“Mmm . . .” he murmured. “That’s more like it.”
There was a knock at the door, then it opened. Borja struggled to lift his jowls from the massage table. Squinting, he discerned the silhouette of his personal bodyguard and most trusted lieutenant standing in the doorway of the dimly lit room.
Known to all as the Iron Shield, the man towered head and shoulders over Borja, yet he moved like a cat. His crushing mace hung from his belt, and a chain-mail hauberk protected him even though an attack did not seem imminent, for the Iron Shield lived by the principle that violence was a way of life. Borja had seen the man fight: he was a maelstrom of aggression and speed, a giant against whom few opponents could stand.
“You summoned me, my lord?” The dark warrior spread his hands and bowed at the waist.
“Two strangers have arrived in Ulmbartia,” Borja said gruffly. “A man and a woman. They have knowledge of the Creator and the Criminal.”
The Iron Shield uttered a curse. “Ulmbartia has been purged of that religion,” he said. “It must not be allowed to reemerge there.”
“Indeed not.” Borja let out a grunt as the masseur began to knead his hamstrings. “I ordered the Chief Shaman of Ulmbartia to devise a plan. The death of the man and woman was to be blamed on the barbarians that infest the northern mountains. Unfortunately, that plan was thwarted by the man.”
“How, my lord?”
“It turns out he is no wandering prophet with a shaggy beard. He’s a proficient warrior who outfoxed a horde of barbarians.”
“Interesting. A worthy foe perhaps.”
“Yes. And one we must pay closer attention to. Such a man could gain a following. I would not wish to see him galvanize the masses around his religion and spark a rebellion.”
“What then is your command?”
“A new approach. The strangers must be apprehended and interrogated. I wish to know as much as possible about them. Who sent them to Ulmbartia? Are others in league with them? What do they know about the Enemy? Do they have his writings? Only after we have learned these things can the strangers be dispatched.”
“I will accomplish this as you command, my lord.”
“Good. And I am certain you will not fail me as the Chief Shaman of Ulmbartia did.” Borja blinked sweat out of his eyes. “What course of action would you advise?”
The Iron Shield folded his arms across his chest. “It would be unwise for me to appear in Ulmbartia. It would arouse suspicion against the brotherhood. Instead we should lure the strangers to the Likurian coast. There I could deal with them personally, without intermediaries to fail us this time.”
Borja stared at his lieutenant. “Do we now tremble in fear of the people’s suspicions, shield of my life?”
The Iron Shield met Borja’s gaze without flinching. “We do not fear, Your Abundance. I merely counsel a strategic approach. In Likuria I would be free to deal with the strangers as I please. The dominion of our brotherhood is greater there.”
Borja allowed a smile to creep across his face. “Many men are blessed by the gods with the strength of brutes, but few are like you—both strong and crafty! Very well, we will lure the strangers to Likuria so you can apprehend them. How can we achieve this?”
“Perhaps we can use the Likurian dohj? He is youthful and fears us.”
Borja turned the idea over in his mind. Several years ago he had traveled up the coast from Roma and met the Likurian prince named Cristof. Borja could tell by the way the dohj carried himself that the man was cowardly and stupid—useful traits in a foreign ruler.
The masseur slapped Borja on the hip. He rolled over, wheezing with the effort, and lay on his back. Sweat ran in ticklish streams into the folds of his great belly. The masseur began to work on Borja’s right thigh with firm, squeezing motions. Since he could no longer see the Iron Shield, Borja spoke into the air, which was thick with menthol. “The strangers, it seems, have taken up residence with a rice baron, Duke Labella of Novarre. I believe we can turn the local politics to our advantage. The Likurians and Ulmbartians have concluded a trade agreement pertaining to rice and olives. In such instances the exchange of hospitality is considered normal. Dohj Cristof likes nothing better than to cavort on the beach with the glittering aristocracy of the neighboring realms.” Borja chuckled and licked sweat from his upper lip. “Duke Labella’s household would be a logical choice to be invited to Likuria for a pleasant winter on the coast, don’t you think? Perhaps you could travel to Likuria and convince the dohj of this.”
“Consider it done,” said the Iron Shield.
Borja hawked mucus and spat a wad on the floor. “I will send you with enough gold to ease the way, in the event that fear is not a sufficient motivator.”
“Fear and gold can accomplish any desire.”
“Indeed it—ow!” Borja flinched as a cramp seized his calf. The muscle felt like it had been tied in a painful knot. The masseur gasped and tried to rub it out, but Borja shook his leg free of the man’s grasp and craned his neck until he could see his bodyguard. “Shield of my life, apply a harsh punishment to this clumsy slave!”
The Iron Shield exploded across the room, his mace flashing in a wide arc. With a sound like a butcher tenderizing beef, the masseur took the impact of the mace on his left shoulder. The blow lifted the man from his feet and hurled his body across the room. He lay crumpled in a corner, making a gurgling sound.
Borja massaged his calf and stretched his foot until the cramp finally subsided. He squirmed off the massage table, wiped the top of his bald head with a towel, then waddled to the masseur in the corner. The man’s tunic bore a spreading red stain. Borja looked down at him and cackled.
“Quick! Fetch a slave from the spa! I think this poor fellow could use a rubdown!” He laughed until his belly shook, delighting in the irony of his clever joke.
The Iron Shield disappeared, then returned a few moments later. “Your every word is a divine command to me, my lord,” he said as he gestured to a figure behind him.
Another masseur stood in the doorway, his eyes wide.
An evening coolness had descended on the teachers’ cottage at the Labella estate. Teo accepted a glass of grappa from Sol’s hand. “Cheers,” Teo said, lifting his drink and putting it to his lips.
Sol winked and drained his glass in a single slug, then grimaced and set it on the table next to the empty dinner dishes. “That’s hard stuff we Ulmbartians make! It’ll help the risotto go down. Do you have anything like it in your land?”
“We have many spirits, but not from grapes. We distill a lot of other fruits though.”
“Sometime I’ll have to try some Chiveisian brandy.”
“Sometime,” Teo agreed with a nod.
Sol handed Teo a bowl of nuts, then took a seat by the window of his little apartment. “So continue with your tale, young Teofil. It seems your relationship with Anastasia is like a bird’s flight—erratic and hard to predict.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure. Where was I?”
“You had shared the lovely dinner, then parted ways at Count Federco’s chateau.”
“Oh, right.” Teo resumed the story of his recent escapades in the north, describing the grand feast and Ana’s accidental drunkenness, then the battle on the following night at the island castle. Sol listened in amazement.
“You mean you single-handedly defeated a war party of Rovers? I’ve never heard anything like it!”
“It wasn’t as hard as you might think. All it took was an eye for tactics and a little planning. I tied a couple of ropes to a rickety wall, barred the door, then funneled the attackers into the castle with some casks of lantern oil that I broke open in the lake. That stuff is really flammable.”
Sol nodded. “There are places in Ulmbartia where black fluid oozes from the ground. Our oil is prized not only for lighting but for naval combat. It burns on water and sticks to hulls.”
“Well, it worked perfectly this time. The invaders charged into the keep, then I cut the
rope to the gate. Once they were trapped, all I had to do was bring down the ceiling on their heads. Count Federco was extremely grateful. I think I made a friend that night.”
“It’s good to have at least one friend among the Ulmbartian aristocrats,” Sol said. “It sounds like you’ve made enemies of others.”
Teo tsked. “Do I care?”
“Probably not, but perhaps you should, at least a little.”
“I’ll watch myself. Thanks.”
“How do things stand with Anastasia?”
“Exactly the same as before: confused.”
“She’s listening to bad voices.”
“I know. Those rich girls.”
“And perhaps something even worse.”
Teo sighed. “I haven’t talked to Ana since we got back. In fact, I didn’t speak with her the whole time I was at the chateau, except when she was, you know—”
“Intoxicated?”
“Yeah.” Teo frowned. “I didn’t like seeing her like that. I wish I could get my hands on that guy who—”
“Revenge never satisfies,” Sol said, holding up his hand. “Deus does not call us to be his vigilantes.”
“You’re right.” Teo shook his head to clear away the negative thoughts. “Hey, speaking of Deus, I wanted to ask you about something I found on the island where we had dinner. It was a gold pendant with words engraved on it. The Old Words, I believe.”
“Latin?”
“I think so. It said Passio Iesu Christi. I assume that’s another form of the name Iesus Christus?”
“Yes. The phrase means ‘the suffering of Iesus Christus.’”
“Suffering! That explains a lot. The man on the pendant was suffering alright. He was nailed to a cross.”
Sol’s head jerked around. “Nailed to a cross?” He rose from his seat and approached Teo’s bench. “Describe it,” he whispered.
Teo assumed a hushed voice as well. “He had a crown of thorns, and a wound in his side. His hands and feet bled too. And yet his face was peaceful.”
“The Pierced One!” Sol said as he exhaled.
Teo arched his eyebrows but didn’t know how to reply.
“It’s a lost religion,” Sol went on. “I’m sure if the shamans found out I know of it, I would be taken away to their ‘pleasant valley.’”
“Where’s that?”
“No one knows. But I can guarantee you, it’s not pleasant.”
“What do you know about the Pierced One?”
Instead of answering, Sol went to his desk and brought out a slate and chalk. “Let’s do some serious thinking. I want you to write down every fact you know about Deus.” He handed the slate to Teo. “Write it in Talyano,” he added.
“I’ll try. I can speak Talyano well enough, but I’m not sure how well I can write it yet.”
“You’re doing fine, Teofil. This is how you learn. Begin.”
Teo thought for a moment, then scrawled his list on the piece of black slate. He could think of ten things:
Creator of all
Only true God, no idols
Good, benevolent
Hates sin, requires sacrifice
Land is called Israël
King David wrote hymns
Promised King predicted
Suffering Servant predicted
Book has Old, New Testaments
Iesus Christus = Pierced One on cross
“How’s this?” Teo showed the slate to Sol, who inspected it for a long time.
“Good. Most of these things you’ve learned from the Holy Book, and so have I.” Sol looked up from the slate and met Teo’s eyes. “Except for the last two. These are new to me since you’ve arrived.”
“Really? It sounded like you already knew about the religion of the Pierced One.”
“I’d heard of it, but the pendant you found has added something new. I had no idea Iesus Christus is the Pierced One. I had never connected those two figures before. Until you came to this land, I only knew the name Iesus as a savior promised in Deu’s book—either the king or the servant. Now I think I know which one he was.”
Teo waited for Sol to finish. When he didn’t speak, Teo motioned for him to go on.
“The Suffering Servant obviously.”
Teo slapped his forehead as the facts slipped into place. “Of course! Passio means ‘suffering’! Iesus Christus suffered on the cross. Maybe he even died for Deu’s cause. Somehow that helped the king establish his reign.”
“I think you could be right. But we need to find out more.” Sol ran his fingers through his long white hair, then went to a cabinet against the wall. Returning with the bottle of grappa, he refilled the two glasses with the clear spirit, then proposed a toast. “To a journey of discovery!”
The two men clinked glasses and drank. Teo coughed a little at the strong liquor. The corners of Sol’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Pure Ulmbartian firewater. Fifty percent alcohol,” he bragged.
Teo winced and pounded his chest with his fist. “So tell me—what exactly did I just drink to?”
“As I said, a journey of discovery.”
“An intellectual journey?”
Sol came to Teo and sat beside him on the bench. “Yes. And a physical one too.” He leaned over mysteriously. “If Iesus Christus is the Pierced One on the cross, we have to go where we can get more information about him.”
“And where is that?” Teo was open to anything.
“Have you ever noticed a place on Ulmbartian maps called the Forbidden Zone?”
“Yes. It’s a blank spot between you and the Downstreamers. My commanding officer told me it’s a disease-ridden wasteland.”
“It was once disease-ridden, young Teofil. During the Ancients’ War of Destruction they infected it with a powerful plague. Everyone fell down dead. Ulmbartians believe the disease lingers there still, so they won’t go near the place. But guess what? All plagues eventually pass.”
“Maybe Ulmbartia could reclaim the land?”
“Pfft! We have no interest in such a thing. A race of deranged outlaws lives there now. The local peasants set out food for them so they’ll stay in the Zone and leave the farmsteads alone.”
“The Forbidden Zone is a large area. Why can’t the outlaws grow their own crops?”
Sol laughed in his strange, cackling way. “Grow their own crops! Ha! No, Teofil, you can’t grow crops there. The Zone has no fields. It’s a massive city—a metropolis of the Ancients filled with towering buildings and crumbling pavestones. I should know. I went there once as a young man.”
“Is that where you learned of the Pierced One?”
“Yes. And that’s where we’re going tomorrow. The boundary is a day’s journey away. The next day we will go inside.”
“What will we find there?”
Sol cleared his throat but did not reply. Instead he went to a table and moistened a cloth in a bowl, then tossed it to Teo.
“What’s this for?” Teo asked.
Sol pointed to the slate lying on the bench. “Wipe it clean, Teofil. A text is a dangerous thing.”
The swift waters of the Farm River sparkled in the afternoon sunshine. Ana speared a wriggly earthworm on a split-shank fishhook and pitched it into the river, then leaned back on the sandy bank with her skirt hiked up to her knees and a straw bonnet pulled low on her head. She dug her toes into the wet sand and waited for a bite.
The man with the gray-specked beard lying next to her on the sand noticed her line moving before she did. He nudged her with his elbow. “You’ve got one, Little Sweet! Haul it in!”
Ana scrambled to her feet and began to wrestle the splashing fish to shore. The man wrapped his strong arms around her, helping her manage the ash-wood pole until the trout had been landed.
A beautiful woman was there too, watching the events on the riverbank. Ana held up her fish. The blonde-haired woman said, “I’ll cook it for dinner. Let’s go home.” The threesome stood on the sand for a moment, then started up the bank into the
forest.
Something grabbed Ana’s bare foot. She looked down to see a thick brown snake encircling her ankle. The creature spiraled around her calf, then yanked her into the river.
“Help me!” Ana cried.
The man and woman turned to look but did not move. Ana reached out to them, repeating her cry. The couple remained motionless.
Ana was dragged deeper into the water, her feet sinking into the squishy sand. The snake slid higher, wrapping itself around her thigh, pulling her down. She tried to pry it off with her hands, then thrashed furiously in an attempt to break free, but her movements only sucked her deeper into the miry clay.
“Please! I need help!” Desperation began to set in. Ana was now chest-deep in the water and still sinking.
“Let’s go home. Come home,” said the woman in a flat voice. She held out her hand, though her face displayed no emotion.
“You have to want to come,” the man intoned.
“I want to! Help me!”
Ana threw out both hands as the water reached her neck. The snake had encircled her torso, pressing hard, constricting her body in rhythmic pulses. Only its brown head poked out of the water.
“You’re never going back,” it said in its whispery voice. “Never . . . never . . . never . . .”
“Good-bye, Little Sweet,” said the man. He took his wife’s hand and turned to go.
“Never going home,” hissed the snake.
The water was up to Ana’s chin now. She tried to keep herself afloat, but it was no use. The tightness around her chest stifled her breath. Ana threw her head back to keep her mouth above the water.
“No! Please! I want to go with you! Help me!”
The man and woman disappeared into the forest. Murky water closed over Ana’s head.
She shrieked with all her strength.
It was dark. Every sense was alive, yet Ana understood nothing. She panted with quick, shallow breaths. Her heart raced. She clutched cloths in her hands.
Where am I?
Slowly awareness of her surroundings returned. She was sitting up in bed. The sheets were twisted around her ankles.
The Gift Page 12
