by Mark Eller
"It doesn't all have to be stored tonight," Aaron told her. "There are tarps not ten feet from you."
"This is everything I can call mine so long as I'm here," she stated. "It includes my specialized excavation equipment, my notebooks, my chemicals, and everything else we need to do this job right. It gets stored tonight."
"It gets stored tonight," Aaron agreed. Picking up one bag, he threw its strap across his right shoulder. Autumn helpfully handed him another, and then a third. Aaron grunted when the last bag settled into place. Its contents were hard and heavy.
"The tents are this way." He headed out, leading his troop of archeologists, feeling pleased the clouds did not cover the sky. The only light guiding them once they left the lanterns behind came from the moon and stars.
"Place needs some paint," Sybil commented.
"How can you tell?" Aidan asked. "It's dark." He already panted. Although large, the man did not appear to be in great physical condition.
Aaron shifted his burden, feeling its weight and the bite of the straps across his shoulders.
This had been a long day, but he wasn't really tired or worn. In truth, he felt pretty good.
Aaron grinned. He could easily remember when his body had been in much worse shape than Aidan. Quitting alcohol and taking up regular exercise did wonders for his stamina, not to mention his ability to maintain a clear head. Patton's insistence on Aaron not skipping his training cinched matters. For the first time in his life, Aaron possessed something approaching real coordination. Hell, he'd even taken up the sword again. Three years of on and off training had not turned him into a wonder, but he could hold his own against a few of the Chins for at least a couple minutes. He even won sometimes, if his opponent was young, inexperienced, and ill.
"It's not so dark I can't tell when a wood wall isn't painted," Sybil told Franks. She pointed. "Are those our tents over there?"
"Yes," Aaron answered. "There'll be a three foot high stake set at both front corners of the occupied tents. The names of the owners are carved on the stakes."
"Convenient," Leona noted. "So if there are no stakes, we can claim the tent."
"Correct."
The unclaimed tents were further to the back. Most were fairly large affairs intended to house four people, so there would be no problems with room.
The archeologists instantly claimed three for themselves. Leona threw most of her gear in one and helped Edna put both her bags inside. Aidan and Sybil claimed a second tent, which left Laura to take the third.
Once the gear was stowed, Leona stood before them, hands resting on her hips. "Satisfactory," she said approvingly. "We need to get the rest of our luggage. Laura, since you have a tent to yourself, much of the excess will be housed with you."
"Of course," Laura answered. She looked to Aaron. "Are there many men here?"
"We're running a little heavy toward men," Aaron admitted. "About a third."
Leona and Edna exchanged knowing looks.
"Are they gentle," Laura asked, "or are they rough sorts who wouldn't be acceptable in polite society."
"More toward the rough side," Aaron answered. "A few might recognize a salad fork, but the rest are rather crude."
She nodded. "Good."
"Am I the only one who's going to haul this stuff?" Autumn asked. She walked into the group, a smaller bag hanging from each shoulder. Aaron started, surprised. He hadn't noticed her going for another load.
"I'll help," a gruff voice said as a tent flap opened and a heavily bearded face stuck out the opening. "Got to get you folk settled down if I want some sleep. Name's Lester Sands. You can call me Lester."
"We don't know you well enough to accept your offer, Mister Sands," Leona said pointedly. "However, we do appreciate it."
Sands pulled himself the rest of the way from his tent. He was tall and broad across the shoulders. When he drew near, Aaron fought an impulse to take a step back. The man reeked of two week old sweat. Nothing unusual for a working camp, but he'd been away for a couple days.
"We don't go in for much Mister and Mistressing talk over here in Chin territory," Sands said. "An' we don't do good at taking no for an answer. I suppose Aaron dropped your stuff off in the usual place. Don't know why he didn't put it by the tents."
"Because I knew it was safe to drop it in the warehouse," Aaron answered the man. "I had no idea if I might set it on top of somebody if I sent it here." He remembered the devastation when he had inadvertently brought part of a wall and a staircase into a bus station back when he was first learning his talent. The resulting destruction and deaths had been horrendous.
"Besides," Aaron added, "a little lift and carry is good for a person."
"'Spose so," Sands said, sounding entirely unconvinced. "I do enough of that so I don't s'pect cheating every now and again will hurt me any. Why don't we get this done?"
It took two more trips for all the bags to be deposited in one tent or another. Job finished, Aaron draped an arm over Autumn and bid the others a good night. Aidan and Sybil waved a casual hand toward him as they yawned their way into their tent. Leona Harbor double checked the safety of the precious books, thanked him, and went inside with Edna Balandice.
Laura Bainridge remained outside. Cocking her aristocratic head to the side, she studied Sands. "Do you share your tent?"
"Got two wives," Sands answered. "We work as a team."
"Will they miss you tonight?"
Sand's grin slowly spread. "Won't be the first time I spent the night someplace else."
"They will hear us."
"So."
Not wanting to see or hear more, Aaron guided Autumn back onto the street and to another empty tent far from Laura's.
Autumn stayed silent as they walked. One of her two bags was slung over her shoulder while the other draped over Aaron's shoulder along with his own single piece. Stopping, she looked back. Aaron did the same, but saw nothing. Laura Bainridge and Lester Sands were no longer in sight.
After finding another empty tent, they settled inside, sitting on the edge of an already set-up cot with a rolled up sleeping bag resting at its foot.
"A question?" Autumn asked in a low voice.
"Ask away."
"Why don't you have a house? You pay for everything. You should have a house of your own."
"A fair question," Aaron answered. "First, I don't stay here very often while the people who work here do. It's only fair those who have no choice about leaving get the first shot at a little comfort."
"But─?"
"Secondly," Aaron continued, "there's still a contract out against me. If I had a cabin of my own, it would make filling the contract easier because the assassin would know where to look. This way, I stay in a different place every time I come here, and I don't decide where to sleep until the last minute."
He gestured. "Do you notice the cots are already set up and sleeping bags are handy? It's the same in every unclaimed tent because there's never any telling where I'll end up."
"Oh." She remained silent for several moments. "I never thought on what it must be like. Is that why you so seldom sleep at the manor?"
"Yes," Aaron answered. "And why I seldom sleep in the tent the Chins set up for me. I have a dozen secret campsites located miles from anybody. Most of my nights are spent at one of those."
"Wow," Autumn said slowly. "You don't spend much time with your wife, do you?"
Aaron shrugged, not seeing a reason to explain his dysfunctional marriage to his daughter. Melna was a fine friend and a willing, if cool, lover, but they had very little in common.
"There's one more reason," he said.
"Tell me."
"I like sleeping in tents. The air seems fresher, and it's relaxing to listen to the night sounds."
"Me too," Autumn said. "I like it too. Daddy?"
"Hmmmm?"
"Why did she do it? Why did Miss Bainridge agree to have sex with that man? He's disgusting, and she's so fine."
Aaron took
a few moments to mull the question over.
"Daddy?"
"I don't know, Sugar," he finally answered. "Now, why don't you get some sleep? It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
To provide an example, he unrolled his sleeping bag and crawled inside while Autumn prepared her own bed. The sharp edge of something dug into his hip. Twisting, he reached into his pocket and seized on the offending article. Working his arm out of the confines of the bag, he remembered he had picked up Khante's dropped pamphlet.
Curious, he dug his fire-starter out of his pocket. A flick of his thumb opened its cover. Another flick turned the wheel on the flint. The alcohol soaked wick flamed to life.
The pamphlet had his face on the cover, making it yet one more piece of propaganda calling for the downthrow of Aaron Turner and his Chin Empire. Grimacing, Aaron dropped it to the ground. He had seen at least fifty similar pamphlets in the last six months. None ever amounted to anything. He doubted this one would, either.
Chapter 6
Gary frowned at the small number of people who had shown up in the town's main square. Most of the places he visited were starved for entertainment. People flocked to him in droves because he offered something interesting. This did not seem to be true here. He had been warned Iruptk was a strange country but had not believed.
No matter. If they were not ready to hear him now, they would listen after friends and family told them his words must be heard. After all, it wasn't every day someone got a chance to listen to Prophet of the Lord and know in their hearts his words were true.
This crowd numbered less than thirty, so few they were lost in the large square. The businesses on the outside perimeter remained open. Merchants, most of them, although the rasp of a woodworker's saw came faintly to his ears. Perhaps some of those would listen if he spoke loud enough.
No, that would not do. His influence was created by many small things. The slight accent he affected, the inflection he put on certain words, and his calm soft voice. All these and more were parts of the spell. While it was true he was a man of many Talents, the one he used to persuade was not his greatest, although it grew stronger with use.
The small crowd became restless. Slowly, he raised his hands above his head, his robe's voluminous sleeves falling back to his shoulders. Flattening his palms to the sky, he crooked his fingers.
"Hear me!" Gary cried out. Even more slowly than he raised them, he lowered his hands, stopping his right arm when his finger pointed directly at the watchers. His left hand continued lowering until it hung by his side. The small conversations quieted and then stopped.
"Hear me," he said again, this time in quieter tones. The trick was to make them strain to listen so as to capture their entire attention.
"I am the Prophet of the Holy Lord who is your God, Consort of The Lady. I have been sent to speak of the terrible things happening. I have been sent to tell you worse will happen unless we take steps to bring it to an end."
"You have a nice robe," a woman called out, "but I don't see nothing exceptional about you. Prove yourself!"
Gary scowled false displeasure at his shrill but quickly smoothed his face back into its habitual calm. It was early yet, too soon for them to be captured. Besides, his effect was not universal. A few always managed to slip free. If he had any choice in the matter, this woman he knew as Three would not be one of those fortunate few.
"When you mock me, you mock the Lord," he intoned. "Beware you do not draw his displeasure."
"I honor the Lady and Her Lord," Three called back. "All I ask is proof you are who you say. I'm told six prophets have been through here this year and not one agreed with another."
Those false prophets, he realized, were the true reason for his low turnout. Too much repetition of the same con could make anyone jaded. By giving him this information, Three had helped further their cause.
"Frauds, fakes, and liars," he told her. "Only one voice of The Lord walks upon the earth, and I am he."
"We'll see," she said. Voices of assent sounded around her. It was time to get down to business.
"Woman, I ask you, do you believe in The Lord?"
"Do I look like a fool? Of course I believe."
"Do you follow His ways? Do you pay respect to His words and revere His Lady?"
"I pay respect to Her words and revere Her Lord," she answered. She gestured, indicating the entire crowd. "We all do, one way or another."
"Tell me this, Woman, do you believe the Father of the Lord is the One God?"
Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled herself straight. "I won't listen to blasphemy!"
"Do you not believe in this One God?"
The crowd was growing restless, always a good sign. Still, if he continued on this tack, he might find himself dancing at the end of a rope.
"I believe no lies," she said emphatically.
"The Lord is pleased to hear you say so," Gary told her. He stared at her for a moment while mentally shifting his Talent. "This then is the proof of who I am. This is proof The Lord is pleased by your steadfast heart." He released his power.
Gasping, she fell to her knees. A pleasurable moan escaped. She swayed, fell, and appeared almost on the verge of passing out when he removed his touch.
Shaking, she rose with the help of a few others. "I felt Him," she breathed reverently. "I felt The Lord, and His Touch is glorious."
"His Touch is beyond glorious," Gary intoned. Lowering his hand, he became nothing more than a humble man bearing a great weight. Once again, he shifted his Talent. "His Blessing is beyond anything for which we have words. The Lord loves you, as does His Lady. He desires only good for you, but because He has given you free will, He cannot take the actions required to ensure you live full lives. Even worse, He cannot ensure your souls will rise to the Lady and to Him when you die. He fears for the souls of your children because of the great blasphemy. Know this. The Lord loves you and is sad. The false specter of The One God will soon grow until it stands between you and Him."
"Never!" a man called out.
"It will happen," he told the man. "It will happen because an Evil Man, a Minion of the Enemy of Man, will make it so. He has set his footprint upon the world. Even now, he uses a hapless people to further his evil goals. He forces his One God blasphemy on these people. Once his conversions are complete, his Chin armies will invade other lands. He will kill and maim all those who do not cast the true Gods aside to accept his One God."
"You're talking of Emperor Turner?" someone asked.
"I am," he agreed. "I speak of a most evil man. In all the world, only one righteous person dares oppose his evil. Bill Clack leads those Chins who see through Aaron Turner's lies. He has formed them into a nation, into an army which will oppose the insidious spread of those lies, but Bill Clack is not enough. He needs the help of right thinking people, of people who will fight and die for their Gods and their children. I ask you to spread my word to your family and friends. I ask you to invite them to hear me speak. I ask you to leave your homes and travel to the city of the Blasphemer. Join Emperor Clack's army and wipe out Aaron Turner's heresy."
Not everyone was captured, but enough were caught to suit Gary's purposes. After he finished speaking, he watched them leave, feeling more than satisfied with the results. Tomorrow he would speak again. A hundred people might hear. By the next day, the number would become several hundreds.
A number of people made their way toward him. Not wanting to deal with their vile touch and odious smells, he pulled free yet one more Talent and wrapped it around himself to disappear. His action was met with confused stares. Unseen, he took care to not brush against the herd as he carefully made his way to meet his fellow cell members.
* * *
"It mostly worked," One said. "Even I was almost drawn in, and I know it's all lies."
"Are you sure it's lies?" Gary asked, nodding toward Three. "Tell her."
"It's true," said Three. "I thought I only played a part, but it's true. All of it! He ent
ered me, and it felt glorious! It felt more than glorious, just like Prophet told us!"
Her eyes were filled with worship as she gazed at him. "You do speak for the Lord."
"I do not lie," he assured her. "I am the way of truth, the only way to your eventual salvation."
"Poppycock," One spat, looking at Three with contempt. "Gary's a Talent Master in possession of a Stone, but his strength is still only average. Prove you're not one of the easily influenced rable by fighting off his influence. If you can't, you're useless to us."
"I agree," Four added. Putting his hands on Three's shoulders, he gave her a shake. "The Tyrant gave us a job to do. Maldane doesn't need us falling into some sort of silly religious ecstasy."
"But he really is The Lord's Prophet."
Shaking her head, Two looked at Gary. "Can you do anything about this?"
"I cannot change the truth," he answered. He was tempted to put the ecstasy into Two's mind but refrained. His was not a strong enough Talent. In fact, his Talents were considerably weaker than these conspirators suspected. He was not a Talent Master like they thought. He was only an almost normal person whose abilities had been fragmented into several different parts. Yes, he possessed six distinctly usable Talents, as well as four or five others too weak to be used even with the help of the Talent Stone given to him by the conspiracy. Even with the Stone, his Talents were not powerful enough for long use. Most of his abilities were closely related, making them almost but not quite the same thing. He could trick people's minds. He could mold their thoughts, make them hear his words in their own language, and make them see something other than the true him. If he had enough strength, he could make people not see him at all. His second strongest Talent allowed him to fire a person's brain with intense pain or pleasure. Several dozen people died while he learned to control that one, but considering his present gig, their sacrifices were worthwhile.
Truthfully, Gary wanted to enter Two's brain just to prove she was not as strong as she thought. Unfortunately, he felt too drained. He had to conserve his energy if he were to keep to schedule. Past experience had taught he could do no more than five appearances on a good day because it took energy to burn channels of obedience into a person's brain. Effort expended on Two would only hinder him later.
