by John Dalmas
In Hrumma and the Djezes, herbalists were not only the pharmacists. They were alchemists, in the sense of doing empirical research with not only plant but animal and mineral materials, directed mostly at producing pharmaceuticals. In the process they'd accumulated a large body of general chemical information and technique, though without any comprehensive conceptual scheme to fit it into and theorize from.
Meanwhile Reeno had sent a man with a cart to the Tuuchei Gorge caves to get a load of nightbird dung.
Amaadio, with Reeno and Brokols, had developed a list of what he needed for the work, and Reeno had prepared a certificate of credit for him.
On the second morning, before sunup, Brokols, Amaadio, and Reeno had ridden out to visit an abandoned fishing hamlet, Hidden Haven, about three hours ride south of the city. It had seemed to Reeno to be a possible site for their explosives research, and after examining it they decided it would do. When they got back to Theedalit that afternoon, Reeno arranged for its temporary use and to get the road to it rebuilt.
* * *
As Brokols sat down at the telegraph key that evening, Venreeno sat beside him as if to monitor his message. Brokols couldn't see what good that could possibly do the man, who knew neither Almaeic nor telegraph code. He needn't worry, Brokols told himself. He slid the circuit closer aside, and tapped the "in service and waiting" signal through 300 miles of atmosphere to clang Kryger's signal bell in Haipoor l'Djezzer. They waited for two or three minutes before anything happened. Then Kryger's acknowledgement came, followed immediately by a minute-long rattling of the sounder while Brokols' pencil lettered the incoming message.
* * *
THE DARD WILL ANCHOR AT THEEDALIT DAY AFTER TOMORROW STOP ARGANT WILL COME ASHORE AND CONSULT WITH YOU STOP MEET HIM AT THE DOCK STOP ACKNOWLEDGE STOP END
* * *
Day after tomorrow?! Hurriedly Brokols scribbled his reply, then put down his pencil and positioned his hand at the key; his sending finger began to tap, his lips moving as he sent.
"Message received. Stop. Strongly urge that ship anchor outside firth, repeat, outside firth. Stop. Sea serpents raising newborn in firth this season. Stop. Are considered sacred. Stop. They fled at entrance of Dard earlier, which upset the Hrummeans. Stop. It is now known here that the Dard killed two serpents. Stop. If ship enters and serpents abandon young to flee, severe local reaction probable. Stop. Brokols end."
Kryger's reply was virtually immediate, as if he'd composed it while sending.
* * *
ACKD STOP BE AT DOCK TO MEET ARGANT STOP KRYGER END COMM
* * *
Kryger sat steaming, his jaw clenched, its muscles bulging like pahlnuts. Brokols had even managed to leak the killing of the two sea monsters! The man was a hopeless fool! He'd wireless Argant and Stedmer and tell them definitely to remove him. No option.
* * *
"Meet Argant at dock." Brokols knew, as surely as if he'd been told, that Kryger was sending Argant to replace him. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind.
And he was just as sure that Kryger would not tell Stedmer to anchor outside the firth. For several minutes he brooded, then with abrupt decision jotted another message, dialed the ship's frequency, and sent the "in service and waiting signal." Three minutes passed before he was acknowledged.
His sending finger began to move, informing the ship of the situation with the serpents, instructing them to anchor outside the firth and send Argant in in the captain's pinnace.
All he got was an acknowledgement, with neither agreement nor rejection, or even any comment.
* * *
After Eltrienn had let him off at a sidestreet, Vessto strode down it, alone and purposeful, to a tall but otherwise ordinary apartment building, with shops on its ground floor silent and dark. He climbed the outside stairs to the roof. Dim smoky light shone from its small penthouse, where a holy man sat crosslegged outside the door. Vessto went across to it and stepped inside. Old Tassi Vermaatio sat there in beatific meditation on a prayer mat.
The Trumpet of Hrum put down his pack against the wall, walked over, and sat down in a full lotus to one side of the ancient sage, facing his profile.
This time he knew a trance would not elude him. He relaxed, breathed deliberately, slowly, as he'd been taught as a child. His eyes ceased to focus in the universe outside him. Briefly he observed vagrant thoughts float by, letting them pass until there were no more. His remaining tenseness had passed with them.
Shortly he perceived his principal aspects, his Kirsan and Nasrik, two softly glowing eyes already nearly touching one another. He bade them unite, and they became two in one. Then he perceived his life guides, his Zan and Naz, soft pyramidal luminescences; they too he bade unite, and they did. Kaz and Zak, they who provide, showed themselves as pale luminous cubes; and they became two in one. Then the Kozziu appeared, givers of energy, half a dozen vibrating triangles flickering with rainbow tints, seeming energetic beyond constraint; they merged by pairs and became three.
All of these aspects Vessto had seen before, though infrequently and not since he'd left the monastery. They had always appeared in pairs and sometimes had touched, but never had their pairs fully merged before. Now a single opalescent pearl displayed itself. It was new to Vessto, and he realized that he was outside the universe perceiving himself.
He'd long understood that his existence in the world of phenomena grew out of these luminescences, his shattras. Now he knew it beyond understanding.
Amusement swelled. All the luminescences moved to the pearl, and they touched, pulsed, became one, to take the form of a single, twelve-faceted crystalloid pulsing softly with silver light. He contemplated it, and as he did, the he that watched seemed to expand, to absorb it, and felt a sense of one-ness, power, wisdom. And laughed, the laughter bubbling from some great depth.
Then Tassi was floating farther off as another crystalloid, and Panni as yet another, both laughing with him. A golden glow formed, seemed to envelop him, and he went beyond later remembrance.
When Vessto became aware again, his body still sat upright in the dim, silent room. Unfolding his legs, he arose, went to the door, picked up his pack, and stepped out onto the roof, chuckling softly. Eastward the silver light of dawn had begun to thin the stars. He chuckled all the way to the square, where he arrived while the last stars were fading.
Thirty-Four
There was a great deal to do, Brokols realized, but just now most of it wasn't ready to be done. So he and Reeno didn't feel particularly rushed. Their breakfast dishes had been cleared away—Amello Bostelli had hired a houseman-cook for Brokols—and they were relaxing over satta in the long rays of a sun less than an hour above the hills. Birds twittered and sang among the plantings on their roof and other roofs nearby.
Neither man said much. Brokols was thinking about his dream, which hadn't evaporated at waking as so many did. Reeno was thinking his own thoughts, giving only peripheral attention to Brokols'. The houseman stepped out into the garden.
"Your Excellency," he said, "there's a soldier at the door with a message for you. Says he wants to give it to your hand."
"Huh!" Brokols got up, Reeno a moment behind, and went inside. It was a young senior private in clean kilt and tunic, capped instead of helmeted. He recognized the Almite and saluted, put the large envelope in Brokols' hand, saluted again and left. Brokols closed and bolted the door, then slit the envelope with his pocket knife while walking back down the hall toward the garden. Sitting down to his cup again, he drew out a sheaf of papers and began to read aloud.
* * *
Dear Elver,
Earlier today you asked me to tell you about the sages of Hrum. It turns out that I have time to tell you, but as you are not here, I will write it down.
At present, three men are widely considered sages:
Tassi Vermaatio, Panni Vempravvo, and Vessto Cadriio. I'll start with Vessto. I know him best, and recently have gotten well reacquainted with him.
At age
27, Vessto Cadriio has come to be called, by some in Theedalit, "the Trumpet of Hrum." This appears to be from his foretelling some things regarding your ship, yourself, and the ambitions of your emperor—things in the nature of a warning—and also his preaching against Almeon.
Vessto is from a rather poor country province, Kammenak. He was trained in the monastery there but never experienced "the Awakening," and therefore was never dubbed "master." However, as a child he already showed certain Hrum-given talents that drew attention to him, and after four years in the monastery became a third-level adept—the highest is a fourth.
"Adept" refers to certain spiritual aptitudes conveyed by Hrum. Vessto occasionally produced what many came to call his "sayings from Hrum." Often, however, he did not show the neutral affinity that is normally a trait of sages and masters. He can be a dedicated partisan, as you well know, believing that Hrum intends him to do so.
Vessto will no longer be speaking against Almeon in the square, which will severely hamper Mellvis Rantrelli's efforts to depose the amirr. Instead, he has agreed to go with me on my new assignment, where he can be of real value to Hrumma.
* * *
Brokol's eyebrows raised at the last paragraph. Previously he'd been going to ask Reeno what Eltrienn had meant by the terms Hrum-given aptitudes and neutral affinity; neither had any meaning for him. The comments about "foretelling" had not impinged at all; he couldn't have told you they were there. The final paragraph took his attention off everything else however: Vessto was leaving with Eltrienn. He read on.
* * *
At age 58, Panni Vempravvo is known as "the Lamp of Hrum." Son of a fisherman, he was born in a village on a small inlet not far north of the firth. He spent longer as a novice than is normal in the monastery. Usually those who do not attain the Awakening within fifteen years are urged by the masters to leave. (Most leave sooner on their own or at a master's prompting.) But Panni Vempravvo was never urged to leave, and Awakened after twenty-two years in the monastery at Theedalit. Rather soon afterward, his observations on life and humankind began to bring him recognition as a sage.
Tassi Vermaatio was born in the hill village of Zarrnosi. He is said to be 94 years old. After meditating with him for an hour, one day a dozen years ago, Panni Vempravvo dubbed him "the Is-ness of Hrum," perceiving Tassi as having attained permanent one-ness with Hrum-In-Him and thus no longer having any other beingness.
Tassi went late to the monastery. As a boy and young man, he had labored in a quarry with sledge and chisel, cutting blocks of stone. He was renowned for his physical strength. At age 26, he went suddenly blind. This was not from some chip of stone in the eye; it simply happened. At the same time he received a call from Hrum, and entered the monastery near the marketing town of Kritailios. In less than two years he Awakened, at which point his eyes could see again.
For several years afterward he sat on the headland above the firth, in all weather and without a roof, draped with a woolen blanket, speaking occasionally to his devotees and allowing them occasionally to feed him, but mostly meditating. Once a day he got up, relieved himself, and walked about on the headland for a few minutes.
At age 50 he retired to a one-room penthouse in Theedalit, and within three years ceased entirely to speak, sitting in a state of permanent Enlightenment. He quite often laughs however. His breathing is usually imperceptible. He is said to take a small cup of satta once a day, and every week or so to eat a fruit or a meal cake of some sort. About as often, it is said, he voids his bowel and bladder into a bucket. Other than at those times, he rarely stands up anymore, and does not lay down at all. He is not known ever to be sick, and when he stands, he needs no help. It is said that to live with him is to slide gradually into a state of continuing bliss, but only two of his present followers have been with him for an extended period of years. Those two are dedicated to taking care of him. Others have emerged from their association with him to instruct in some monastery, or go back to the fishing boat, the farm field, or the herdsman's hut.
Panni is reported to have said that Tassi is above even the level of Play; he is simply at Perceive. Perhaps no one who has not had the Awakening—that is, no one but a master—has an inkling of what he perceives. Certainly I do not.
Eltrienn
* * *
Brokols had paused over the terms "level of Play" and "Perceive." Presumably Perceive was also a level of some kind. "Adept," "Hrum-given talents," and "Awakening" had little meaning for him. It was unlike Eltrienn to state things unclearly. But then, these were patently religious terms, not worth worrying about.
He and Reeno were about to leave when another messenger arrived, this one a page from the Palace. The wax-sealed envelope he brought was from Juliassa: Brokols was invited to attend a play with her that afternoon. If he accepted, a carriage would pick him up at noon, for lunch before the play. It said nothing about her father, but the messenger was to bring back his answer. Brokols invited the page inside and, sitting down in his study, wrote a brief reply: He'd be delighted, of course, but Reeno Venreeno would have to accompany him. By amirrial order, Reeno was to accompany him wherever he went.
Thirty-Five
In Hrumma, "ladies" were not necessarily "lady-like." Its noblewomen felt no class compulsion to be driven in a carriage, and Juliassa Hanorissia was far more likely to do her traveling in the saddle or, for short distances, afoot. As was her aunt and newly-appointed chaperone, Torissia Korillias, who was only six years older than the namirrna, though somewhat more decorous.
But to take Brokols to the theater, even a bare half-mile from the palace, it seemed to Juliassa that a carriage was more appropriate.
"Do they have theaters in Almeon?" she asked as they drove down a stone-paved street.
He smiled. "Of course. We're not totally uncivilized."
"What are your plays about?"
He shrugged. "Historical events." What else would plays be about? "Kings and crises, mainly," he elaborated. One popped into his mind, but he was not about to mention it: The hunting and capture of the infamous "Contemptible Darmol," a Kelthian "holy man" who'd slunk from village to village on Kelthos, being hidden by the people and preaching religion. General Falthis had finally been forced to a distasteful but necessary extreme—he'd held a village hostage and prepared to kill its children one by one. Darmol had given himself up then and been beheaded in the square in the play's final scene, babbling idiocies until almost the last minute.
It hadn't been the final act in the historical reality, Brokols knew. The execution had triggered the last serious revolution in Almeon. The Kelthians had never recovered from their punishment: to this day they were sullen and worthless, and Brokols wondered if separating the man's head from his shoulders had been worth it. Certainly religion here didn't seem especially noxious, or noxious at all, though perhaps on Kelthos it had been.
"We have historical plays too," Juliassa was saying. "But the one today is a romantic comedy. To make people laugh."
"Hmh! That'll be quite a novelty for me, a play written to make people laugh."
The carriage stopped, and the footman climbed down to open the door for them and help them dismount. The theater was at one end of the park where he'd attended Festival. There was a shallow bowl-like depression, terraced with steps green with grass, a wide paved oval at one side as a stage. Silvery curtains, patterned with gold, hung behind it to conceal the waiting players. Facing it on the sloping sides, occupying the steps, were curved concrete benches in 120° arcs, spaced well apart on contours. They might have held a thousand, but just now they were little more than half full, and he wondered if many spectators would come late, as so many were inclined to do in Larvis Royal. It was a business day though; that may have been it.
The royal party started down one of the aisles carrying their own cushions, as was the custom, the namirrna and Brokols leading, Reeno and Torissia following. The crowd was chattering and laughing, a light and pleasant sound, Brokols thought. As he and Juliassa p
assed the first few arcs of benches though, the sound faded.
Then someone shouted, the words somehow failing to register on Brokols. A second, close at hand, reached him with a shock.
"Foreigner go home!" It was picked up quickly, growing, taking on a unity. Near the foot of the aisle, Juliassa stopped, at first not turning. It was a chant now: "Foreigner go home! Foreigner go home! Foreigner go home!" His hair crawled at the sound. She did turn then, face at first bewildered and shocked but stiffening quickly into anger. Sensing her reaction, their effect, the crowd shouted louder: "Foreigner go home! Foreigner go home!" Gripping Brokols' sleeve, she started back up the aisle, striding now, Reeno and Torissia separating to let them pass, then closing to follow.
"Foreigner go home! Foreigner go home! Foreigner go home!" The chants followed them out of the bowl and into the carriage. Actually, the shouting didn't bother Brokols that much, after the original shock. He could understand it. But he almost cringed at what it had done to Juliassa. Tears of rage rolled down her cheeks. As they drove away, the chant began to break, to be replaced by a cheer, the last sound they heard from the theater.
