The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  “Wonder what?”

  “What kind of story Zandakar has to tell,” she murmured. “Because you know what they say, Jones. Curiosity killed the cat.”

  Yes, they did say that. It was most disconcerting. “Ursa, where should we head now? This road out of Pipslock, where will it take us?”

  “To the river-station at Jabsford, which straddles the duchy line with Meercheq and Morvell. We don’t want to go anywhere near it. We’ll turn off before then and head towards Foscote.”

  She never ceased to amaze him. “How is it you know so many places?”

  “Because I’m an old wicked woman, Jones. And when I was young no matter how hard I scratched my itchy feet they wouldn’t let me stay in one place for long.” She closed her eyes then, which meant she didn’t want to talk any more.

  He took the hint and kept on driving.

  Some two hours after turning at the sign for Foscote he’d had enough of travelling and so had the horses. He’d found water for them at a carters’ stop an hour ago but they were tired and hungry, their heads drooping, ears flat. He guided them off the wide country road, down a rutted laneway with verges broad enough to hold the van and the tethered cobs.

  I’ll have to buy more oats for them, next village we come to. And supplies for us too. It’s bread and cheese for supper tonight.

  After settling the horses he joined the others. It was too dark to find wood for starting a fire, so they were crammed into the back of the van. A single lamp burned, they were saving the lamp oil, and Chaplain Helfred’s face was a shadowed patchwork of discontent.

  “No decent hot food?” he demanded as Ursa handed him his share of the night’s meagre meal. “How is a man meant to live on such pitiful rations?”

  “Hold your tongue, Helfred,” said Rhian, tearing her bread into small, crumby pieces. “At least it’s something to put in your belly.”

  He glowered at her. “This was a mistake. After sober consideration I’ve decided it’s wrong for us to travel any further. If we repent now, God will forgive us.”

  Rhian swallowed a mouthful of cheese. “Your uncle won’t.”

  “Prolate Marlan—”

  “Is a power-hungry despot. You’re wasting your breath, Helfred. We’re not going back.”

  Helfred put his plate aside. “You cannot keep me here against my will! That would be kidnapping a man of God! Your soul will be blackened beyond redemption if you don’t release me!”

  Rhian seared him with a look of contempt. “Release you? So you can run squealing back to Kingseat, make things up with your uncle and tell him my plans and where we are?” She dusted her hands together. “I don’t think so.”

  “Princess Rhian—”

  Cross-legged on the floor, with his back to the hinged doors, Zandakar lifted his head at the new tone in Helfred’s voice. Dexterity held his breath. The look in the dark man’s eyes was frightening. Cold and pitiless, it was like staring into the face of death.

  “No, Zandakar,” said Rhian, her hand raised. “Helfred can’t hurt me.”

  Zandakar frowned. “Rhian is all right?”

  She smiled at him, her cheeks tinted delicately pink. “I’m fine.”

  Dexterity cleared his throat. He didn’t dare look at Ursa, but knew they shared the same thought: Oh dear .

  “Chaplain, this isn’t easy for any of us,” said Ursa briskly. “But Princess Rhian is right. You can’t change your mind now. If it’s any consolation we’ll make sure to tell the prolate you were kept against your will, should the need arise.”

  Helfred’s back was pressed so hard against the wooden wall his shoulder blades were in danger of cracking. Ignoring Ursa, he pointed a shaking finger at Zandakar.

  “He wants to kill me! That heathen has murder in his heart!”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Rhian. “He just doesn’t like it when you raise your voice to me.” She gifted Zandakar with another radiant smile. “And I appreciate it. He’s a heathen foreigner who hardly speaks my language and he has more respect for me than one of my own subjects.” Her smile vanished. “How do you think that makes me feel, Helfred?”

  Helfred shook his head. “You’re a fool to trust him. All of you, fools. There’s a malevolence in him. Can’t you feel it? Are you all so blind?”

  “Oh, Helfred,” said Rhian, breaking the tautly uncomfortable silence. “You do make me tired. Another word out of you and I’ll push a sock in your mouth.”

  “Now, Highness,” said Ursa, reproving. “He’s your chaplain. A man of God. And until God discards him you’d be wise to remember that.”

  Rhian flushed again, but not with pleasure. “You take it upon yourself to task me?”

  “Please!” Dexterity said, lifting both hands placatingly. “Everyone! It’s late, and we’ve had a very trying day. Let’s not say or do anything we can’t mend. I’m going to check the horses, and then I think we should all just … go to sleep.”

  No-one disagreed with him.

  By virtue of rank and age, Rhian and Ursa had been granted the two sleeping-shelves. Dexterity left them rummaging about behind their curtain while Helfred and Zandakar eyed each other warily and cleared space on the floor. Carrying a second lamp, he went out to make sure the horses weren’t tangled in their tether lines. They were fine, dozing hipshot and not pleased to be woken. He patted them briefly then took advantage of the moment to relieve himself against a handy tree.

  “Dexie,” said Hettie, appearing without warning beside him.

  “Hettie!” His heart was threatening to pound through his chest. “Do you mind? I nearly had a nasty accident, then!”

  She glowed in the lamplight, dressed in pink. “I don’t have long, Dex. Let me speak, quickly.”

  He pulled a face as he rearranged his clothing. “You never have long, Hettie. Where do you rush to? What’s more important than telling me what’s going on?”

  Her smile was full of sorrow. “I can’t explain that. I don’t have time.”

  He felt a prickle of temper. “Hettie, you’re asking a great deal of—”

  “I know I am. Now hush. I’ve come to let you know you’re not forgotten. And to tell you not to travel north by river. It’s too risky. You’ll be discovered if you get on a barge.”

  “But Hettie, it’ll take us days if we go by road. We don’t have days.”

  “You’ll have the number of days that you need,” she said. “That much I can promise. And there are things that must happen while you’re on the road.”

  He stared. “What things? Hettie —”

  But she was gone again.

  “This is ridiculous, ” he grumbled, snatching up the lamp. Holding it high, he threw the light in a circle as far it could reach. “Hettie, come back here! Hettie, I need answers !”

  She didn’t return. The brown cobs stared at him in amazement, eyes liquid in the lamplight, nostrils flared wide, ears sharply pricked.

  “Oh, Hettie, ” he groaned, and let the lamp drop to his side. “What kind of trouble are you getting me in now ?”

  He stamped back to the van, pulled both halves of its hinged door shut behind him and doused the lamp he’d taken outside. The inside lamp had been turned down low. Helfred huddled beneath a blanket on the bench. Zandakar sat in the opposite corner, far too tall to lie down comfortably. He’d put a cushion behind his head and draped a blanket over his legs. His hands were quiescent in his lap.

  “Hello, Dexterity,” he said, his voice quiet. All traces of killing rage were gone from his face. His blue eyes were warm again, and sleepily lidded.

  “Hello, Zandakar,” he replied just as softly, and settled himself on the floor against the hinged door. Someone had left him a blanket and a cushion. He stretched out on his side with his knees tucked close to his chest. No sound came from behind the drawn curtain. Either Rhian and Ursa were asleep or they wanted everyone to think so.

  “Are you all right, Dexterity?”

  Goodness. In one short day Rhian’s ch
aplain had worked a miracle. Or perhaps Zandakar was working things out for himself.

  He nodded. “ Zho . I’m fine, Zandakar. You?”

  Zandakar shrugged. Said something in his own tongue. It sounded … derisive. Perhaps: What do you think?

  It was a good question. What do I think, Zandakar? I think Helfred was right. You did want to kill him. You want to kill anyone you see as a threat. And what that will mean for us … I’m not sure. Not yet .

  Zandakar tipped his head to one side. The faintest of blue sheens gleamed on his skull. He’d need to shave his head again soon or risk looking more outlandish than he did already. “Dexterity?”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  Vivid thoughts and feelings paraded across Zandakar’s face. For the first time Dexterity thought he could read the ex-slave’s inner self. Fear. Caution. Exhausted patience and a growing frustration. Aieee, I want to speak with him!

  “I know, Zandakar,” he said, and smiled. “I want to speak properly with you, too.” I want to know who you are and if, after everything, we should be afraid .

  “Tcha!” said Zandakar, rolling his eyes.

  “Sleep now, my strange friend.” He reached for the lamp and turned its wick down. The van’s interior plunged into darkness. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  Five minutes later, Helfred started to snore.

  They woke to a pink dawn gauzed with cloud. After a breakfast of more bread and cheese, Dexterity gave the others the news he’d been dreading to share.

  “What do you mean, not go by river?” said Rhian, staring. Her face looked subtly older with her hair cut so short. Curls crowded closely, outlining the elegant shape of her head. Her eyes stood out sharply, and her high cheekbones. She’d been beautiful before. Now she looked exotic, a young queen out of myth and legend, slender as whipcord … and about as yielding.

  “Jones,” sighed Ursa. “I think it’s time you told her.”

  “Told me what ?” demanded Rhian. “What’s going on here? I want to know. I won’t have secrets kept from me. Not any more.”

  The interior of the peddler’s van really was too small for so many people. Standing with his back to the hinged door, Dexterity bit his lip. “I understand, Highness. It’s just … well… there’s no way I can explain without sounding like a madman.”

  “Try,” said Rhian grimly. “Because I’m losing my temper. And as Helfred will tell you it’s not a pretty sight.”

  Seated beside her on the bottom sleeping-shelf Ursa shrugged, her eyebrows high. “What have you got to lose, Jones?”

  More things than he cared to think about. Oh, Hettie, Hettie. You should be explaining this instead of me! Tentatively, he cleared his throat. “Your Highness, do you remember when I came to you in the privy palace gardens?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “And you were amazed by how I knew what I knew when by all rights I should’ve known nothing?”

  “I’m still amazed.”

  “Yes. Well.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. Let his gaze drift to Helfred, still crammed in his corner and pretending not to listen. Then he looked at Zandakar, leaning against the wall. The man’s expression was intent, as though he could understand every word. “I used to be married a long time ago. To a woman named Hettie. I loved her very much … but she died.”

  Rhian’s severe expression softened. “I’m sorry. I never knew that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Why would you? You weren’t born when I lost her.”

  “I’m still sorry. But—and forgive me—what does her death have to do with us not travelling to duchy Linfoi by river?”

  He felt his insides strangle tight. “Hettie said not to.”

  “ Hettie said …” Rhian stood, hands fisted at her sides. “Mr Jones, is this some kind of joke ?”

  “No, Your Highness. Not unless it’s being played on me. Hettie tells me things. Things that turn out to be true. Last night she said we can’t travel by river, that we should stay on the road.”

  From the look on her face Rhian didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. “Mr Jones, do you hear yourself?”

  He nodded. “Sadly, I do.”

  In his sulky corner Helfred stirred. His eyes were alight with renewed vigour. “It’s a demonic visitation,” he pronounced, standing. “Princess Rhian, we must depart. To stay in this place is to imperil our souls.”

  For the first time Rhian looked at her chaplain without thinly veiled anger and deep dislike. “Demonic?”

  “Absolutely!” said Helfred promptly, and pointed at Zandakar. “That—that— man —is its fleshly incarnation!”

  “Oh, bilge!” said Ursa in disgust. “That man is a man, nothing more, nothing less. I dragged him kicking and screaming from death’s threshold, Chaplain, so I think I should know. And there’s nothing demonic about what’s happening here. I’ll lay you good money Hettie is God’s messenger in this.” She turned. “Come along, Jones! Don’t just stand there like one of your puppets! Tell the girl what else Hettie said!”

  He focused on the princess, trying to blot out the sight of Helfred’s appalled, self-righteous face and the watchful wariness in Zandakar’s eyes. “Rhian, it was Hettie who told me that Ethrea is in danger. About the prolate trying to marry you to the wrong man for the wrong reasons. I came to see you, to offer you my help, because she said I must. I don’t begin to understand what’s going on but I know she’s not a demon .” He flicked Helfred a hot glance. “There’s no such thing as demons. That’s just superstitious nonsense to frighten children.”

  “Blasphemy!” gasped Helfred. “You are an unbeliever!”

  “I don’t know what I am,” he said crossly. “I only know that when Hettie lived she was the sweetest, kindest, gentlest woman in the world … and all she cares about now is protecting Ethrea and saving the princess.”

  “This is very confusing,” Rhian muttered, and rubbed a hand across her eyes. “I’m not in the habit of taking counsel from men who talk to ghosts.”

  “And I assure you, Highness, I’m not in the habit of talking to them,” he said. “If it hadn’t been Hettie I’d have called it indigestion. But denying what’s happened since the first time she came to me would be like going outside and saying the sky isn’t blue.”

  The faintest of smiles touched Rhian’s face. “Put my fears at ease, Mr Jones. Poke your head out of the van and look up, would you? Just to make sure?”

  He smiled back at her as the knots in his chest began to ease. “It was blue ten minutes ago. I don’t think it’s changed since.”

  “Then I envy the sky,” she said. “My life has changed so much I can scarcely recognise it …”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Did Hettie say why we mustn’t travel by barge?”

  “Your Highness!” said Helfred, scandalised. “You can’t give this blasphemy credence! You can’t mean to remain with these—these— people !”

  Rhian scorched him with a look. “Be quiet, Helfred. Mr Jones?”

  The knots tightened again. “No, she didn’t, Your Highness. But I believe her. She’s my wife.”

  “Your wife is dead, Mr Jones,” said Helfred. “And this is outrageous . You endanger our souls by—”

  “I said be quiet, Helfred!” Rhian snapped. “Mr Jones endangers nothing. He saved me. How could he do that without divine guidance? Are you denying the existence of miracles?”

  “Of course not!” said Helfred, hotly. “But this toymaker is no Rollin!”

  “You don’t know that! You don’t know anything! You’re nothing but a toady for your precious uncle! Do you even believe in God?”

  Helfred spluttered incoherently, his face so red he looked in danger of his life. Dexterity exchanged a look with Ursa, who reached out and patted Rhian on the arm.

  “That’s enough, Your Highness. You’ve made your point.”

  “I don’t think I have,” Rhian said. “From the moment he was forced on me this horrib
le little man has thrown God in my face at every opportunity. And yet, when you get right down to it, how can any of us be certain God even exists? Has anyone seen him? Spoken to him? Heard his voice?”

  “No,” said Ursa. “That’s where faith comes in.”

  “ Exactly! And Mr Jones has faith in Hettie. Faith that’s been borne out because she was right. Do we have to see her to believe she’s on our side? Isn’t it enough that Mr Jones can see her?”

  “No!” declared Helfred. “Faith in God cannot be compared to faith in an apparition whose provenance is unproved!”

  “ You say!” spat Rhian. “But I say you’re wrong and God’s sent us a miracle. What a good thing you weren’t around in Rollin’s day, Helfred! Given the chance I bet you’d have shot the first arrow!”

  Helfred was shaking. “That is a monstrous accusation! You wicked girl, how dare you—”

  Zandakar stepped forward, his expression menacing. Rhian pointed at him. “You stay where you are! This is between me and my chaplain!”

  As Zandakar stopped, understanding Rhian’s tone and gesture at least, Dexterity cleared his throat. If I don’t do something we’ll tear ourselves to pieces, and what will happen to Ethrea then? “Chaplain Helfred, I’d like to ask you a question. If you don’t mind.”

  A moment of silence, as Helfred and Rhian battled for self-control. Then Helfred nodded. “Of course, Mr Jones.”

  “Why did you leave the clerica with us? Why not stay behind and raise the alarm?”

  Helfred laughed, an angry sound. He looked nothing like a chaplain, not out of his habit. In plain trousers and shirt he looked more like a ledger keeper or some other breed of persnickety indoors man.

  “As if you and your tame heathen would have let me! If I’d tried to call out you’d have—you’d have—”

  “We wouldn’t have hurt you,” said Rhian, contemptuous.

  “Perhaps not,” said Helfred, glaring. “But you’d have dragged me off with you against my will. Do you deny it?”

  Rhian stared at the floor. “No.”

  “But the point is we didn’t have to,” said Dexterity, quickly. “You came with us of your own accord, Chaplain. Because you know the prolate is wrong. You know something is gravely awry in Ethrea. And you know Princess Rhian is the only one who can put it right.”