by Andy Sparrow
“Ho! Valhad,” he called and all three turned.
“Torrin,” said Valhad beaming, “So are you invited too?”
Marasil and Alasam shuffled uneasily, looking this way and that.
“We should not talk of this here,” said Alasam, casting anxious glances around them.
“We are to meet some others,” said Marasil quietly. “It is not where His Lordship's protector should be.”
“Let me judge that for myself,” said Torrin.
“Very well,” said Alasam, sighing, “follow us now.”
They turned into another shadowy alley and stopped before a narrow door with a peephole. After Alasam had knocked, bolts were heard sliding back before the door swung inwards. They were admitted to a chamber that had been used as a storeroom in times past; a few rotting sacks remained and the air was dank. Gathered in the broad chamber, lit by candlelight, were more than thirty people. They stood in semi-circle around a bearded, wrinkled elderly man who returned their gaze with twinkling and intelligent eyes.
“Welcome friends, old and new,” he said as they joined the gathering.
“Many times I am asked,” said the speaker, “if change can come to Etoradom without bloodshed, and how this will be accomplished. I say that change has happened, is happening even as we speak. Has not the Emperor instructed the Synod that new interpretations of the Text may be formally presented for consideration? Here on the summit of creation our city has stood for two hundred turns of the world. What is the source of that constancy? It is our covenant with God that sets us above all others, His hand that protects us. I believe that God speaks to the Emperor, that change will come to the priesthood, perhaps not in our lifetimes for we are but flowers that bloom and are gone. Etoradom is eternal, and with…”
“Tell us then, Draigar…” Interruption came from a younger man who stood forward from the listeners. “Tell us this; are there not great cities in the south? Cities that prosper, where men speak freely, where sisters and daughters are not stolen and raped?”
“Yes. There are such places.”
“And what gods are worshipped there?”
“False gods. They have not yet the blessing of the Text.”
“False gods. And yet they live freely under laws that are more just than our own. I say this to you Draigar, I say it to all of you, that if men can live good lives under false gods then they can lead good lives without God at all. Where is God? Where has the God of the Text gone? The God who would smite down enemies, brings plagues of retribution upon His own peoples, or speak in booming tones from the clouds above? Why is He now so quiet? Shall I tell you? Because there is no God, and if ever there was then He has gone and now it is our world. We must make our own judgments of what is right and wrong.”
“And on what laws will you found the new world?” asked Draigar angrily. “What creed will you invent? The worship of wealth? The worship of power? All our laws are taken from the Text, all our values are found within, what will your Godless world be like?”
The young man drew breath and was about to respond when a new voice spoke out strongly.
“How wrong you both are.” The crowd turned to see who had spoken and Valhad stepped forward.
“Listen to them,” said Valhad looking around at the many faces. “Listen to the oldest questions men have asked; what is God? Is there a God? There must be an answer to such a question, surely? An absolute yes, or no. One must be right and one must be wrong. Either there is a God or there is not?”
Torrin watched as Valhad stepped into the centre of the circle. He had never heard his friend speak with such a passion, such a stern wisdom. The blue eyes burned and seemed to stare at every watcher.
“I am not of your faith,” said Valhad, raising a hand now, beginning to make slow gestures with the sweep of his hand, and the touching together of fingertips.
“I come from a land farther away than you could imagine,” he said, voice descending almost to a whisper, and then rising again, “but I have read your Text. I've read about your God, about His extermination of your enemies, who too are his own children, about His requirement for your homage, sacrifice and worship. Do you know what you have done? Do you?”
He waited for a moment, let the question hang upon the air, and then continued.
“You have taken something bigger, vaster than you can begin to imagine, and you have made it small. You have diminished it to this little word of three letters.”
Valhad sighed and paused. There was no interruption. All around stood transfixed and waited.
“Who are we?” asked Valhad, “who are we to know of God? Can you tell the blind man of the rainbow? The deaf man of birdsong? God is more than you have made him, more than the jealous judge and lawmaker. He does not need our worship, can you not see that? We are made free. Whatever God is, whether we believe in God or not, it does not matter; we must make our own lives.”
There was silence in the chamber as every listener pondered the words that Valhad had spoken. Then the man called Draigar spoke.
“How can we know right and wrong without God’s wisdom?” he asked.
“We can,” said Valhad, “because within us we have a sense of what is right and what is wrong. I do not know if God gave us this, and it does not matter. But there is just enough goodness, just enough, spread between us to keep the world from darkness.”
“So why are the priests as they are?” asked a bitter voice in the crowd.
“Because when men who will not listen to their hearts, or men not blessed with goodness, when such men exclude all but their own kind then evil will command. We have the power to know goodness in other men; we know who we would choose to govern us. So it is with my people. So it is with the Vasagi.”
“So what of the Text? Should we not be rid of it forever? Should not everyone be burnt?”
“No,” said Valhad shaking his head slowly, “your Text may say little that is true of God but is has much to say of men. There is much to learn of their failings, and their strengths. The Text may teach you that at least.”
The crowd was murmuring now and many questions were asked of Valhad. They gathered around him as he listened patiently to their concerns, and then all were silent as he answered. A bell tolled distantly.
“We must go. His Lordship will return soon,” said Alasam.
They managed to extract Valhad from the many who were eager to hear his words.
“Teacher, will you speak to us again?” asked one of the gathering, as they left the room.
They hurried back through the alleys.
“I am not happy with what I have seen,” said Torrin to Marasil as they led the way.
“You should not be, for our master's duty is to suppress such meetings. It would not be a good place for any of us to be found.”
“Aye, true enough, but that is not my main concern. Valhad is what troubles me. He has no sense to know when he should be silent. Do not take him there again, for his own sake.”
“I do not know if I can stop him, or even if I should. He has a wisdom unlike any other I have known.” As Marasil spoke she glanced back at Valhad, eyes full of fascination and concern.
“It will be the death of him yet,” said Torrin bitterly.
They passed back into the inner citadel, past the suspicious and wary guards at the gate, and returned to the villa. They had barely entered when hooves and carriage wheels sounded outside, heralding the return of His Lordship.
“We did not expect you back this soon, Lord,” said Alasam, bowing in greeting.
“ Cardinal Saloxe, may God preserve him, had other pressing business. I shall retire now, you may send Graselle to me.”
“Yes, Lord. Marasil, where is Graselle?”
Marasil went to the servants’ quarters calling for her but no reply came. Then she let out a scream that brought all the household running. In the ornamental pool behind the villa the body of Graselle floated face down. Marasil waded in crying and sobbing. She rolled the lif
eless body over and held her, kneeling in the water, clutching her in her arms. The face was pale and waxy; all could see that she was dead. His Lordship stood blank faced, only the slightest trembling of his lips and the misting of his eyes, betraying his shock and pain. Torrin and Valhad rushed past together to lift her from the pool and lay her down upon the paved courtyard.
“Torrin,” said Valhad, “do you remember what we saw at Iranthrir; the boy who was drowned?”
“Aye. We could try. Do you remember the way of it?”
Valhad tilted Graselle's head back pinched her nose and covered her mouth with his.
“What are you doing to her?” demanded His Lordship, angry and confused. “Don't touch her!”
He rushed forward but Torrin held him back.
“Lord, Lord, let him try.”
“To raise the dead? Get your hands off me, Vasagi or I swear you'll be in the Cloisters. Don’t practice your witchcraft on her. I'll kill you both for this you savages.” He turned to the other servants and shouted, “get him off me!”
The others who had gathered, reluctantly moved towards Torrin. He pushed His Lordship back towards them and reached for his sword. The blade unsheathed and filled the space between them. All the while Valhad breathed into Graselle's lifeless mouth.
“Stay back!” said Torrin
“Alasam, call the guard,” His Lordship ordered, and then added, “you are dead, Vasagi.”
The sound of coughing came. His Lordship and the servants looked past Torrin with disbelief as Graselle rolled her head towards them, her eyes half open. She mumbled something incoherent.
Torrin slid the sword back into its sheath and stood silent. For a few moments all was still and then His Lordship barged past and took Graselle in his arms. He looked at Valhad as if seeing him for the first time.
“How could you do what you have done?” he asked.
“Any man could do it,” said Valhad, “if he were taught the way.”
Amongst the mutterings of the gathered servants Torrin heard a word whispered; the word was ‘miracle’.
Graselle was nursed through her recovery in His Lordship's chamber. He stayed with her through all the time of sleeping, sitting beside her bed, holding her hand in his as she slept. When he seemed sure that she would live he summoned Torrin to meet with him alone. He asked how they had learnt of the art that saved Graselle's life and Torrin told him what they had seen from the ship. He seemed satisfied that no magic or heresy was involved but then said:
“Vasagi, you will not tell anyone of how you learnt this thing.”
“But, Lord, they think it was a miracle; that we of the Vasagi have healing powers.”
“Let them think so. Let my enemies believe that my protector comes from a strange people who can breathe life into the dead. Instruct your young friend that he is not to speak of it.”
“As you wish, Lord.”
“And Vasagi, you realise that if Graselle had died you would be dead also?”
“Aye. But there was no time to think of such things, only of what must be done.”
“But do not ever again lay hands on me, or draw sword against me.”
The next time Torrin walked with Valhad through the city he sensed many eyes upon them; rumour and whisper seemed to be all around. As they passed one doorway a man emerged and begged Valhad to come within. There, laying in a fever, was a sickly girl-child close to death. The father pulled back the sheet to reveal a leg ulcer that had made the whole limb swollen and discoloured. Valhad sat amongst the family giving words of comfort and gently stroking the sweating brow; there was no more that could be done. When they left a small crowd had gathered in the road outside and there many entreaties to attend the sick or crippled.
“I cannot attend you all,” said Valhad, “and there is no man blessed with the healers touch than can cure all ills. Do not despair too much. I cannot offer promises of heaven, or life everlasting as the priests do. I will not say suffer now and be rewarded, but what I do know is that all things find balance; that all is reconciled in ways that we cannot understand, and nor should we try.”
As Valhad spoke the crowd began to grow. Torrin watched uneasily as the patrolling solders on the spoke wall stopped and looked down upon them. The eye of the watchers had come upon them.
The time of sleeping came and Torrin began his long vigil in the darkened house. As he patrolled the lower floor he heard faint sounds coming from the kitchen and went to investigate. Within he found Valhad working at the table by the light of a candle, busy with a mortar and pestle. Laid before him was the imbas he had gathered from the forest tree, long since dried and now being ground to a fine powder.
“I know what you are going to say,” said Valhad, glancing up at Torrin, “but I cannot stand back while the sick suffer and die.”
“It will be you that suffers, and you that will die, if this is discovered,” said Torrin, shaking his head grimly.
“Not if they do not know what cures them. I have not forgotten the pledge I made you, which I should not have made, which I beg you to release me from.”
“I will not release you,” said Torrin, “to end your short life in the Cloisters. I am held in oath too, to Perrith, your father, that I should bring you safely home.”
Valhad sighed sadly. “Then let me change my oath. Let me pledge not to speak of how this healing is done until I am ready to leave this place. Let the precious knowledge remain here when we have gone.”
“Very well,” said Torrin, “I shall take that as your pledge; not to speak of the imbas until the time to leave comes.”
Valhad nodded and continued grinding the powder.
“When waking comes will you go to the city?” asked Torrin.
“You know that I shall.”
“And you know that I will come with you.”
So they walked together to the city, returning to the house where the sick child lay. Valhad pulled back the sheet and looked at the oozing wound, bathed it with clean water and then dipped his hand into a pocket where the powdered imbas lay. He gently stroked the wound, massaging it with a dust that was so fine as to be invisible and gave her water from a flask in which much powder had been dissolved.
“Is that some potion?” asked the father cautiously.
“No,” said Valhad, “it is just water that I have…. blessed.”
Torrin grimaced slightly, wishing Valhad had chosen some other word. They left and went to other houses where the sick lay, and each time Valhad repeated what he had done, administering the imbas by touch or drink. Then he would sit and talk with those around, telling them of God and man; of the quietest voice within every heart that was left by the Maker. The words flowed from him, his own quietest voice talking through him, but quiet no more. Now it was firm, strong and filled with absolute conviction. All that listened drew silent, became captivated and were like blind men whose eyes blink open for a moment and show them the world revealed. Finally, they left and returned to the citadel, leaving a buzz of rumour in their wake.
When they returned to the villa Marasil came to Torrin’s room. They lay together and he told her what had happened in the city, but without mention of the imbas.
“I cannot be with him at all times,” he said, “I have begged him be more cautious, to conceal himself and not to heal or preach where the priests can see. So far he has not revealed his name, nor that of our master. But we know how he is. When he speaks to them another voice seems to come through him and he forgets all danger.”
“Then how can we protect him?” she asked.
“Would you go with him always when I cannot? Lead him by the paths and alleys that you know and do not let him linger too long in any place. I do not like to ask this, for it puts you at risk, but I know no other that can do it.”
“Protector,” she said, “don’t you know that I would do this anyway? And father too, for we both love him; each in our way.”
Not all the sick were cured but most with infections to wound or b
lood recovered. Some, with other afflictions, simply got better, as they were destined to, but still they thanked the healer for his touch. Now, when Valhad revealed himself in the city, many people clustered around him, begging him to tend their sick or share his wisdom with them. Marasil and Alasam led him through shadow-filled, winding alleys to a sick bed, or a secret gathering in some gloomy cellar, where those assembled listened, captivated by his teachings. There were many whispers in the city of a new healer and teacher. The word passed from mouth to ear, from city to citadel, the eyes behind the spy holes became more vigilant.
Then Torrin was summoned to His Lordship.
“Vasagi, we have a journey to make.”
“Lord?”
“There are issues that cardinal Saloxe is not delegated to deal with. If His Supreme Holiness will not come here, then we must go to him.”
“To where, Lord?”
“His Holiness has a palace at Matrodar. That is where he resides, though it is normally used at this time. It is in darkness.”
“Why does His Holiness live in the darkness?”
“I cannot say what keeps him there, Vasagi. He is an old man, and his ways have become strange. We will leave at the next time of waking. We will need to take another servant too. The journey is long and I would prefer both Alasam and Marasil to remain here with Graselle.”
“Lord, may I ask that Valhad accompanies us, he is hard working and willing.”
“Yes, very well. Now summon Alasam, there are many preparations to be made.”
Torrin left the room with a sense of relief. It would be no bad thing to remove Valhad from the city for a while, to take him far from his admirers, and the growing clouds of trouble that Torrin sensed.
Many carriages and carts prepared to set forth together to the Emperor. There were provisions that were required by his court, and many emissaries of the church with business to report. Accompanied by a column of priest-soldiers they waited on the road before the tower as His Lordship’s coach drew alongside. Another coach in the column had a familiar insignia; as they passed, Cardinal Saloxe leant from the window and a few words were exchanged.
