The World Weavers

by Kelley Grant

  “So am I,” Ashraf said. “But we’ll take care of each other.”

  Jonas wanted to vomit. He wanted to run away. But Parasu held him in the meeting, listened intently to the Templar’s report on the death of the Southern man. The death of Sulis’s uncle.

  “You were supposed to have a scholar present when you questioned him,” the Magistrate said, indignantly. “You know the rules, Templar.”

  “Your scholar didn’t show,” the Templar said.

  “Because you gave him the wrong location!” the Magistrate protested. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t deliberate. A scholar would have warned you that you were pushing his mind too far. Now what will we tell the Southern Territory?”

  “He was trained to resist,” the Templar said, frustrated. “That proves he was important. Clearly he held secrets to have shields like that. He died before they were even broken.”

  The Herald coughed into her hand, looking as disgusted as Jonas felt. “And now the South has a good reason to go to war with us,” she said. “To restrict trade, pull their ­people. We need to let the rest of the Southerners go, lift travel restrictions. If the Hasifels had anything to do with the kidnappings, they’ve paid for it with Tarik’s life.”

  “There is no need to inform them. We will let them believe he is still imprisoned,” the Templar said. “We cannot lift the restrictions. We’ve gained much from the caravan guides we brought in, but we need more. Trade routes, watering holes, ways to survive in the desert.”

  “You were not authorized to arrest the caravan guides,” the Magistrate protested. “You were only to bring in those involved in the kidnapping. We did not give the approval for other arrests. And my ­people were not in on those interviews either. You have no grounds to bring in civilians, especially those from our allies to the south.”

  The Crone sat forward. “He did so because of news I brought from the North,” she said silkily. “We felt it best to act quickly.”

  The new Crone had arrived from the North the day before the meeting and had cloistered herself in her altar with only the Templar attending. This Crone was much younger than the Crone who had passed, more the age of Jonas’s mother than grandmother. She had a pale white face and used cosmetics to enhance her green eyes and generous mouth. She did not cover her long black hair as the last Crone had. Her voice was a low, husky croon.

  “What news?” The Magistrate looked bewildered and glanced over at Jonas, asking Parasu for information. Parasu kept silent and Jonas shook his head.

  “There is an uprising in the North,” the Crone said. “That is why it took me longer to travel here—­I had to put men on the problem. A group of anti-­deity fighters who call themselves the ‘Descendants of the Prophet’ have risen up and are riding south, coming to overthrow the Temple system here in Illian. Voras believes they will seek the help of the other Forsaken and the Southerners.”

  The Herald protested. “I’ve never heard of this,” she said. “Aryn has acolytes in the same temples as Ivanha, and Aryn has messengers all over the North. If a group of heretics had formed a resistance, we would have known about it.”

  “Ivanha herself did not know about them until about fifteen years ago, when she stumbled upon their secret city,” the Crone said mildly. “They keep themselves apart from decent society. Ivanha has declared them Forsaken, but they are dangerous and have weapons and training. She thought she’d eradicated the enclave, but some survived.”

  “Eradicated?” Jonas choked out, before he could help himself.

  The Crone gave him a contemptuous look. “They are heretics, animals. I organized that first hunt, which is why Ivanha chose me as Crone. I understand the threat. These heretics will join with the Southerners.”

  The Herald sat forward, opened her mouth, and snapped it shut. Her expression was surprised. She glanced down at her lap, where her feli had placed his head. Jonas wondered if Aryn was telling her Voice through her feli not to speak. The only other feli in the room was Jonas’s Pollux, who was always at his feet. Parasu stirred in the back of his mind, and Jonas began the meditation that allowed Parasu to take the lead in his own body.

  The Herald took a breath. “You will send everything you know about this incursion to Aryn and Parasu,” she said tightly. “The Tribune and I will go over it.” She turned to the Templar. “We also want every interview you’ve had with the Southerners.”

  “I will personally come to your altar and collect them,” the Magistrate said to the Templar, clearly still angry.

  The Herald nodded. “We will call a Curia when we have reviewed those documents and are satisfied we know as much as you do. Do not make any more arrests and do not enact any plan that has not been approved by all four altars, or Aryn will decide you are plotting against her and take action.” She turned to Jonas. “Voice, will you stay after?”

  His body nodded, already in the control of Parasu. The Magistrate hesitated, and Jonas’s hand lifted, waved him on. It was odd, when Parasu took over his body, like Jonas was having a vivid waking dream that was out of his control.

  Hush, child, Parasu scolded as the Crone and the Templar filed out. Jonas was chagrined that his thoughts had escaped to bother Parasu and quieted them more firmly. That was one problem with Parasu sharing Jonas’s body rather than taking it over. Parasu could overhear and be distracted by Jonas’s thoughts.

  When the door closed behind the other deities, the Herald’s demeanor changed and Jonas saw Aryn staring out of her eyes.

  “They are up to something,” Aryn hissed. “They know something they are keeping from us!”

  “I felt that as well,” Parasu said.

  It was a strange sensation, feeling his body move and form words without Jonas’s volition.

  “It has to do with the South, I know it! My spies say the Southern merchants are speaking about that ancient prophecy again. The one that says they have Chosen ones hiding something from us in the desert,” Aryn said. She stood and paced.

  “Yes. We must reconsider our original judgment that the prophecy was a fake . . . perhaps these Chosen really are protecting something,” Parasu said. “And now we have a threat from the North as well. How is it your messengers had no knowledge of these Descendants? Have you been hiding something?”

  Aryn hissed in frustration. “No. I’d think the hag was making it up, except . . .”

  “The unrest in the North is evident.” Parasu completed her sentence. “The One has taken our best acolytes and made them Counselors, both at the northern Temples and at the southern outpost.”

  “I lost one up north,” Aryn snarled. “And one in the south.”

  “And I lost two in the North,” Parasu said. “But Ivanha lost one up north and Voras lost one in the south.”

  “Your Magistrate was clearly shocked by everything he heard here today, so I’m guessing you know no more than I do.”

  Parasu grimaced. “It is concerning. It is possible that the new Counselors are due to the machinations of these Descendants, but I believe the One is in fact responding to whatever the Crone and the Templar are up to.”

  “And what is that?” Aryn cried in frustration. “What have they found that they would risk the wrath of the One? It will change the balance between the deities, if we don’t find out. I feel this, Parasu. We must figure out what they are up to.”

  “And do what? Stop them?” Parasu asked.

  “Force them to include us. If they’ve found a way to wrest control away from the One, to gain more power—­I want that power. I will not be left out, forced to serve Ivanha and Voras. I want my due.”

  Parasu nodded. “I agree. We will review the documents they give us. We will also send our spies in the household staff to find the information they are hiding from us.”

  “Yes,” Aryn hissed, sitting down at the table again. “Good. I will have my Herald meet with your group for the revi
ew. Your Tribune and my Herald will meet and we will speak again when we hear from our spies.”

  The Herald slumped to the table, her deity gone. Parasu disappeared from Jonas’s mind, and he took a moment to take full control of his body again. He walked around the table to help the Herald sit up, and he gave her water.

  “That’s a good lad,” the Herald said, as he helped her to the door. Her own ­people were waiting and took over the support of her. Jonas followed them into the corridor. He glanced around for the Magistrate, and not seeing him, ducked into the Temple of the One.

  Alannah wasn’t in the temple, but Counselor Elida was, speaking with a green-­cloaked Vrishni. She beckoned with one hand before he could duck into the shadows, indicating she wanted to speak with him. He waited while the Counselor finished speaking to the Vrishni, and then approached the altar.

  “Alannah is gone,” the Counselor told him. She handed him a folded and sealed paper. “She has ridden south. She wrote you a letter before she left.”

  Jonas tried to swallow his disappointment. “When will she return?” he asked.

  Counselor Elida hesitated, and then shook her head. “I don’t know. A man came asking for help down south. It could be a long time before she returns.”

  “Is this about the Counselors the One selected at the Southern waystation?” Jonas asked.

  The Counselor’s hesitation and shifting eyes told him she was about to lie. “Yes,” she said. “She has gone down to guide the new Counselors.”

  “I see,” Jonas said, trying to puzzle things out. “Thank you. I will miss her company while she is gone.”

  The Counselor smiled and nodded, and Jonas turned away, heading to his own altar, his mind racing.

  What was going on? he wondered. The Templar was murdering Southerners, the Crone was murdering Northerners, and the One was stealing acolytes from all the altars. He bowed to parishioners at Parasu’s altar before going into his office. And now Alannah, his only confidant, had gone south in the middle of all the intrigue. And Counselor Elida was lying about why Alannah had left.

  The Magistrate opened the office door, and Jonas slipped his letter underneath the stack of papers and put on a pleasant face. “Parasu and Aryn gave us much to do when they spoke,” Jonas told him, putting his thoughts aside. “I will need your help. Let us begin.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The sun had not yet risen when Kadar packed the last of the supplies onto the humpback he was loading and ordered it to rise. He nodded to the humpback tender, who led the beast to the string of loaded humpbacks heading into the Sands with Turo and Kadar.

  “I wish they’d let me go with you,” Abram said. He handed Kadar a sack of supplies to fasten to his humpback. “I want to fight Voras’s men.”

  Abram had ridden back with them to train with the warriors of the One, ignoring his mother’s protests.

  “You’re trained as a merchant, Abram, not a fighter,” Kadar said harshly, irritated his cousin had choices he did not. Abram looked hurt, and he softened his tone. “As am I. The fight will come here, and sooner than we wish. But by the time it does, you’ll be trained and ready.”

  They’d ridden back to the Hasifel family warehouses in only two days, pushing the mules and riding into the night. Kadar had kissed his daughter goodbye once again, leaving her in the safety of the river town. He’d avoided his Aunt Raella the last day in Tsangia. It hadn’t been difficult with so many of the Tashara clan bustling around, loading mules up with supplies and iron ingots. She’d been more focused on Abram’s mutiny than on Kadar.

  Turo joined Kadar and Abram in the courtyard, gazing in satisfaction at the humpback train. The Hasifels were giving the Tigus a thousand humpbacks and the beasts were being strung together by ropes in their nose rings in groups of forty. Each of those groups would have a tender walking alongside.

  “My ­people will meet us in the Sands,” Turo said, clapping his hands together.

  Kadar nodded. The Tigus would take the humpbacks and supplies, letting the tenders return to assist the warriors of the One. Kadar and Turo would distribute the supplies and beasts to Tigu tribes along the main caravan routes. Kadar would join the tribes in the east, along the boundary between the Northern and Southern Territories, scouting out Voras’s troops and reporting to Sulis, who would relay his findings to the warriors of the One and the Chosen.

  The sun was breaking over the dunes when they’d secured everything and were ready to leave.

  “Be careful, brother of mine,” Sulis said from behind Kadar as he did a final check on the lead line of his group of humpbacks.

  Kadar turned and Sulis embraced him.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered in his ear. “I wish you could have been spared.”

  Kadar hugged her. “You be careful as well,” he told her. He looked over at Ashraf standing back from the farewells.

  “Protect her,” Kadar said. “Keep her from doing anything stupid, would you?”

  “I will try,” Ashraf promised.

  Sulis pushed away. “I can protect myself. Who’s going to protect you?” she asked.

  “A thousand Tigu warriors?” Kadar guessed. “At least that’s what Turo has told me. Apparently farspeakers are valued among the Tigus and don’t fight. I have no idea how I’m going to communicate with these ­people. I’ve never studied a word of their language.”

  Sulis looked past Kadar and frowned, and he turned. Sanuri was attaching a large bag to the front of his humpback, which still knelt, waiting for Kadar to mount.

  Sanuri turned her vague eyes on him. “You will need this,” she said. “I was given it, but it is for you.”

  She wandered to the house and Kadar looked at Sulis.

  “Cook must have given her more supplies,” Sulis said with a shrug. “Sanuri was in the kitchens before I came out here.”

  Kadar nodded and mounted, ordering his humpback to rise. Turo joined him, leading his own string. As Kadar and Turo led the procession, Grandmother and the leaders of Kabandha met them at the front gate.

  Grandmother put a hand on Kadar’s foot in the stirrup.

  “Go with the One, Kadar,” she blessed him. “All our hopes go with you.”

  Kadar touched the back of his hand to his forehead in salute, and Turo did the same. They were saluted back. Sulis blew him a kiss, and they rode out into the scrubby desert, heading for the Sands.

  They reached the Sands before Kadar’s stomach rumbled for midmeal. The deep dunes swallowed them and it was not more than a sandglass before Tigu warriors rose out of the sand on each side of them. Turo stood in his stirrups and shouted at the cloaked figures who gathered around him and Kadar.

  “Calim!” Turo said. He leapt from the saddle as another man dismounted. They embraced and slapped each other’s backs. The humpback tenders were frightened as the nomads surrounded their caravan. Kadar signaled them to sit in the sand.

  Turo conversed with the leader in the Tigu tongue. Calim frowned and pointed at Kadar, growling something. Turo shook his head, saying something insistent. The warrior shook his head again.

  Kadar was distracted from the argument by Sanuri’s bag, still attached to the saddle in front of him. It twitched as though it were coming alive.

  “Muurrrp?” the bag said insistently, and Kadar sighed in frustration. It figured. He unfastened the ties, only now realizing the bag had air holes in it. An orange-­tipped head popped out and looked around.

  Kadar opened the bag wide and Amber burst out of the bag and leapt onto Kadar’s shoulder. She gave a long, loud Frubian Flamepoint battle howl.

  The Tigu warriors turned to stare at Kadar and his odd companion. Amber howled again, right in Kadar’s ear, and the warriors flinched and whispered among each other.

  “Suma!” Kadar heard over and over. Even Turo gazed wide-­eyed at Kadar. He hurried over to Kadar.

 
“You’re a Suma?” he asked.

  Kadar shook his head. “I don’t know what that means,” he said.

  Turo fumbled for words. “You have a suncat and can talk with the One, talk to hooved beasts?” he asked.

  Kadar supposed that was one way of putting it. “The cat chose me,” he said. “The One speaks through it. I can make hooved beasts do what I want.”

  By way of explanation, Kadar held out a hand and silently called over Calim’s humpback. It wuffled his hand, then spit at Turo.

  The rest of the Tigus stared at their leader.

  Calim raised his spear. “Suma!” he shouted.

  “Suma!” the tribe shouted, rattling their weapons.

  Turo rubbed his hands together. “That is good. I did not know you were a Suma. That will make the other Tigus happy. This tribe wants us to overnight at their camp.”

  Kadar sighed in confusion as Amber settled into her bag, purring. He needed to learn some of the language or it was going to be a long journey.

  They headed east; off any trade route Kadar could see.

  “How do you know where to go?” he asked Turo, seeing only unmarked undulating dunes into the distance.

  Turo tapped his head, and then his heart. “We know in here. We feel the water.”

  Kadar closed his eyes, letting his humpback follow the others, and tried to reach out with his senses. He could sense other farspeakers, but not in this area. He wondered if the Tigus were sensing underground water, or knew a general direction to go in. They reached a decent-­sized oasis around late meal. Calim’s tribe of Tigus had large tents set around the water, and even tent-­like shelters for the animals. Kadar was surprised to see horses this far into the Sands. They were staked directly next to their owners’ tents, and in some cases in the owner’s tent.

  The Tigu men and women came out of the tents to stare at their procession of humpbacks.

  “Suma!” the leader shouted, pointing to Kadar.