Jinove emerged from his reverie when he realized that the supplicant was not only standing, but also excitedly waving his arms in the air.
“Stop that,” Jinove managed to speak, gesturing for the large representative of the House of Garmoleth the Unblinking to sit down. Jinove stared as the man, red-faced from exertion, did his best to calm himself.
“Now,” said Jinove, watching the man wipe the sweat off his face with his chasuble. “What were you saying?”
“Forgive me, good Clerk,” the heaving man began. “I did not mean offense, but when you said there was still no room, my devotion to Garmoleth the Unblinking moved me to protest.”
“And why is that?” Jinove asked.
“Because there is room now!” The supplicant’s words boomed in the small room. “Word on the street is that the House of Uliser the Stormbound, that false and minor god of weather, is in ruins. Uliser is dead! The House of Garmoleth the Unblinking will now have a home!”
“Preposterous!” Jinove stood and shouted back. “I do not traffic in rumors. If there were such a vacancy, I would have known about it. Stay here and touch nothing. I will prove to you the spurious nature of your so-called news.”
Jinove took his walking cane and left the representative of the faraway island of Salgassia’s god of silent watchers standing alone in his office.
MINARE FEGRIM, FIRST Clerk of the Department of Supplication, cursed under his breath at the list of things that he needed to deal with. Most of his men were dealing with routinary tasks: settling never-ending disputes between rival faiths; receiving, filing, and handling paperwork for various mundane requests of the temples and churches, such as permits for processions and consecrations; managing the complex aggregated religious calendar of the thousand faiths with all the unavoidable overlaps of time and demands for limited City resources; preventing the change to routine escalation of grievances to the point of violence by preserving the right of all religions to honor their gods for as long as no one was hurt; and overseeing the flow of pilgrims who came for different festivals.
What Minare was concerned most about was the upcoming selection of the City Pantheon. Every seven years, twenty-four gods were chosen to be given the highest honor, by having their visages enshrined on all of the City’s main gates, with the likenesses of the previous pantheon taken down with dignity. While not a direct result of any Edict of the One God, this institution was established decades ago by one of the Divided Emperors, who, in Minore’s silent opinion, knew little of how disastrous the wrong selection could potentially be. Ignoring the powerful priests of the three gods with the largest number of followers was to risk bloodshed, which was why the City never faltered in including Damas the Beloved, Chresis in Chains, and Great Mother Alshay in the Pantheon. But it was also important that other faiths be represented, for in the course of time various gods accrued followers and influence. With the Governor’s command to ensure the continued stability of the City, Minare found himself besieged with appointments and meetings from representatives of many of the major gods in the City, especially as the time of the selection neared.
For the new iteration of the Pantheon, he was certain of only half of his selections, and had a list of several meetings each day into the next few months.
“Forgive my intrusion, First Clerk Fegrim.” An old man’s voice accompanied the opening of his office’s door.
Minare waved Jinove in. “Make it quick, Third Clerk Hargam. As you can see, I am busy,” he told the stooped older man.
“Of course, First Clerk.” Jinove nodded. “I would just like confirmation, sir. Is there now an opening in the City?”
“What?” Minare’s eyes widened. “How would I know about that? Can’t you see that the selection is nearly upon us? How dare you bother me with such a question?”
“I’m sorry, First Clerk, but I thought—”
“I have no time for such a thing. What matters are the older faiths, the established ones. Now, unless Chresis in Chains himself has vanished, do not bother me.”
“I just wanted to—”
“Make yourself useful and see for yourself if such a thing is true.”
“But sir, my duties—”
“Include settling such things, am I not right? You very well know there’s a long line of—”
“Yes, sir, I would like to—”
“Handle it, Third Clerk.” Minare pointed to the door.
Wordlessly, Jinove left his presence.
“Damas, preserve me from old idiots,” Minare muttered under his breath, regarding his latest draft of the new Pantheon with profound irritation. He scratched two names off the list and pondered potential replacements.
JINOVE SPENT THE greater part of the day traveling across the City, clutching a short scroll that contained the quick research he’d conducted into the House of Uliser the Stormbound before he left. When the centers and clergy of the first and oldest faiths were forcibly relocated, they were given vast tracts of land in the circle closest to the top of Mount Eluvium. In that rarified embrace, towering spires and gilt cathedrals stood next to the expansive structures of the City’s government, including the Governor’s Hall and the numerous Departments. When Jinove checked departmental records, he found out that the rumored fallen House of Uliser the Stormbound was located at the outmost peripheral circle of the City, as befitted its status as a minor faith.
Jinove made his way through the press of devotees and priests, pilgrims and vendors of food, sacred animals and processions of icons, statues, and holy relics, stopping only in the fifth circle gate for a midday meal and to rest his weary legs. He had long dismissed the representative of the House of Garmoleth the Unblinking, who had of course offered to accompany him, since they were both going in the same direction. He found his tolerance for the fat and sweaty priest was next to nonexistent.
By the time the sun set, he made it to the final circle, where he found himself both exhausted and bewildered by the sheer press of people. The space for the faithful was much smaller there, compared to the expanses afforded the older faiths. From where he stood, he could see stone temples sharing walls with wooden shrines, sacramental pools crisscrossed by makeshift bridges to handle the flow of traffic, one faith’s curlicued stellae stunted by the thin branches of another faith’s hallowed tree, and people everywhere, ambulatory or in stalls, selling beads and necklaces, prayer pouches and teakwood medallions, hope scrolls and blessed water in tiny ceramic flasks, as well as religious vestments of all sorts: bindles and madisars, robes and skufiyas, hats and dastars, cassocks and hijab, veils and epanokamelavkion.
He drew himself to his full height and, presenting his emblem of office that identified his name, function, and rank, began to ask directions to the House of Uliser the Stormbound, whose devotees, his departmental research informed him, frequently tattooed themselves with a lightning symbol.
When he finally located the site, it was long past his suppertime. While he inwardly rebuked himself for not making preparations to spend the night at the final ring, he looked at the single-storey sanctified structure that once honored the weather god of the Kanadin.
It was empty. He found the heavy marble statue of Uliser, decorated with a lightning motif, on the dais of the temple’s single hall, where it should be. But the adjoining rooms for the priests were void of both people and items, whether religious or personal.
“How can this be?” Jinove asked himself, mystified by the absence of people and, save for the marble statue, accoutrements of their faith.
Immediately he called upon the clergy of the immediate neighboring faiths, the Houses of Akbo the Unsmiling, Koukoulion the Lesser, and Semantham the Twice Resolved, requisitioning a market stall nearby to conduct his questioning, in deference to the practice of treating all faiths equally.
“We know nothing about this, good Clerk,” the Templarian of Akbo spoke with conviction. “Why would you think we did? We were at peace with those tattooed unbelievers.”
; “Truly, kind Clerk, we only noticed it last eve,” the heavyset Hierodeacon of Koukolion insisted. “The Stormbound usually kept to themselves. We did not bother them, they did not bother us. Are we in danger? Can this happen to my House as well?”
“We mind the only the business of the Twice Resolved,” the Chosen of Semantham said, pulling her saree over her left shoulder. “We have no quarrel with the House of Uliser. Perhaps their god whisked them away. Who knows about their strange beliefs?”
Jinove spent an hour interrogating the three before he finally dismissed them with dissatisfaction, unable to accept their claims of not seeing and not knowing what occurred. He thought about the mystery as he ate a late supper, refusing culinary offerings from the three faiths he’d interviewed and instead purchasing bread and a flask of weak wine from down the street.
How can the faithful of an entire House vanish? he thought, as he chewed bread slowly.
“Many pardons, good Clerk.” A young man bowed his head in front of Jinove.
Jinove smiled at him. “Beis, that is your name, yes? Good, you’ve returned. But I asked you to bring me a priest from the House of Uliser. You return alone.”
“I’m sorry, good Clerk,” Beis replied. “But I could find none.”
“How can that be? Did you try looking for a devotee? One of Uliser’s believers? You will know them by the sign of the lightning bolt they decorate their upper arms with.”
“Yes, good Clerk. But there are none to be found. They are just gone.”
Jinove gave the man a coin, dismissed him and turned to his own thoughts, acutely aware of how much he missed the comfort of his home. Grudgingly, he made plans to stay overnight at the circle’s nearest benefice, a hostel for governmental workers who wanted a drink after their duties. It wasn’t home, but at least it was decent accommodations.
“I DO NOT see the problem,” Nathenos Deroli opined, as he nursed his goblet of sacramental wine. “In fact, I do not see how this is a problem. So they are gone. Perhaps Uliser took them to live with him in the sky. Who knows? Who cares?”
“I care,” Jinove told the younger man pointedly. They shared a table at the benefice’s dining room, which was almost filled to capacity by administrative functionaries and a smattering of Imperial soldiers, despite the late hour. Jinove did not have much of a choice of where to sit, and regretted sharing with Natheros the reason he was in the final circle.
“But why? So they’re gone. I’m certain there are many other faiths outside the City walls who would be delighted to take their place.”
Jinove regarded the bearded man with ill-concealed annoyance. “It matters because the City needs to know what happened to them. I need to know what happened to them.”
“But—”
“What is it you do again, Fifth Clerk Deroli? I mean, specifically?”
“Well, primarily fire prevention. Do you know that most fires are—”
“And how would you react if a mysterious blaze suddenly erupted and devoured a House? Would you not investigate?”
“Well, yes, but I—”
“Yes, you would,” Jinove stated with finality. “Do not presume to understand the intricacies of my own responsibilities.”
Nathenos drank the remains of his wine before breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Well, much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure meeting you, Third Clerk Hargam, it’s long past time I went home.”
“Fine, fine,” Jinove muttered, waving the other man away. “Home. I’d rather be home. Who wouldn’t?”
He stared into his cup of wine. “Home,” he repeated softly. “Home!”
Jinove raised his eyes from his cup, fought his way through the mass of people to the master of the benefice, settled his bill, cancelled his request for a bed for the night, and made his way to the City gates, as fast as his painful feet and battered walking cane could manage.
IT WAS AN hour before midnight when Jinove was able to make his way through the throng of sleeping pilgrims, huddled in their robes in front of the City gates, and speak to the Captain of the evening watch.
The City of the Gods permitted the influx of pilgrims into and out of the City only on certain prescribed days and times. Waiting to enter or leave the City could take a number of days at best, due to various governmental laws concerning straining the City’s finite resources. Pilgrims outside the City dwelled in makeshift tents. Those who wished to depart did whatever they could to make themselves comfortable in front of the closed City gates.
After presenting his credentials to the Captain, Jinove explained the entire situation, as well as why he needed the help of the evening watch.
“Are you certain, good Clerk?” the Captain asked, stroking his thick moustache. “If you are, then it is no imposition for me to fulfill your request. After all, I have the men. But if you are wrong—”
“Then I will be responsible for a civic disturbance. And I will gladly write and file the report myself,” Jinove said. “But I am not wrong. I am familiar with festivals and such—and especially knowledgeable about the comings and goings of pilgrims. Do you not recognize my emblem, good Captain?”
“I do, good Clerk. But do you have a permit, good Clerk?”
“No, good Captain.” Jinove forced a genial smile. “And by the time I go to the first circle, request one, and bring it here, you or the day watch would have opened the gates.”
“But how will you know who is what, which is which?” the Captain asked. “With their robes and hoods, all pilgrims looks the same.”
“If not by my words, then by their own faith.” Jinove drew a deep breath. “Can I count on your assistance, good Captain?”
JINOVE LOOKED CAREFULLY, as the men of the evening watch finished awakening all the pilgrims, gathering them in front of the gate. When the Captain of the evening watch was satisfied that his men were in position, he gave Jinove the signal to speak.
“Good evening, all,” Jinove began, the pilgrims pressing closer to hear his thin voice. “Forgive the inconvenience, but there is something important that has to be done in the name of the City of the Gods.”
Men and women listened to the old man on the guard’s low parapet. Some, drawing their robes closer, rubbed the interrupted sleep from their eyes, others stifled irrepressible yawns, while some listened more intently than others.
“I am a believer in the City. I am a believer in the Divided Empire. I am a custodian of the law. And it is against the laws of both City and Empire for a House to leave.”
His words provoked sudden reactions of shock and dismay.
“We are only pilgrims, good sir,” one man shouted. “And the festival of Ilmurra-Aphelen the Riven is over! We just wish to go home!”
“And you shall be permitted to return to your homes outside the City, as all pilgrims are. That is, those of you who are truly pilgrims.”
More voices were raised in protestation.
“But that is what we are, what we all are.” A woman raised her voice, dropping her hood to reveal her long dark hair. “Even if we all came to venerate different gods!”
“True enough, my kind lady,” Jinove replied. “All true pilgrims are welcome to leave, when the gates open in a few hours. But I’m afraid not all of those who stand here are.”
Jinove raised his arms to silence the ensuing commotion. The men of the evening watch struck their halberds into the ground repeatedly, until the crowd fell into silence.
“I speak of the House of Uliser the Stormbound, lord of lightning, protector of the Kanadin,” Jinove shouted, nearly out of breath. “I speak of its priests and consecrated laity, who undertake to leave the City under false pretenses—as pilgrims! In the name of the City and the Divided Empire, I demand you reveal yourselves now.”
Not a single person moved in the stunned quiet.
“Before I request that all men and women bare their upper arms,” Jinove said. “Your mark of devotion will be your undoing. Your god’s own marking will betray you.”
�
�Blasphemer!” A sudden flurry of movement stirred within the crowd. Within moments, twenty men separated themselves from the screaming crowd and rushed the gates. “For Uliser!”
The Captain of the evening watch did not need to signal his men. The trained Imperial soldiers engaged the desperate priests and devotees of Uliser the Stormbound, taking advantage of the reach of their halberds. In quick succession, the men were routed, stripped of their weapons and pilgrim vestments and forced to their knees in front of the low parapet where Jinove stood. The remaining shocked pilgrims pointed at the revealed tattoos that covered the upper arms of each of the priests of Uliser.
“We just want to go home,” a priest of Uliser shouted.
I know, Jinove thought, shaking his head. I know.
JINOVE HARGAM HAD barely finished his report and recommendations, when the next supplicant came through the door of his cramped workspace.
“House of Garmoleth the Unblinking?” Jinove asked without raising his eyes.
“Yes, good Clerk.”
Jinove looked up at the heavyset man and pointed to an empty seat in front of his sagging desk. “I’m afraid you need to wait a while longer.”
STRANGE WEATHER
TENET PAUSED at the ridge, licked the dry dust from her lips, and looked at the small settlement that clung to the side of the mountain in the distance. Behind her, the uneven path was an unending brown, broken only by the heavy footprints of her mule.
“Well, Alister,” she said to her mule, “let’s hope that this one is better than the last.” She tugged at the reins, squinted her eyes, and looked for the best way down. “Though I doubt it.”
As she neared the village, Tenet briefly considered passing it completely. The few houses that she could see looked tired and worn down, as if abandoned by the hope of better days. A few fields were marked by erratic stone fences, with only small clusters of greenery managing to break free from the earth’s embrace.
At a nearby well, a man and a woman watched her approach.
“Stranger.” The wiry man in rough homespun nodded in her direction. “Are you passing through?”
How to Traverse Terra Incognita Page 3
