A Tale of Infidels

by Erik A Otto

  He forced himself to carefully close the door to the chamber and walk back through the hall of the ancient texts. After making sure the way was clear, he went across the adjoining corridor to his workstation.

  His pulse began to slow as he busied himself with his copying. It was another thirty minutes before Ganness returned. He looked in on Sebastian, squinting at the light of the copy room, making his eyes look even more slitty and black. “Samis has adjourned for the evening, his back in spasm. All is well, apprentice?”

  “All is well, Guardian. And you?” Sebastian returned a meek smile and a nod.

  The guardian frowned but replied, “All is well. I have to close the library soon. I suggest you finish your task with haste.” He turned to go.

  Ganness’s urging steeled his focus, and he finished in twenty more minutes with only one page he had to redo—more efficiently than during the day. Even with his acute concentration, though, the words he’d exchanged with Ganness reverberated. It sounded so simple and plain, like a hello or a please or a praise Matteo, gifted every day to everyone.

  All is well.

  But the words were corrupt. He couldn’t stop his mind from churning at what he’d seen—at how it conflicted with those flippant words.

  He’d come to the keep to be an apprentice, to be a servant to Matteo, and he’d hoped it would allow him to find answers to many questions. But in doing so, he’d found only more questions, questions more troubling than he could have imagined. These added to the already heavy burden of the unexplained events at the ruin, and in concert with the Red Rains, the onset of war with the Sambayans, and the upcoming Day of Ascendancy.

  All was not well. No, indeed, it was not.

  Chapter 14

  The Imbecile

  Adeira was often preoccupied with the myriad household tasks she needed to attend to. Darian offered to help, but she refused any assistance. Eventually she let him chop wood for the stove, even though it looked like a couple of months worth were stacked behind the homestead. She also gave him her bow and told him to keep watch so she could “finally get things done”. He gladly did so but felt silly watching the homestead when she was so busy working.

  While chopping wood and keeping watch, he couldn’t help himself from thinking of home. Surely his family would be warned if the Sambayans were coming. Surely the southern Thelonians would be able to marshal an adequate defense. That’s what he told himself, but in truth, he wasn’t sure. Not even close.

  Adeira was a tough woman. She weeded the garden, milked the goats, cooked dinner, fed the chickens, and cleaned. Her work ethic reminded Darian of his mother’s, although her demeanor was starker when preoccupied with these many tasks. Yet Darian had the sense that Adeira enjoyed it. It was hard work, and she often winced from her belly pains, but she seemed satisfied most of the time.

  He would eventually have to leave, but should he try to go on to Thelos to find the nearest military outpost, risking the roving bands of Sambayans in the meadows, or should he head south to his family’s estate? The southern road was his gut urge, although following the main host of Sambayans was risky.

  He asked himself what his father would do. Sometimes when he did this the answer would be patently clear, speaking to him in his father’s voice. But this time his father’s voice didn’t assert itself. As his mind wandered, he also asked himself what Reniger would do. There was no response there either. Reniger remained an enigma, a nexus of incessant questions, his dead eyes still empty of purpose and yet intent on boring into him at every opportunity.

  Just after dark he made his way up to the loft to lay down. Lulled by the sounds of Adeira putting Donaldo to bed below, sleep came easily in the homestead. He pulled the covers up to his neck and then it was as if he blinked and suddenly it was daylight.

  Adeira was up before him, boiling eggs and cooking oats. Darian had packed all his things and kept them on his back, not willing to let her throw them on the table again.

  “So where do you go, Bronté?” she asked, staring down at the stovetop.

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “More than anything, I want to go south, to my family, to the Bronté estate, but I know that’s too dangerous. So I plan to head northwest to Thelos and join up with the brigades stationed there.”

  She brought over his egg cup and placed it firmly in front of him. “You know, Bronté, there are still Sambayans around the meadows. That could be dangerous.”

  “But I’m just one person. I can hide easily.” And it was probably less dangerous than staying in an exposed homestead, but he kept that to himself.

  Darian tapped on the top of the boiled egg, relishing what could be his last home-cooked meal in a while. He noticed that Adeira had been kind enough to put out some hard bread and goat jerky for him to take.

  “You know my husband went south. He volunteered,” Adeira said. She clenched her jaw.

  “Oh, he did? I’m…” He almost said he was sorry, but that didn’t feel right. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  She looked up at him, her face somber, then returned to focus on her own egg. “Yes. I’m sure. And if not, I can take care of myself.” She stood up, holding her distended belly with her back to him, and went to clean a dish in the wooden basin.

  Darian was reaching the bottom of the egg, scraping the inner contour with his spoon.

  She spun around from her perch at the basin. “We aren’t monsters. There’s a sickness in Valdera, but it’s not contagious, no matter what you hear.”

  “I…don’t think that, Adeira. In fact, you look healthier than most Thelonian women.”

  She frowned at him, then sat back down, watching him. He was still engrossed in his food, digging into the oats. It wasn’t until he was nearly done that she spoke again.

  “You don’t speak much, except in whispers to yourself. Not what I imagined for a son of Bartholomew Bronté.”

  What had she imagined, then? But he didn’t ask her. She seemed in a bitter mood.

  She sighed and continued, glaring at him with a look of contempt, “You wanted to know how I arrived here. I left Valdera a long time ago—when I was a girl. I’m from Donto, on the west side of Valdera, where the sickness is not affecting as many. I left with my mother, and we went north into Belidor. My mother worked in a tavern in Tardiff for a while. We moved to Esienne when I was older. She became a seamstress, and it was there that I learned Belidoran. But we were reported to the authorities, and the monks came to get us.”

  She spoke as if against her will, matter-of-factly. He could only listen attentively.

  “The monks,” she continued, “they were going to take us back to Prosanto. Mama couldn’t bear it. She threatened to slit her own throat. A border guard took pity on us and told the others we were from Thelonia rather than Valdera. So we were dropped on the shores of Thelonia, and the border guard knew a leaguesman who took us in. Mama got sick and died then—and it wasn’t the Valderan plague, just a pain in her chest that never got better. The leaguesman stayed with me and brought me to the meadows.”

  Darian was interested in the story, but it was said with a kind of vitriol, so he felt it best not to probe any further. “Well, thank you for answering my question. I was curious, that’s all.”

  “Just curious? That’s why you wanted to know?” Her hands were on her hips.

  “Yes. Sorry if it was rude. Maybe I had better be going.”

  “Yes, maybe that would be best. Goodbye, funny man.” Now she was tapping her foot expectantly.

  “Good…goodbye, and thank you for everything.”

  So he left the homestead. It was an abrupt and unfriendly departure. Why was she acting so bitter? Maybe this was a Valderan attribute? Or maybe she was sick in some way, but just in her head?

  He walked away from the homestead bewildered. Was there some social grace he had flummoxed? Did his disorder offend her as it did so many others?

  The day was sunny and clear, but his head was a storm cloud.

  Su
rely she didn’t need his sympathies. She was a proud and strong woman. It was a good thing too for she would have to deliver a baby soon. She had much on her plate with Donaldo still too young to be independent, and her husband, well…the harsh reality was that he might never come home…

  It wasn’t until he was more than a mile away that he understood. Maybe she had wanted him to stay but was too proud to say it. It made some sense, with the almost desperate way she had answered his question about her past. Maybe she wanted to alleviate his concerns about her being a Valderan. He stopped dead in his tracks, in the middle of skulking through a field between two thickets of trees, oblivious that he was standing completely exposed.

  Breaking out of his epiphany, he finished his jaunt across the field and crouched in the thicket. His ultimate goal was to get back to the estate, but he had four other brothers who could protect his mother and father. Adeira, on the other hand, could give birth any day. She would have to manage her homestead with a new baby and Donaldo as well. How could she fend off any roving Sambayans? She wouldn’t even have time to watch out for them.

  He heard his father’s whispers. “We are family,” his father would say. “There is no greater bond.” Darian concentrated, repeating the words just so. But despite the perfect inflection, and the crisp delivery, his father’s image was elusive. His apparation seemed vague, like a reflection in a pond that had been disturbed by a rock rippling the surface.

  It was Reniger’s image that crystallized instead, usurping the one of his father. Darian watched Reniger as he skewered the Sambayan soldier. Then he walked over to Darian. Reniger’s eyes were alive, gazing down the point of his bloody scabber. He raised his eyebrow just so and said, “You know, not all of us are tools.”

  Darian whispered more phrases from Reniger. They weren’t all true. Some he’d conjured up during his trek through the woods. Soon what was remembered and what was imagined blurred together, and the monologue began to sound fitting and right. “Go back to Adeira,” Darian said in Reniger’s voice. Then he said it again just so. The sound was comforting, so he said it again.

  Slowly, with some hesitancy, he turned around and began backtracking across the field.

  “But why did you do it, Reniger? Why did you save me from the Sambayans?” It was Darian’s own voice, interrupting Reniger’s haunting monologue that kept replaying in his mind.

  This time Reniger didn’t respond.

  Chapter 15

  The Truthseeker

  Sebastian began the Apprentices Gala standing next to the muted and reserved Hercibal. He was the only person he recognized of the maybe two score people in the hall. Most were serving folk, dressed in their black and gray frocks with blue and gold satchels for Repentance Week.

  It was hard to recognize Xavier Hall. The chamber was normally home to a hundred rows of carefully aligned chairs ahead of the modest podium of the Conductor. Today a huge fountain had been placed in the center, and pipes across the ceiling fueled countless wyg lamps that basked the room in a shimmering glow. Waters from the same roof-strewn pipes streamed down chain guides into pools surrounded by circular tables laden with eye-popping gourmet dishes. The whole floor had been raised onto a wood decking to allow for the fountains, pools, and piping to rejoin the pumping station outside. In the midst of all this, a large blue and gold banner hung down in the center of the hall, listing the Canons in elegant fonts.

  During Repentance Week only subtle superficial changes could be seen in Pyros; a splash of color, a break from prayer, maybe a four course evening meal. Whereas in Esienne it was as if carnal deities usurped people’s souls. Some masqueraded in full-body costumes mocking the heroes of old, others participated in gatherings where the Canons weren’t mentioned or even written. The Old Keep fell somewhere in between these extremes.

  Sebastian tried to pry a few more words from Hercibal while they waited. People often changed in Repentance Week; shy became boisterous, and frugal became generous. But the Repentance Week transformation had failed to manifest in Hercibal. Sebastian asked if he was excited about the Gala, but Hercibal only offered that, “the evening had the appropriate fanfare.”

  Sebastian glanced at his invitation card. A speech by the Conductor had been added at the last minute. It must have been important because the Conductor often kept a low profile during the celebrations.

  The Conductor had been central to his thoughts of late. What he’d found in the library must be exposed, or at least the falsity of this black book acknowledged. He wanted to find someone he could confide in, but he didn’t trust the librarians, especially Saintjoie. They could have been responsible for modifying the Canons all these years. Nor could he go to his designated Sandalier mentor, the venerable Thomas, for he surely wasn’t of high enough rank to give it due consideration. He didn’t trust his new colleagues enough either. So, as difficult as it seemed, he hoped to address the matter with the Conductor himself.

  Surely Preto would know whether the Shepherd was really a cast-out Forefather. Surely he would know how the Tale of the Crossing had evolved over time. He had access to every section of the keep, and this was a topic any Conductor would have studied extensively.

  But he couldn’t speak with Preto about it outright. After the incident at the ruin, Preto might lack faith in Sebastian.

  Instead Sebastian had carefully drafted a letter that cited the black book and itemized the discrepancies with the modern-day Canons. This letter was like a precious egg. He needed to find someone who could nurture it and hatch it after an appropriate incubation. His intention was to have it find its way to the Conductor anonymously. First, though, he wanted to speak with him—to at least test the waters—to gauge his position on the matter subliminally.

  Sebastian scanned the hall, looking for any sign of the Conductor. There were many ebbs and flows of people but no sign of Preto.

  Eventually a greater rush of people began flowing into the room. As soon as Fane entered, Hercibal left Sebastian’s side and went directly to him. Even though Hercibal had barely been company, Sebastian was left feeling uncomfortably alone. And he couldn’t bring himself to join Fane. He was connecting with his friends from home off in a distant corner—a part of the room where Sebastian wouldn’t be able to peruse the crowd. So Sebastian stayed where he was, watching from afar.

  Sebastian’s cousin Huan was there. Huan did odd jobs in the municipalities surrounding the keep after never finishing his level-three apprenticeship. A wife and child were the reasons he gave for his noncomplete, but he also had a reputation for bluntness and obstinacy that could have played a part in being expelled. Regardless, with his trade skills, they allowed him to keep his apprenticeship, so he could still come to the Gala.

  Sebastian made his way over to say hello.

  Before he could speak, Huan saw him approaching. “Cousin Sebastian! I thought I might see you here. How goes your apprenticeship?” A waft of rosemary beer hit Sebastian’s nose a brief instant after the greeting.

  “Well, thank you. I’m proceeding with my studies. And you, Cousin? Are you still working for the Guilds?”

  “Yes, the Bone Guild right now. There’s an old mound to the south near Valdera that we’re nearly finished mining. Good money.” He rubbed his thumb and finger together.

  Huan sounded enthusiastic, but bone mound mining was notoriously dirty work, with one being exposed to all kinds of rotting flesh on a day-to-day basis. The fact that it was near Valdera was certainly not a plus.

  “What kind of bone? Are you bringing back more Matar bone for the keep?” Sebastian asked.

  Huan frowned. “No, nothing like that. We haven’t found any good Matar bone in years. But we’ve found a few solid varieties that should sell well in advance of the Day preparations.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence until Huan graciously gave him an exit. “Why don’t you go enjoy yourself, Sebastian. You passed your level-two exams, right? I was a little bit merrier than you when I did.” He winked.


  Yes, Sebastian had passed his level-two exams. But in recent memory, he’d also been assaulted by a gargoyle, been soaked by the Red Rains, and found a book that could undermine key tenets of the Book of Canons. “You’re right, Huan, of course. Thank you. I’ll go get a drink.”

  “There you go,” Huan said, smiling.

  Huan seemed happy enough, but Sebastian held little esteem for him. He was probably the least pious of anyone related to Thyros Harvellian. And he seemed to be floating through life, rudderless. His father had told Sebastian to keep his distance, perhaps for fear that his idiosyncrasies might be contagious.

  He was eager to put a few bodies between him and his cousin, but the growing crowd was hard to penetrate. He impatiently darted left and then quickly right to gain distance, but the result was that he was farther from the refreshments than before. After a moment’s wait, he tried to double back, but in his haste he bumped into the back of a rather large man who was shifting position at the same time.

  The man spun quickly and opened himself up to Sebastian. He was young and burly, with graying slicked-back hair that contrasted with his more juvenile face. He wore a large, ornate sleeve crest.

  The man was in conversation with a lady in a full-length blue dress. She was wearing a similar crest. The woman immediately smiled at him, her blue and gold makeup giving the grin a colorful flourish. The last of the three he recognized as soon as his eyes connected with Sebastian’s. They were a deep azure blue, and slightly bloodshot. His complexion seemed to go pastier with Sebastian’s appearance, and his hand curled tightly around a generous cup of rosemary beer.

  Sebastian was still being relentlessly pushed up against the three by the rest of the crowd. “I’m terribly sorry. In my haste to get a refreshment, I seem to have overstepped,” Sebastian said.

  Timothur was about to speak, but the woman jumped in before he could. “No, it’s perfect, a third-level apprentice, just the right sort of arbiter for this question. Young, pious, and unsullied by politics.”