by A J Dalton
‘Oh, wonderful! I get to dress up. And I simply must have a mask for myself. How delicious! It will be just like one of my masque balls.’
But where to play out the part? The boy had told Bion he was heading for Hyvan’s Cross, but that was the site of Azual’s home temple, so Izat dared not attempt anything there. The next nearest town was Heroes’ Brook, and Izat had an agent there who could supply her with a costume as necessary. Yes, that would be ideal.
Izat concentrated and called out, ‘Stixis, can you hear me?’
Yes, holy one. One moment, came back the mental voice of the Minister of Heroes’ Brook. Then: What is your will?
‘You are wearing the headband of sun-metal? The rabid one cannot hear your thoughts?’
I wear the headband, holy one. Command me.
‘I will soon be with you, adorable Stixis.’
Praise be! The Saviours are kind. What must I do to prepare for your coming?
‘Gather young people together who have not yet been Drawn. Tell them you are preparing them for the day when they will be Drawn to the blessed Saviours, which might be sooner than they think. I will be with you tomorrow. Have Saintly ceremonial robes ready for my arrival, and the sort of paganesque mask that is worn by the Saints when a region is new to the Empire. It must be the visage of the Lord of Mayhem, do you understand, Stixis?’
Yes, holy one. I yearn to do your will. I yearn to see you again. It has been so long.
‘Fear not, beloved. My love will be yours.’
Thank you, holy one, thank you! the Minister sobbed in gratitude through the link.
Izat smiled to herself. Heroes’ Brook would provide her with the power she needed and perhaps even a young army of sorts. Yes, there was beauty and poignancy to be had from brave young Heroes giving their lives. Their deaths would be a glorious tragedy and inspiration to the rest of the People of this region, just as Jillan’s death would be.
‘Time I picked my feet up,’ Izat announced, now free to draw on her power and lift herself up out of the grime. ‘If matters can be expedited quickly in Heroes’ Brook, I can be at the main crossroads to Hyvan’s Cross before Jillan has passed through it. I may have everything settled and be back at home by tomorrow night. I do hope so, because I am sure the sickly air of this region seeks to play havoc with my skin. And then there’s the stress of it all, not to mention missing out on sleep tonight. Honestly, I am a living and miraculous work of art to remain so divinely beautiful under such circumstances. Yet it must be done for the People. Without this form and figure to behold, they would have nothing to move them, nothing to worship and nothing to make their lives worth living. Ah, the sacrifices I make.’
The warriors of the upper village and their new chief descended into the lower village. They came in all their finery, gemstones and feathers on display, and also carried their weapons. Minister Praxis had a place of honour at Braggar’s right elbow, while the white-haired Slavin stood on his left.
Sal, the old matriarch of the lower village, stood with Torpeth ahead of the assembled villagers.
‘Stop fidgeting, you old goat. Do your fleas bite you?’
‘They do, beloved, they do. They are agitated and fearful. Chief Blackwing is no more. A conniving lowlander stands as counsellor to the new chief, a chief who comes accoutred for war.’
‘And so the gods test us, old goat.’
Torpeth scratched at his gums with his dirty fingernails, drawing blood but not noticing. ‘Yes, so they test us, beloved. And the murder of Blackwing is our people’s first response to that test. It was poorly done and an ill omen. I fear what is to come.’
‘If we are found wanting, the punishment will be of our own making. It was ever thus, old goat.’
Torpeth sighed. ‘They did not heed my warning. Yet I did not heed the warning so long ago, when I first warred on the people in the name of the gods.’
‘And your punishment has been of your own making, has it not?’
‘Aye, of my own making, beloved.’
‘You caused great suffering and much death, old goat. Now you must live forever with great suffering, always denied the forgiveness of the gods, people and yourself. Pity will never be yours and nor will mercy, for you showed none to others. Friends, you have none. The closest you have is the lowlander, him whom you despise, for he is more similar to you than you would like. Love, you have none, for you showed none to others and I will never allow it. Grief and ashes are all you will have. Yet you have created this world for yourself, old goat, and so you must live in it forever more, or until the world is undone because of your crime.’
Tears came to Torpeth’s eyes. He sniffed hard and swallowed while the headwoman remained stony-faced. ‘Is there no hope then, beloved?’
‘Did you allow others to hope, old goat?’
The hundred or so warriors of the upper village now came to a halt a dozen paces from them. Slavin stepped forward. ‘Old Mother, send word to all the communities in the mountains that Blackwing flies no more. They should send all their warriors here, so that tomorrow they may mourn and celebrate Blackwing’s passing, and then witness you placing the crown of feathers upon his son’s brow the day following.’
The headwoman’s eyes remained cold but she inclined her head. ‘As the gods will it. And on the third day?’
‘On the third day, Chief Braggar will deci—’ Slavin began.
But Braggar stepped forwards and said loudly, ‘On the third day, we will begin to reclaim our land from those who stole it from us!’ His warriors nodded. ‘We will free the people and reclaim their hearts for the gods!’ They shouted in support. ‘We will reclaim our pride!’ They cheered and punched the air, most of the villagers joining in. ‘I say that we will no longer divide ourselves as upper and lower villages!’ All the villagers became enthusiastic at that, and even the headwoman’s eyebrows rose. ‘We will no longer divide ourselves as higher and lower peaks! We will no longer be a divided people!’ They were of one voice and will as their shouts echoed across the mountains. ‘An end to division and strife! Tonight, we will feast, sing the songs and tell the tales that remind us of who we are.’ They danced with joy, warriors intermingling with villagers, slapping backs, shaking hands, hugging women and even sharing kisses.
The headwoman’s eyes now shone as she turned to Torpeth. ‘He has his father’s lungs and passion, but there is more life in him than his father. Truly, he speaks with the voice of the gods, dear old goat.’
Torpeth sighed as he watched the Minister whisper into Braggar’s ear. The Minister smiled and his eyes briefly met the holy man’s gaze before flicking away. ‘Aye, beloved, there is life in him where there is none left in Blackwing. I must speak with he who is the closest I have to a friend, he whom I so despise.’
The Minister moved away through the crowd, allowing Braggar his moment.
Presumably, the young fool can deal with his people’s adoration without his hand being held. I have no intention of taking part in any debauched celebration tonight. It will no doubt become some sort of pagan orgy. I will instead tend to my prayers and find consolation in the holy book. Praxis ducked out of the crowd between two cottages, only to find the naked Torpeth blocking his path. How did he know I would take this path? How did he get here so quickly? Dark, sneaking magic, that’s how.
‘Avoiding me, lowlander?’
‘Of course. You smell of goats and are unwashed, after all. I might catch something off you.’
‘Or is it your conscience you seek to avoid? What have you done, lowlander?’
‘Nothing that Torpeth the Great has not done in his time, from what I’ve heard. I have made sacrifices for my faith. My conscience is clear. How dare you accost me in this manner, you upstart! If there is aught that is not to your liking then it can only be as a result of the things you claim to have begun so long ago. You are simply paying for your crimes and corruption, that is all. Now get out of my way!’
Torpeth absently stuck the tip of his tongue
up his left nostril, which had been running with snot. ‘I am sorry I have not shown you better friendship, lowlander. I am sorry I have not shown you love. Is it because of that you are so twisted and murderous?’
The Minister pulled his long black coat tighter about him, buttoning up the high collar beneath his chin. ‘The only love I require is the love of my faith and the divine love of the blessed Saviours for the People. You are outside that love, pagan. You do not even know what the word means. I act out of love, where you do not. I acted where you lacked the understanding and courage. I have done your people a greater service than you can fathom, for now the journey towards Salvation is begun.’
‘And what would you have me do, lowlander? Does Salvation exist for one such as me?’
The Minister’s long nostrils flared and his lips puckered for a moment. ‘You? One who is so ignorant and mired in the Chaos? Surely you jest?’ Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Or you seek to undermine me or gain advantage over me. What would I have you do, pagan? I would have you end your life … or, failing that, bathe and put some clothes on. Like a neglected sheep, you are in great need of shearing. You need to learn the basic manners of civilisation. It will begin to school your mind. You must discover discipline and self-sacrifice if you are to have any hope of Salvation.’
‘Clothes?’ Torpeth scratched at his head and pulled out a mouse that had made a nest in his hair. ‘Clothes are dangerous, lowlander.’
The Minister blinked slowly. ‘Just how are clothes dangerous, you weasel?’
‘My clothes as a warrior were my armour. They kept me impervious from harm but also deadened feeling within me. I was free to commit greater atrocities when I wore that armour. A man is more honest when naked, lowlander. The clothes that others wear define them too much – becoming their equipment for work, deciding their contribution to the whole and defining who they are. If they are not careful, therefore, people become limited by their clothes and lose their true selves. The wondrous potential and magic allowed them by the Geas are never realised. Their clothes have murdered who they could be.’
The Minister shook his head and spoke as if to a child. ‘Clothes do not murder a person, pagan. They teach a person discipline. They help a person serve their betters. They order society. They separate us from naked animals. Yes, we should be careful not to be too limited by our clothes, for we should always strive to become whatever we may to better serve the Saviours – and that is why the blessed Saviours provided us with the holy book, so that we can remind ourselves of our duty. That is why the Empire has its Ministers, Heroes and holy Saints, so that the People can be safeguarded from their own complacency, indolence and indiscipline.’
Torpeth pulled on his beard to help himself nod. His eyes were empty as he said, ‘You are wise, lowlander, I see that now. There is so much to learn. Yet I do not have the necessary trappings of which you speak. And I do not have a teacher. What will I do?’
The Minister frowned. ‘Well, first bathe, shear and clothe yourself. Then I will consider teaching you.’
‘Truly? Oh, that would be wonderful! I fear I would have no other chance of Salvation.’
Minister Praxis afforded him an indulgent smile. ‘Indeed, it is certain you would not. You are fortunate that I have come here, pagan. Nay, the holy Saint was wise to send me on this mission. Truly, your conversion would be a miracle to qualify any Minister for Sainthood.’
Torpeth’s eyes became wide and staring as if he were being visited by a vision. ‘Lowlander, I see it!’
‘What do you see?’ the Minister asked urgently. ‘Is this a moment of revelation?’
‘I see it, lowlander!’
‘Tell me, you weevil. I command it! What do you see?’
‘You … Oh, we are blessed! You are … you are a Minister no more. You are …’
‘Yes, yes? Speak!’
‘You are Saint Praxis!’
‘Unh!’ the Minister whimpered and fell to his knees, hands clasped. ‘Blessed Saviours, I am your faithful servant! Praise be! Pray with me, lowly Torpeth!’
Torpeth went to his knees, mimicking the Minister.
‘Not too close. You still smell. That’s it.’
‘And you will lead all my people to Salvation!’ Torpeth cried.
‘Yes, it is so!’
‘You will lead me down the mountain, Saint Praxis, for you will need a servant now you have greater and Saintly duties to perform.’
‘Yes, yes, it is so. You will accompany me. You will be my servant. Saviours be praised!’
The Peculiar glided down out of the air and stamped three times in the middle of the crossroads. ‘Dear one, we are here!’
There was a rumbling from below and then a tremor. Small stones vibrated as the ground began to behave like a liquid and a behemoth rose up out of the depths. Freda stepped onto firmer ground, wiped dirt from her eyes and looked around.
‘I can’t see much, friend Anupal. This road is chalky and reflects a lot of light. And what is that white stuff on the small trees? Chalk dust?’
The Peculiar smiled. ‘No, it is called snow. It is frozen water that falls from the sky.’
‘It drips from the roof?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. And the small trees are called bushes. Many bushes like this together are called hedgerows.’
‘There is much alive in these hedgerows. A thing with long … ears?’
‘A rabbit probably, or maybe a hare. Or do they hibernate at this time of year? Not sure. It could be a pixie then. Don’t worry, Freda, we are safe.’
Freda peered around some more, looking down each road of the crossroads and then trying to see into the winter-brown hedgerows. ‘There is flat mud behind the hedgerows. And the mud has been arranged in lines.’
‘Fields, these areas of mud are called. At the moment the sun-orb is far away. That is why it’s cold and there is snow. But when it is brought closer, the heat will wake things up and food plants will grow in large numbers in the fields. Plants take energy from light and warmth, you see, and they become bigger.’
‘They do?’ Freda wondered. ‘They are very different to me then, for I don’t like the light and I’m not bothered how warm or cold it is.’
The Peculiar wiped dead flies from his face, one of the hazards of flying. ‘Indeed, dear one, you are different to most things. Nearly all the life of this world requires light and warmth. The miners you worked with were probably weak or ill a lot because they didn’t get enough light. Apart from you, the only ones I know of who do not need light and warmth are the elseworlders, those you know as the Overlords. An interesting coincidence, if you believe in such things. It raises interesting possibilities, dear one. Do you remember your origins?’
Freda stuck the end of her tongue out and scrunched up her eyes with the effort it took to remember so far back. There were physical feelings and sounds. Screams, but she did not know whose. There hadn’t been anyone there, had there? No, there hadn’t been anyone until Norfred had found her – or she’d found him, anyway. How long had she been alone at the start? She had no measure. ‘No, friend Anupal. I did not understand anything of it back then and still do not know how to describe it. I was in the ground. That is all.’ She paused. ‘But the plants start in the ground too, do they not, and then grow upwards, just as I came upwards, is that not so? Maybe I am like normal things then, a little. I would not want to be too much like the Overlords. Please don’t say I’m like them!’
‘All right, all right,’ the Peculiar replied with an unconcerned air, stretching. ‘Keep your hair on.’
Freda stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Don’t be mean! I don’t have hair only because I don’t need it to stay warm. Anyway, what are your origins, then?’
He blinked in surprise and gave her a level gaze. ‘Dear one, I did not intend to be mean. What I said has a different meaning. I’m sorry I was not more careful with my words. Tricky things words, I’m sure you’ll agree. As to my origins, well, it is a matter of
some dispute. Many claim I was created by the Geas, and I suspect that is what the Geas also believes.’
Freda tilted her head one way and then another. The priest of the rock god had told her that she was part of the Geas but that she should also find the Geas in a place called Haven. ‘Are you not then a part of the Geas, friend Anupal?’
The Peculiar pulled a face as if in pain. ‘Well, I am and I’m not, you see. The Geas was necessary for me to come to this world. The Geas probably thought that the idea of creating me was her own, but I actually provided the seed of that idea. The Geas then created me here, meaning I could enter this world. See?’
‘Yes. No. But you know where the Geas is?’
The Peculiar looked frustrated. ‘No. As she did with the other gods, she cast me out. None of us knows where or how to return to her. She said we would find a way when she found it necessary for us to do so. Bit selfish, no? But why am I telling you this?’
Freda shrugged. ‘Because you want to? Because I asked, and I am your friend?’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ the Peculiar nodded, slapping the side of his helmet until it made a ringing noise. ‘Ah! That’s better. Anyway, we have arrived where we need to be, on time. May as well make yourself comfortable. Those we need to meet will be through here soon.’ He sat down in the middle of the crossroads and then lay on his back.
Freda folded herself down next to him, her limbs scraping and sliding over one another. ‘How do you know this is the right place, friend Anupal? You have not met these others before, no? You are not yet friends with them, are you? And I’ve been wondering how you knew where to find me.’
