”
I stared at him, his words still not quite sinking in.
“To make amends!” he added suddenly, his blush making him look barely older than a saddleboy. “You know… for what I said.”
“Right.”
“Yeah. So… are you… is everything… all right?”
Lashak asked me that question every day, and every day I had a different answer, but we were working through our hurts in our own way together and I had no desire to give the hurt the Chiltaens had forced upon me more space in my mind. Yet I didn’t want to walk away either, to decline his offer, when it had taken a lot of courage to make it.
“I was on my way to see His Majesty. Walk with me?”
With a relieved smile, Jass fell in beside me, regaining something of his earlier confidence as we strode in time along the passage. “Tell me what you think about this sudden spike in deserters,” I said.
“Oh, um, I haven’t really given it a lot of thought, Captain.”
“Then give it some thought. I admit I am not entirely able to make sense of it. This is not easy”—I gestured around to indicate a general everything that we were doing—“but then whenever has life on the plains been easy? We are used to challenge and adversity. In many ways it has shaped who we are.”
“But there is the challenge and adversity of survival, and there is challenge and adversity that gains one nothing,” he said. “Who chooses hardship fighting the unfamiliar when the familiar still exists? The longer we are away the more sentimental we become and many have begun to forget the troubles that landed us here in the first place.”
I gave him a sidelong look as the last of his impassioned words faded away. “That is a very pretty speech for someone who hasn’t given the subject any thought.”
He met my gaze with his mischievous smile. “Isn’t it?”
“Have you given as little thought to the presence and rebirth of Leo Villius?”
“The things I have given little thought to are endless, Captain.”
“Well?”
“I thought we were going to talk about you.”
I glanced at him again, and again he met my gaze with that smile. “You asked what troubles me,” I said. “These are the things that trouble me.”
Jass saluted an acknowledgement and I stared ahead rather than at the bulge of his arms or his smile or his broad shoulders. “I think I am not alone in saying the presence of Dom Villius here makes me uncomfortable,” he said. “Many of us may be forgetting the specific pain of what brought us here, but no number of lived days will scrub the memory of missionaries from my mind.”
“Did they ever perform puppet shows for you?”
“Yes, I recall that.”
I stopped walking at the end of the passage to Gideon’s rooms, outside which two of my Swords were ant-sized figures standing guard. “Do you remember the story about the man who died again and again only to eventually become a god?”
“Yes. The puppet had creepy eyes.”
“Yes!” My exclamation echoed along the passage. “Yes,” I repeated more quietly, gripping his arm. “I think about that puppet every time I see him now. The pilgrims think Dom Villius is the man from their stories, that he will die again and again until he ascends to godhood and builds them an empire.”
I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper, but though I expected Jass to laugh or tell me it was just a story, he nodded. “Definitely something worthy of your concern, Captain. Especially since if he has designs on this empire he’ll have to get rid of Gideon to do it.”
I had barely been able to voice my concer
ns at all, let alone so succinctly. “Exactly.” I heaved a sigh, wishing the answer was as simple as kill the bastard. I looked along the passage to the door at the end. “Thank you for listening to me and for your… unconsidered opinions about things you’ve clearly given no thought.”
“You’re welcome, Captain. My unconsidered opinions are yours whenever you have need of them.”
“Generous. Now go on, I have to see Gideon.”
Jass saluted. “Captain.”
Baln and Tafa en’Oht were on duty outside the emperor’s door, both members of the original dozen guards Gideon had gathered before appointing me the task. As such they had not chosen me as their captain and showed me less respect, a fact I hoped to change over time as I earned it.
“Emperor Gideon is occupied, Captain,” Baln said as I approached.
“With Dom Villius, yes, I know. How long has he been in there?”
Baln and Tafa shared a look. “Maybe half an hour?” Tafa said, shrugging her shoulders. “Since he came back from outside the walls. Lord Nishi was here too, but he left a little while ago.”
“They both came straight here?”
“I don’t know, Captain, I—”
She broke off as a serving girl shuffled toward us along the passage, her eyes lowered to her tray of food. She risked a glance up at the two guards, then at me, before lowering her eyes again and saying something none of us could understand. Baln sprang to open the door for her anyway, sliding it all the way. Warmth seeped out of the room, and while the serving girl awaited permission to enter, I leaned in, catching sight of Gideon and Leo kneeling at the table.
I cleared my throat. “Your meal is here, Your Majesty.”
“Send it in,” Gideon said, not looking up.
Leo, however, turned his head and smiled in welcome. “Commander Dishiva.”
