by Mark Eller
"There is One God," the man said. "He stands above all others. The ones you call Lord and Lady are but two members of his Court. The God has nine Members. They each have nine Avatars, and the Avatars choose their prophets on earth." He waved a callused, work-hardened and yet elegant hand toward Heralda. "A new prophet has been discovered. She is yours for the teaching."
"What!"
Prophet or not, Heralda's sad smile was still pure Heralda. "There have been visions," she said. "Some were mine. The God demands his message be taken to the ignorant and the unbelievers. My task is to go among them for learning and then to teach."
Aaron shook his head before she reached her third word. She would never be allowed to preach a new belief. As a whole, Isabellans were reasonable and tolerant, but tolerance did not stretch into the area of religion. Before the war many of the movers coming into Clan territory had been Zorists specifically because their beliefs were seen as heretical. Compared to this belief in a singular god, Zorists were conservative.
"It won't wash," he told her. "Those people won't listen to you any more than you'll listen to them preach about the Lady and Her Lord. You'll only get hurt."
"I have seen it," she said. "I will fail, but I will be a long time failing, and my failure will sow the seeds for those who follow. I will preach the Word for many years. My converts will preach it after my death, and then mouths will close, and ears will listen, and hearts will open to the Truth. I have seen it, and so will you because you are part of the plan."
Her words were preachy; her message was strange and otherworldly, but she never lost her cheerfully playful face. She grinned, and Aaron had to grin back.
"If you're thinking of converting Isabella over to your religion, you better plan on a long haul," Aaron said. "It will take six or seven decades before your ideas earn even a small tolerance with the general population. I'm not sure I'll be much help to your plan by then. I'll either be impossibly old or dead."
Cathy made a sharp noise and then snapped her mouth shut.
"More than a decade," Heralda agreed, "but less than two. The One God has promised, just as he has promised that you will meet our need."
One of the other men frowned. "We need you to keep us from being swallowed by those who have greater power than ourselves."
Aaron spread his hands. "I'll be glad to help, but I have no idea how."
The man paid no attention to Aaron's words.
"They will come among us and take our land. They will push us into small enclaves where we will be unable to survive. Their messengers, the priests of their two Gods, will come among us and draw our children away. These people will learn our minds, but they will tear apart out souls. I have dreamed that within a hundred years we will be a scattered and destroyed people if you do not act. I have seen our numbers fall, and I have seen our young abandon us so they may live in the cities and be whiter than the people who destroyed their fathers." The eyes he fastened on Aaron were grave. "Those young will live in poverty and drunkenness. First they will lose their identities, and then they will lose themselves."
"But what can I do?" Aaron asked. "I don't know what you want of me."
"We want you to take Heralda when you leave," Jerkak said. "This is only your first step. The rest you must discover for yourself. We only know that it is for you to do."
Frowning, Aaron crinkled his eyes. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of these people shoving their problems off on him. "It's a long journey to my home."
"For you, it is but a moment away."
Stiffening, Aaron shot a glare at Delmac. The man's eyes showed no apology. "You promised," Aaron accused.
"I said I would keep your secret unless there was a need to do otherwise. Heralda's revelation invoked that need, and besides, do you think us blind? During the journey you went to a stream to clean yourself. When you returned you wore clean clothes that had not been in your pack. Questions were asked. I answered."
"How many know?" Aaron demanded. "How many have you told?"
"Only three besides those who traveled with us." Delmac waved his hand in a graceful gesture that encompassed everyone in the building. "They have told the rest."
"Oh, Gods!" Aaron took a fast look around the room. More than two hundred people were in here, and he knew they weren't the entire population of Telven. For one thing, he saw very few children.
"It shall go no further than the Freelorn Clan," Jerkak promised.
"Oh, Gods," Aaron repeated. Forget Telven. The Freelorns were one of the largest Clan groups. They numbered in the thousands. Tens of thousands. Gods, he hated to even think about the repercussions Delmac's revelation might have. "Oh, Gods."
* * *
Making a noise that resided somewhere between a purr and a rattle, the animal snuggled deeper in Aaron's lap while Aaron gently rubbed behind its ears. Its patchwork fur felt sleek and smooth beneath his hand. Looking down, Aaron could not help but wonder if this was Zisst or another beast of a similar breed. He wasn't sure since the animal had crawled into his lap only moments ago, but this one seemed to have flatter ears and a somewhat shorter muzzle than he remembered Zisst owning.
"Zisst," he tried experimentally.
"Ptttererrrr Kerleep," the animal answered.
Okay, so this was Zisst, and Aaron Turner was unobservant because he would have sworn Zisst did not look like this.
The hillside where he sat was distant from the town, distant from the cultivated fields of Telven, even farther from the Freelorn Clan with their demands that he make things right for them. A pond rested in the small valley at the foot of his perch. He sat and quietly watched, his hand rhythmically tracing paths across Zisst's furred silk coat as birds flitted on and near the water. The sun stood high, but not at its highest. Noon was two hours past, and the day's heat had yet to reach its late afternoon intensity.
Beside him, Cathy stirred. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, a quiet presence he ached to hold and wished would leave. Even sitting two feet away from her, her sweetly spiced fragrance inundated the air, filling him with quiet uneasiness.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
Her voice was low, her question disturbing. Aaron drew in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. His thoughts were jumbled. After forming and discarding plans for the last two days, he had reached no conclusion. The pressure was intense, the responsibility more than he wanted. He was not a hero or a brain. He was a common man of average intellect who possessed unusual abilities and resources. He had a body that was not as strong as it once had been, courage that was sometimes adequate but generally doubtful, and a self-assurance that had not fully recovered from the years when he had been deliberately crippled by an organization wanting to use him. His mind was plagued with self-doubt, guilt, and dark depression. He mourned for his murdered wife and son, and was tormented because of the lost love of this woman at his side.
"I don't know," he finally answered. "I suppose I'll take Heralda with me since it's something I can do for them. Delmac will have to come, too, of course. As far as I know he's still a Clan ambassador even if he's an absent one. Besides, he'll not be happy if I die and he isn't there to witness the event."
"Do you want to die?" she asked.
Did he want to die? Aaron had to stop and think. Did he want to die? On the surface, no. Nobody wanted to die, nobody in their right mind anyway.
But was he always in his right mind?
Many times he had managed to push his dark moods away. Many times he could take simple enjoyment from the sight of a child, from a breeze across his cheek, or in the sound of a woman's happy laughter. Many times he joined in the lightness of other people, times when he allowed himself to forget sorrow and loss and the enormity of his crimes.
But many other times he felt as if the world was falling in on him. On those occasions he saw shadows and demands and felt guilt and remorse for all the people who would still be alive if he had not come to Isabella. Those t
imes were frequent, very frequent, and when they were on him, he knew he would gladly die because he despised the person he had become.
"I don't know," he answered her again, his voice sad and low.
Cathy frowned and sighed. Her hand reached out and gathered his free one.
"You're married," Aaron said, watching her fingers wrap around his hand. Her palm felt soft and smooth.
"My husband has no use for a woman who no longer fears him. He has taken on other wives, and they've taken over the Emporium in Last Chance. I gave it to them for their promise to leave me alone." Her smile turned rueful. "I'm not a total fool. I pulled the most expensive books, some of the furnishings, and most of the cash before handing it over. Besides, I have two other Emporiums now, in two different towns, and good people running them." Her fingers gently squeezed. "I made a mistake, Aaron. I was a young girl too overwhelmed by the sudden events of good fortune. I felt inadequate, and I made a horrible, horrible mistake."
The feel of her hand in his sent trills up his arm. He knew if he desired it he could lean over and feel her velvet lips press against his. She might even be ready to give her body to him, to open herself up emotionally and physically while defiantly making herself an adulterer, ignoring the laws and mores of her homeland.
In Isabella, divorce was not legal. A woman who strayed outside her marriage or poached on men other women claimed was a pariah. Isabella usually hung such a person.
Was Cathy willing to risk such a fate?
But those laws and mores were in Isabella proper. Though these lands were Federation, they were only thinly ruled by Isabellan law. She was here, and so was he, and they could be together.
He looked at her, and her eyes were warm and liquid and pleading. Cathy was here. Her hand rested in his. She could be his. She could--
Stiffening, he loosened his hand until it lay limp in her grasp. He could not do this. He would not destroy his honor or compromise her integrity, and he would not risk her life.
Cathy's hand withdrew. Her freed arm joined the other in wrapping her bent legs. Her eyes darkened, turned away, and looked once more at the pond.
They sat together, side by side, while birds flew, the sun settled, and the faint voices of working clanspeople drifted through the air. Aaron finally stirred, stretched half-asleep legs, and prepared to rise. He did not look at her. He did not dare see her face, but his lips parted, and he whispered.
"I love you."
"I know," she whispered back.
Chapter 19
Amanda looked at her pile of finished paperwork. The stack was impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the two stacks she had not yet started. She needed help, and she needed it now. Unfortunately, she was having no luck finding that help. The assistant she hired two weeks earlier was a treasure--for the three days she came to work. On the fourth day she sent a note announcing that she had a new job, one paying the same wage but holding far more prestige.
Amanda couldn't blame her. A woman had to look out for her own future, and a more assured future could be found working for a large established firm than working for a firm that was becoming more unstable every day. Politics and finances had caused a good part of that instability. Another, larger part, was caused by the absence of Aaron Turner. Amanda had the authority to make most of the decisions Aaron's affairs required, but some things Aaron had to decide himself, and many papers needed his signature. Amanda knew herself to be an intelligent woman, but she had not yet figured out a legal way to get Aaron's signature on a document without him being present to do the signing.
Amanda drummed fingers on her desk. The attempted kidnapping had not been that long ago. Perhaps something similar had happened, only this time no one knew about it.
He could have been killed.
She shuddered. Now that was a worrisome thought, one she would not allow to cross her mind again. No, his letter to the engineers had said he would be absent for a time.
She put herself back to work.
Thirty minutes later a knock sounded on her door. Amanda glanced up in time to see the door crack open and Miss O'Malley peer through.
"Miss Bivins, you have visitors."
Amanda felt faintly surprised. "I don't recall any appointments for today."
"No, Miss. You asked me to keep today clear so you could work. These aren't your regular sort of visitors. They carry badges."
Amanda set her pen down, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples. She was getting a headache. She could feel the dratted thing coming on.
Lowering her hands, she opened her eyes, and composed her features. Amanda could not afford to advertise by either appearance or language that she had spent the first eighteen years of her life working on her parent's small farm. Although she saw her heritage as an advantage because it taught her the value of hard work, many of those she now dealt with would see it as proof that she was poorly bred, and thus untrustworthy.
"Please show them in."
Her door swung wider and two people walked in.
"Lieutenant Larns and Sergeant Crowley," she said while the throbbing in her head increased. "I assume this visit concerns Mister Turner's kidnapping."
"No," Crowley said. "Different matter entirely."
"Been on my feet all day," Faith Larns added. "Mind if we sit down?"
"Please, be my guests," Amanda said while noticing that they did seem worn. Neither looked to have been sleeping well; dark bags puffed the skin beneath their eyes.
They sat. Larns sighed in relief. Crowley groaned.
"Soon as I get myself promoted and see some extra money in my pay, I'm getting myself some custom-made shoes," he said. "Fallen arches and long days walking don't suit each other very well. Miss Bivins, I need a list of all the people who hate Aaron Turner."
"Pardon me?" Why would they want such a list? Again? She had given them a short one after the kidnapping.
Larns ran her fingers through her hair. "The fire and its subsequent explosion were deliberate. We think Mister Turner was the target. We need a list of all his enemies so we can trace down the people who hired this done.
Frowning, Amanda rubbed her forehead. Her headache had arrived with horns blaring. "Could we start this conversation over again? You might start by telling me what fire you are talking about."
"Been cooped up for a while?" Crowley asked.
"Times have been busy, and so have I. Now tell me about this fire."
"Harbough House is gone," Larns said. "Fire and explosion. Arson. If the place hadn't been on a corner, and if the wind hadn't been blowing to the east, the fire would have taken out the entire block. As it is, the building blew out its walls and went up faster than kindling. Where have you been? This happened over a week ago."
"Oh Gods!" That was Aaron's apartment building. "How many people were killed?"
"We don't know, but I find it interesting that you didn't ask about Mister Turner," Larns noted.
"He left N'Ark a while ago and isn't expected back for some time. I doubt he was involved."
"What if I told you that two bodies were found in an area corresponding with his apartment?" Crowley asked.
Amanda paled.
"Neither body could possibly belong to Mister Turner since they were the wrong size," Larns threw in. "Nobody we spoke to recalls seeing him recently, so you're probably right, Mr. Turner was not directly involved. As for how many died, we don't know. Investigators are still sorting through the rubble. Thirty seven bodies and nineteen living have been accounted for, but the apartment housed over seventy people. We don't know if the missing people are buried in the rubble, or if they moved on." She rubbed her eyes. "We don't know much except that the fire was deliberately set, and that it started in Aaron Turner's apartment. The rest is still a mystery."
"How did you decide it started in Mister Turner's rooms?" If this kept up Amanda's headache would turn into a migraine. She'd never had one before, but this could start her on the habit.
"We looked in a stov
e," Larns said. "It held a body that was short enough to be a child's, but the bones were thick and heavy. The remains of burnt ropes and a burst wine bottle were also in the stove. I'll admit that we're doing an awful lot of surmising, but it was a propane stove, and there are few enough of those in the city, especially in an apartment complex like this one. Also, the only dwarf we've encountered of late was connected with the kidnapping of Aaron Turner. Since this happened in a building where Turner resides, we have to assume the events are somehow related."
"But they might not be," Amanda protested. "It might be something entirely different."
"True," Larns admitted. "Let's just say that we're strongly suspicious. Dead dwarfs and propane explosions are not exactly commonplace. Now, as to that list, since our main suspect has gone to ground, we have to find other leads."
"Main suspect?"
"The woman who helped the dwarf kidnap Mister Turner."
"We really want that list," Crowley said. "We can get a court order if we need to."
"That won't be necessary," Amanda quickly said. "I'll do what I can. The problem is that the list can be made so huge. The products and new designs coming out soon will damage the concerns of many established corporations. I can probably figure out most of the people who hold a grudge, but I'm sure a few names will remain off the list. Some people in the assembly are still making threats, too."
Crowley straightened. "Still? That's a serious thing to say considering what's happened."
Amanda nodded. "I know, but it's true, and I can't speak of the reasons these people don't like us because those reasons are related to the private property of Turner Enterprises. All I can tell you is that I was recently at a meeting with Assemblypeople Sporlain, Harrison, and Andrews. They let me know that they were not happy with the way matters stood surrounding Mister Turner. In fact, most of the Liberal Party is not happy with his affairs."
