by Don McQuinn
Cupping a hand under Jaleeta’s chin, the Abbess said, “Your fear tells me you still have honesty in you. But you haven’t answered my question. Which faction of Church do you support?”
“The Skan know only that the Rose Priestess Sylah discovered the secret of the Door, and that the new Sister Mother has cast out Sylah. They don’t know why, so I don’t, either. But they say Sylah is the most powerful woman in Church. I guess I support her.”
The sound of the Abbess’ palm against her cheek shocked Jaleeta more than the blow hurt. In the small, stone-walled room, it was like the crack of a whip. For a moment her eyes blurred. When they cleared, the Abbess’ hands were back inside the robe sleeves, arms crossed again. “You guess wrong. How can Sylah be ‘the most powerful woman in Church’ when she’s cast out? She is anti-Church.”
“She’s a War Healer. If she keeps men alive, how can it be anti-Church?”
“What is a person who performs Church’s holy offices, but who is not Church? What name do we give those who do magic?”
Jaleeta’s eyes widened. She shook her head, denying what the Abbess demanded of her.
“Say it. Say it, child. Say what Sylah is, or be cursed with her.”
“Witch.”
“Louder.” The Abbess shook Jaleeta, snapped her head back and forth. The hood fell away, released a wild tumble of shining black tresses. “I want to hear your heart speak. And I will know. The Violet Abbess will know.”
“Witch. Witch! Witch!”
The Abbess released her, examined. Jaleeta felt that cold presence stalking her mind, prodding, peering.
The Abbess said, “You’re afraid. Good. To call Sylah a witch should frighten you. If it didn’t, I’d know you were lying. She is a witch, as is her little Seer friend, Lanta. But Church will triumph over them. There will be pain. Fire cleanses all.”
Jaleeta saw the infinitesimal change of expression then. It was one Tears of Jade made familiar, a blend of hate, anticipation, and joy.
It stirred Jaleeta. It was the same face Tears of Jade wore when she described her plans for poor, foolish Lorso. Poor passionate Lorso.
The Violet Abbess thought herself harsh and cruel. Jaleeta wanted to laugh aloud. Tears of Jade made her look like a milk-fat kitten. Lorso would cut her throat for sport.
They all had much to learn of Jaleeta.
The Abbess sat in one of the chairs, gesturing for Jaleeta to do the same. “I’m going to trust you,” the Abbess said, “because I have no choice. You’ve been given access to the castle, to Neela, even to Gan Moondark and the rabble that supports him. Church will bring them down, reinstitute Church order. You will help me.”
Jaleeta recoiled. This was treason. “Murdat took me in, Abbess. Neela befriended me. The others…”
“Enemies.” The Abbess rose, advanced. The hand that gripped Jaleeta’s chin and forced her head up was hot, dry. “When you’ve told them all you know of the Skan, they’ll abandon you, marry you off to some old man who’ll use you until he tires of you. They betrayed Church. They’ll betray you. I am your only hope.”
Jaleeta shook her head. The harsh grip moved with her. Then, suddenly, she was released. The Abbess resumed her chair. Her features softened to sadness. “I’ve spoken too cruelly. I’m old, Jaleeta, accustomed to my way, accustomed to loving Church and being surrounded by those who love her as I do. Strife and pain have made me older than my seasons, as bitter as failed harvest. Now I come upon you, a young doe, weary and confused, My crude eagerness may startle you into the path of wolves. I fear for you, as I fear for Church and her rightful place. Church is beauty. Jaleeta is beautiful. You think your knowledge is the prize they treasure. You are horribly wrong. They’ll twist your knowledge from you quickly. Draining your beauty will entertain them for years. One of them will enjoy it; the rest will be amused. You will know the agony of utter helplessness and abandonment. All because I failed you.” Rising painfully, the Abbess walked toward the door, stopped. “Consider Emso. Old and ugly, I grant you, but the only one of Gan’s circle who resists the preaching of the witch, Sylah. Church will deal more kindly with him than any of the others. Say nothing, however; to repeat a word of what I’ve said dooms him.”
Covering her ears with her hands, Jaleeta backed against the wall. “I don’t want to hear.”
Managing a wan smile, the Abbess nodded. “I’ve been heavy-handed again. I mustn’t mislead you; never think Emso’s disloyal. He’s merely old-fashioned and opposed to this new learning Gan loves.”
“Church is still strong, and she’ll be stronger yet. I’m too small, too weak, to be involved in these things, Abbess. I’d do more harm than good. But I love Church, and believe in her. In the end, she’ll win. You’ll see.”
“Thank you. Your faith is as good as it is great. I learn from you.” The Abbess let herself out, closed the door softly. Shuffling down the hall, she turned the corner. At that point, she stopped and straightened, stretching. When she smiled, she squinted, as one does when peering into the furnace where rough iron is tormented into steel.
At the same time, in Jaleeta’s room, the younger woman stood by the window again. She threw her head back and laughed. There was hardly any sound, giving her amusement a sinister cast. After a moment she positioned her hands in front of her as fists, the right ahead of the left. She appeared to study an imaginary long, slim article that extended some distance in front of her. Laughing again, she leaned back, jerked both hands upward. “Hooked,” she said, exulting. “Well and truly hooked.”
This time her laughter pealed loud into the sunshine.
Chapter 21
The Messenger swept into the audience room with a foppish swagger. Twin spots of bright red leaped to the seated Gan’s cheeks. Standing beside him, Emso extended a discreet hand, barely touching Gan’s arm.
Gan spoke with careful neutrality. “You have a message for me?”
The Messenger bowed. He wore a soft leather hat that formed a limp cone, a full forearm long. Whipping it off as part of his greeting, he slapped it on the floor. Straightening, one leg cocked, he invited admiration. His shirt was of red, white, and green vertical panels, the trousers green with red checks the size of a man’s palm. “I have the honor to bear a message for Murdat, ruler of the Three Territories.”
“Know me, then. I’m Gan Moondark, called Murdat. Speak.”
“I cannot. My sender instructed me to deliver the message to Murdat.” The stare for Emso was deliberately insolent. This time Gan’s restraining hand steadied Emso.
“Emso is my most trusted friend. He knows what I know. Speak.”
“I cannot. A message must be spoken as the sender instructs.”
Gan let go of Emso, rose slowly. “I hold nothing from my friend. Now, speak.”
“My orders are clear.” Confidence rapidly crumbling to consternation, the Messenger fumbled with the leather hat. His voice pitched upward. “Anyone who interferes with a Messenger…”
“Stop.” Gan spat the word. Emso preempted further argument. “I’ll wait in the next room. I don’t mind. Really.” He sent the Messenger a smile that drew a wince.
As soon as they were alone, the Messenger stepped closer to Gan. After collecting his wits, the Messenger’s voice changed completely. His words came in a hoarse whisper. Gan recognized the voice of the woman who was now Sister Mother. “We have our differences, Gan Moondark, but nothing two practical people can’t overcome. I am offered alliance by one sworn to destroy you. Weakness demands I accept. Unless you counter that offer with your own. Church must be one. It cannot be without you. Do not force me to choose against you. Do not force me to destroy you along with my enemies.”
For a significant moment, the Messenger remained stiffly erect, features contorted by the intense effort to reproduce the message in its correct phrasing, tonality, and inflection. Sweat studded his forehead. Shivering, he slipped back into his own persona.
“That’s all? That’s the entire message?”
“Every word, as it was spoken.”
“You’ve said nothing about this to anyone? One of your guild, perhaps?”
Drawing himself up haughtily, the Messenger said, “We are trusted because we reveal nothing, not to sender, not to receiver, not to anyone. I would never reveal anything about you.”
It was a well-deserved rebuke, and Gan accepted it in frustrated silence. He managed to dismiss the man with courteous, if short, thanks. Then he called to Emso. As his friend returned, Gan made a face, gestured palms up. “He spoke the truth. The message demands my silence. I wish I could discuss it. I think your answer to the sender would come easily, and your judgment has never failed me. I apologize for excluding you.”
“Everyone has secrets. Gan has some, Murdat has more. Even I have one or two. I think. Sometimes I don’t remember so well.” Emso winked, enjoying himself.
Gan laughed. “You always understand. I always wonder why.”
“I’ve wondered myself. Sometimes I think it’s the fear.” Emso was suddenly deadly serious. “There’s a smell of desperation around you. I can’t explain. It’s as if every time you make a bet, it’s for everything you own. You understand? Those who love you find ourselves having to make the same bets as you.”
Gan made a rue two-sign, invoking the One whose name was never spoken. “I want loyal friends around me, of course. I lead, Emso; I don’t order. When I command the Wolves, it’s because we’re all fighting the same fight, fighting for the same goals.”
“Men follow you because you give them hope. Even now, surrounded by tribes that mean to exterminate us, weakened by plague and warfare, the people of the Three Territories know Murdat will bring them victory, peace, and plenty. They’ll fight to the death believing the survivors will see it. Me? I know war’s a game that never ends.”
“Why fight at all, then?”
“I was a beaten man, fighting for a defeated land, waiting only to die when you came to Jalail. Something told me you, a beaten, outcast boy, would find a way to save us from Altanar. I didn’t want to believe. I had to. You gave me more than life. That’s why I fight.”
“You owe me nothing.”
“No one spoke of debts.” Emso’s voice sharpened. “I’m grateful to you, but not so grateful that I live for you. I live as I choose, Murdat, and I’ll die my own way. My life is mine. Again. And forever.”
Gan’s smile started as a slight movement of his lips, spread to encompass and illuminate his entire face. He put his right fist to his right ear in the Wolf salute. “I hear. I understand. Emso is his own man. Let the Messengers go forth in all the directions, spreading the word.”
Emso mumbled and huffed, then finally found a tight grin that acknowledged Gan’s jest. “Well, it’s a serious matter. I don’t talk about it easily, and that makes me gruff. Gruffer. I won’t talk about it again, I promise you that. Once is enough. But I will say almost every man in the packs feels exactly the same.”
“Are they afraid of my ‘desperate’ behavior, too?”
“I see more concern than fear. There’s something eating your mind, something you fear more than defeat, more than death. I expected your charge against the Kwa, you know. I’ve seen men go into combat resigned to death, seen men use combat as a way to die. There’s some of that in the way you act now, but it’s not the same. When I first saw you, you fought for right, and for hope. Now I only see hope, and I don’t understand what you hope for anymore.”
“I hope for freedom. I don’t want the responsibility. I never guessed what it could be like, how much of it there is.”
“If you were a simple power-seeker, another Altanar or like that Chair person Conway tells about, it wouldn’t bother you. As it is, I expect it to kill you.” The latter phrase came with a dismissive nonchalance that snapped Gan’s head around. Unperturbed, Emso continued. “You won’t know when to stop. Even if you try, the prosperity you create will draw new enemies. You’ll always respond. For your friends, for your people.”
“That’s the cruelest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Almost imperceptibly, Gan settled into an aggressive crouch.
“Killing me won’t change the truth. It’ll only mean you’ve lost a friend.”
“Don’t say that.” Gan straightened quickly, as if denying the tense moment ever occurred. “I depend on you.”
“Good. Now, back to where we were when the Messenger came in: Everyone’s sent for. The Barons arrive tomorrow. So does that For pirate, Wal. Conway, Tate, and Leclerc will be here. Is there anyone else you want?”
“That’s everyone. We don’t dare deal with so many enemies without everyone knowing everyone’s responsibilities. Coordination, Emso. It’s what makes the Wolves unbeatable. It’s more important now than ever.”
Emso moved to leave. “I’ll make arrangements for tonight’s dinner.”
“See that there’s entertainment. Tomorrow we’ll argue. Tonight we’ll enjoy ourselves.”
Snorting, Emso slammed the heavy door behind him.
Soon he was standing in the doorway to the huge kitchen that served the needs of the castle. The woman in charge came to greet him. She wore the red-and-yellow belt of the castle staff over homespun blouse, slacks, and apron of off-white. When the woman brushed her hands on the apron, small puffs of flour leaped from the material to precede her, as if declaring her calling. “Good morning, Emso. How many join Murdat for dinner tonight?”
“Are there no secrets in the Three Territories? I just came from Murdat.”
The woman shrugged. “The son of the woman who brings me greens was sent to fetch Baron Galmontis. My second baker’s daughter is—”
“Stop.” Emso raised a hand. “It’s bad enough knowing we have no security without hearing how every gardener and dough-squeezer in the land is shouting our business.”
“The only one shouting is you. You don’t seem to feel my cooks and suppliers are so dangerous to you when you sit down to my table.”
Emso opened his mouth to explore the connection between eating and state secrets, and despaired of penetrating the logic involved. Instead, he mumbled the number and turned to leave, trying to avoid the appearance of slinking.
Neela adroitly sidestepped his retreat. Emso came to a clumsy halt. Reaching out to assure he didn’t bump her, he inadvertently hit Jaleeta with a forearm. Further nonplussed, he grabbed Jaleeta’s shoulder to help her keep her balance, forgetting his own. Staggering, practically embracing the young woman, he lost whatever composure he had left. Leaping as if Jaleeta burned him, he slammed into the wall behind him.
Emso disliked sympathy. Hearing it chopped up by unrestrainable laughter was almost unbearable.
When Neela choked out, “What brings you to the kitchen?” he answered with a wounded dignity that almost set off another round of hilarity.
“Murdat’s dinner arrangements. And you?”
The cook answered for Neela. “I’ll be ready to show you and Jaleeta the kitchen as soon as I check on my bread, Neela. I was coming for you when Emso came.” She gestured at rising loaves on a table, and Neela nodded understanding. The cook hurried away. To Emso, Neela said, “I’d completely forgotten the Barons are all coming. It’ll be a chance for Jaleeta to meet them. We’ll be having entertainment, too, won’t we?”
Jaleeta shrank back. “I can’t come.”
“Why not? You’re my guest, mine and my husband’s. The Barons are just men. Sylah will be there. Lanta and Tate, too. Of course you can come.”
“That’s not it.” She sent a furtive glance at Emso.
“Gan and I trust Emso as we trust each other. So must you.”
“Thank you.” Emso nodded his appreciation to Neela, expressionless. He repeated the gesture for Jaleeta, who flashed a bright smile of relief and acceptance that quickly broke, replaced by the troubled expression. Addressing Neela, she adamantly rejected the invitation again. “Don’t you see, Neela, I can’t repeat anything I don’t know, or make some innocent remark later that reveals som
ething important. Let me help Sylah and the Church women with the Chosens. Tears of Jade will suspect I’m shirking, but I don’t care.”
Emso glowered. “How’s she to know?”
Jaleeta edged closer to Neela, her wide, vulnerable eyes fixed on Emso. Neela spoke before Jaleeta could. “Jaleeta was told she’d be contacted. Someone in the Three Territories is a spy, expected to carry whatever she learns back to this Tears of Jade and the Skan. Don’t bully Jaleeta; she has no idea who it is.”
Bridling, Emso tried to soften his expression. The result was close to grimace. “I was going to say I think she’s very wise. And very brave. Being from the sunrise side of the Enemy Mountains, you and Gan don’t have much knowledge of the Skan. Over here, to sunset side, we know Tears of Jade’s name too well. Mention evil, and you mention her.” Emso turned his gaze on Jaleeta. “Take no chances. Do as Neela says; go to the dinner. You’ll hear no secrets, but you’ll be able to impress your contact with your knowledge of our activities here. We’ll see you have some pretty tales to tell, never fear.”
A smiling Jaleeta extended a shy hand, pulled it back in a flutter of embarrassment. She faced Neela. “I don’t know if I can do it, Neela. I mean, meet this person, tell him what I’m supposed to say. It’ll mean lying. I’ve already proven I don’t do that very well.” She blushed.
Emso bent forward, reassuring. “Don’t you worry. We’ll give you easy things, and we’ll go over it with you until you’ve got it right.”
“You’re very kind. No wonder Gan and Neela think so much of you. I’m glad you’re always close. Sometimes I wonder what could happen if Tears of Jade learns I betrayed her. Or if she just decides to get rid of me.”
Emso glowered. “You’re one of us, Jaleeta. We take care of each other.”
Neela read entreaty in the grateful, touched look Jaleeta sent her. Turning Jaleeta toward the kitchen, she told Emso, “I promised Jaleeta I’d show her the kitchen. Excuse us, please.”
