by Dave Duncan
“You really aren’t a reaper anymore?”
He shook his head, not looking at her.
She glanced at D’ward. He nodded to show he understood.
“What happened at the festival?” she asked.
Dolm straightened, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Disaster! Well, Uthiam won a rose for her solo.”
“Praise to Tion!” Eleal clapped her hands.
“But she was the only one. I didn’t get there in time, you see.” Dolm shook his head sorrowfully. “I had orders to go to Ruatvil.”
“Orders?”
“Orders from Zath. When we arrived at Filoby, I left the group without telling anyone. Zath’s orders override anything. I had been instructed to meet up with another…with a colleague.”
“That was the one the Kriiton man killed?”
He nodded, staring at the stones of the hearth. “I don’t know his name. The next night I was at the Sacrarium. You know.”
“But if you weren’t killed,” she said, working it out, “then it must have been you who removed the bodies!”
Again he nodded. “I buried the nun—dug her grave with her sword and my bare hands. That seemed the least I could do. The others I dropped over the cliff. I looked for you, couldn’t find you, and decided you had gone off somewhere with the Liberator.” He looked across at D’ward, who was frowning in exasperation.
“So then what happened?” Eleal demanded impatiently.
“I went to Suss,” Dolm said reluctantly. “I was too late. They presented the Varilian, because it’s easier. K’linpor took my part and Golfren took his.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes.”
How awful! A yak could act better than Golfren, fine musician though he was. “So what are they doing now?”
Dolm picked up a thin twig and poked idly at the cold ashes. “Starving.”
“Starving?”
“Almost. The priests in Narsh took all their money. They don’t even have enough to get out of Sussvale, Eleal. And it’s all my fault!”
This did not make any sense! “But you were back. Even if they didn’t compete, or win, they can stage performances, surely? They’re well-known in Suss! Surely people would—”
“I can’t act anymore!” Dolm shouted. He put his face down on his knees, huddled in misery. “Trong fired me yesterday.”
“Can’t act?”
“No. I’m terrible! I forget my lines, I fall over my feet. It’s all gone.”
Again Eleal glanced at D’ward. He shrugged, obviously at a loss.
“So what are they doing?”
“Trying to hire a replacement for me,” Dolm said, speaking to the ground. “As soon as he’s learned his lines, they’ll stage the Varilian.”
Eleal sighed. This was awful! “What does Yama—” The immediate expression of agony on Dolm’s face told her she was an unkind, blundering idiot.
“Do you really think I would tell her?” he said bitterly. “Or any of them?”
How strange!—she felt sorry for him now. This was a very different Dolm.
“What did you tell them?”
“That I went on a binge, drinking.” He laughed, a very hollow sound. “It’s better to be thought a lush than a mass murderer.”
“Oh. I won’t tell them, Dolm. I know I’m nosy, but I can keep secrets if I want to.”
“I know you can, Eleal. Thank you. Thank you very much. It doesn’t really matter, because they won’t see me again, but I’d feel happier…Somehow.”
The evening must be cooling, for she felt little goose bumps on her skin.
“Who won the gold rose?”
He shrugged. “Some pretty boy, of course.”
“You didn’t hear his name?”
“No. A musician, I think…There was some story that the judges told him to throw his lyre in the river and report to the chief priest. No one else had a look-in, they said. Why?”
“I met a boy named Gim.”
“Yes, maybe that was his name, now you mention it.”
“And how many miracles?”
Dolm’s eyes flickered to her leg and then away again quickly. He smiled his stage smile. “One or two—the priests couldn’t decide which. When the time came for the boy to call out a name, he called two names. They were sisters, identical twins, and all their lives they’d had a terrible skin disease. Even from where I was standing, they looked just horrible.”
“And Tion healed them!”
“Oh yes! He laid his hands—laid your friend’s hands—on their heads and they were cured.”
That was beautiful! “Were they pretty? How old are they? What are their names?”
Dolm had lost interest in telling her about the festival. He was studying D’ward with a puzzled expression. “Why is the Liberator still here, in Sussland? Doesn’t he know that Zath has reapers out looking for him? Doesn’t he know he’s in terrible danger?”
She sniggered. “He doesn’t seem to know anything. He doesn’t know the language, or the gods, or anything!”
Dolm’s cavernous eyes widened. “The seeress described him as a baby! Why on earth is he going around dressed as a pilgrim?”
“I decided he would be safest that way, since he can’t talk. And, Dolm, he’s a wonderful actor! He’s being making everyone think he really is a holy man!”
A pained smile twisted the actor’s gaunt face. “Oh, Eleal, little idiot! Of course he can act a holy man! Don’t you see what you’ve done?”
She bristled. “I’ve been ingenious and, er, resourceful under trying conditions! He’s been terribly sick!” She looked to D’ward for support and he smiled encouragingly. How odd! Except for the red wound on his forehead, he looked as if he’d never been sick in his life. “And he doesn’t know anything about the world at all, but I thought he ought to get to Suss and appeal to Tion, and this seemed—”
“You are a small chump!” Dolm said. “Zath has I-don’t-know-how-many reapers out looking for him, and you dress him like a pilgrim? Don’t you understand? He’s the Liberator! Of course he could make people think he was a holy man! He is a holy man! You disguised him as what he really is, you frog-brain!”
Eleal said, “Oh!…Oh?” Well, that might help explain a few of the surprising things that had been happening today.
“And I’m not at all sure about taking him to Tion,” Dolm said uncertainly. “Some of the passages in the Testament suggest that the Liberator…All of Sussia’s been talking about the birth of the Liberator. Well, never mind. I wish I’d thought of the pilgrim idea for myself, though. That’s what I need to do! I shall don the holy pentacle and see if I can cleanse my soul.” Another painful smile flickered over his haggard features. “I wonder if he’d—”
He turned to his pack and began unlacing it. Eleal recalled how she’d rummaged through that pack less than a fortnight ago and found a reaper’s gown.
Dolm pulled out a tunic and pants. He held them out to D’ward. D’ward’s blue eyes lit up and he looked to Eleal for her approval.
“Just what are you suggesting, Dolm Actor?” she demanded.
“I’ll trade with him. I’ll have to come back with you to Suss and start at Tion’s temple, of course.”
Eleal shivered. The Holy Circuit of the five great temples took at least a year—a year of begging and poverty, of penance and complete silence.
“But he really can’t talk! What if someone asks him questions?”
Dolm shrugged. “You’re planning to rejoin the troupe and take him with you, aren’t you? It’s only a few hours’ walk. I’ll come with you to the city. He can have my pack, too.”
Eleal nodded uncertainly—she had nowhere to go except back to the troupe. D’ward grabbed the garments and jumped up. He strode off into the cloud blossoms. A moment la
ter he came marching out again in his new clothes, grinning shyly. He and Dolm were about the same height and the garments were intended to be loose—but not so loose. If he let go of the pants, they would fall down. Chuckling, Dolm dug in his pack again and produced a length of cord.
“Better!” D’ward said, laughing. “Not women frighten. Talk now?”
“Talk now,” Eleal agreed.
He sat down and smiled at Dolm. “D’ward!” He held out a hand.
“Dolm Actor.” They shook hands. Dolm stuffed the pilgrim smock in his pack. “I tried to kill you!”
D’ward nodded. “Remember. Saw your voice under the night.”
“He doesn’t speak very well, does he?” Dolm said wonderingly.
“He’s learning very fast!”
“Was reaper?” D’ward asked.
Dolm nodded solemnly.
“Better now?”
“Better.”
“Good!” Again D’ward offered a hand to shake.
Dolm looked startled, and then accepted. He stared at D’ward afterward as if hunting something he could not identify.
“We can stay here tonight, can’t we?” Eleal said. The sun must have slipped behind Susswall, for the grove was growing dark.
“I have a little food,” Dolm said. “But only one blanket.”
“We should have left D’ward a holy man. He just has to look at people and they throw charity at him.”
Dolm scratched his scanty hair. “Where do you want to go, sir?”
Eleal turned away to hide a smile. She did not think Dolm had even realized that he had called a boy, “sir.”
D’ward took a moment to work out the question. “Olympus.”
“Who’s she?”
“I don’t know,” Eleal sighed. “He raved about her when he was delirious.”
D’ward said, “Query town. Query village.”
“That’s a woman’s name!” she protested. “He must mean Limpus.”
Edward shrugged.
“Limpusvil?” Dolm said thoughtfully. “Limpusby? I never heard of either. Your first problem will be to escape from Sussvale. Zath set watches on the nodes and you slipped by us. Now he has all the passes guarded. Only four passes.” At Edward’s frown he explained more slowly, with gestures, scratching a map in the dirt.
“We need T’lin Dragontrader again!” Eleal said. Then she remembered and said, “Oh!”
Dolm’s clouded face brightened momentarily. “He escaped me, if that’s what you’re wondering. The way he took off on that dragon, I don’t suppose he stopped this side of Nosokland.” He turned again to study D’ward. “Taking him to Tion is probably the best idea, I suppose, since none of us has any money.”
“Tion god?” D’ward said, frowning. “No gods!”
Dolm raised his eyebrows. “Like that, is it? The gods shall flee before him; they shall bow…” He pondered. “Perhaps you weren’t so foolish after all, Eleal Singer—disguising him as a holy man, I mean. The reapers wouldn’t be looking for him in that role. And taking him to Suss but not going to the temple may be the same sort of thing. The best place to hide a man is in a crowd of men. Unless they’re keeping an eye out for you also, of course.”
“What do you mean?” Eleal demanded, feeling a cold shiver.
“They know you’re involved, so they may be watching the troupe, in case you try to return. They’re probably hunting me, too,” he said sadly. “I don’t think ex-reapers live very long.”
She switched into Sussian, which D’ward would not understand. “Tion!” she said firmly. “We must go and seek the aid of our god!”
“I suppose you’re right,” Dolm agreed, shooting a worried glance at the Liberator.
53
AT SUSS THE CANYON WAS MUCH WIDER THAN AT RUATvil. The land descended in steps and cliffs, a red and green landscape fretted by intricate wadis. Tion’s temple stood on an isolated mesa, a sprawling palace on a giant plinth, its gilded dome blazing under the tropic sun. It was a giant’s cake of white marble, decorated and ornamented in pillars and cornices of bright color, in form like nothing Edward had ever seen, although unquestionably fair. If it resembled anything on Earth, perhaps “out of the Taj Mahal by the Kremlin,” would sum it up best. Innumerable lesser buildings spread out over the steps of the valley wall, all set in gardens and park, lush vegetation contrasting with the ruddy soil. The whole complex was larger than the little walled town beyond it. Yes, it was beautiful. And so it should be, for Tion was god of art and beauty. It was vastly impressive—and so it should be, for Tion was one of the five paramount deities of the Vales.
It would be a node, of course, but it stood too far from the road for Edward to sense virtuality. Unlike Stonehenge and the Sacrarium, this node was occupied. He did not know whether the numen who dwelt there belonged to the Chamber or the Service. Eleal insisted that Tion was a benevolent god, but the teams in this game did not wear colored jerseys. Edward was not about to walk into any den until he had learned more about the lion. So far his only instructors had been a child and a confessed mass murderer.
Dolm Actor was the first adult he had been able to talk with since he arrived on Nextdoor. However willing and precocious, Eleal had a child’s limitations. Dolm spoke clearly and slowly, repeating himself in ingenious variations to convey his meaning. He had a quick wit for untangling Edward’s efforts to reply, the patience to correct his grammar, plus an actor’s ear for pronunciation. He was a very good coach, but he explained that any wandering entertainer in the Vales must soon become a language expert. Every valley had its own dialect. The farther from home, the greater the difference.
How many valleys? How many peoples?
Dolm could not give an answer, barely even a guess. There were three main languages, Joalian, Thargian, and Niolian, and at least half a dozen variants of each. A score was the absolute minimum.
How many gods? That question produced a lecture on theology, the five great gods—Parent, Lady, Man, Maiden, Youth—and the many minor gods who were the five also. Edward recalled his father saying that people could believe anything they wanted to believe.
By the time noon rolled around and the weary travelers were approaching the turnoff to Tion’s spectacular temple, he was often able to understand what was said at the first attempt. Speaking was harder, of course. Nevertheless, he had never picked up a language so quickly. There were uncanny things going on, and he was becoming more and more uneasy about them. He was a stranger here. Mr. Goodfellow…Oh, stuff it! That way led madness. Here be dragons.
The roads were almost deserted. Yesterday’s traffic had been heavy because people had been heading home from Tion’s Festival, which sounded like a sort of annual Olympic Games. That train of thought shunted Edward off onto a siding. He spent several minutes asking if there was any great home for all the gods—a sacred mountain, perhaps. Neither Dolm nor Eleal could recall hearing of such a place. Every god and goddess had a temple and important deities might have outlying shrines and chapels as well, but there was no central clubhouse where they were known to assemble. If they threw parties for one another, they did so at home. Scratch that thought. “Olympus” was only a nickname.
Eleal had been feeling ignored all morning and was being obnoxious in consequence. Dolm started asking her about her arrival in Sussland and her replies confirmed Edward’s suspicions that she was keeping secrets from him. Having learned of her theatrical background, he could understand her affected airs and dramatics. She claimed that she had been kidnapped by a goddess and rescued by a god. Doubting most of this, Edward still moved Eleal to the head of his list of things to investigate as soon as he had mastered the language. He would like to hear much more about the T’lin man who had brought her to Sussland and had been Creighton’s friend also—and especially so when Dolm confirmed that the man had managed to escape. He was an itinerant horse trader, altho
ugh Edward had seen no horses so far.
But why was the Service so much less conspicuous than the Chamber? Why were enemies so much easier to find than friends? The goddess who had imprisoned Eleal in Narsh was an obvious Horror. Her ritual prostitution sounded exactly like Herodotus’s tales of the temple of Aphrodite in Babylon that always so intrigued the Greek scholars of Fifth Form. Zath was another, with his reapers. Was Tion with them or against them? Was he with the Service or against it?
Tion was too much of a risk. The T’lin man had been a friend of Creighton’s and was a much safer bet. He must find T’lin. Only if that proved impossible would he risk Tion.
The entrance to the temple precincts was a resplendent arch, ornamented with much gold and many symbols of the god: roses and triangles and animals that looked like frogs. A few worshipers were coming and going, ignored by half a dozen pike-bearing guards, who caught Edward’s attention more than anything else did. A squad of fifty or so was being drilled in the distance. Their armor looked like solid gold but obviously couldn’t be, or the poor beggars would collapse in heaps. Why should a god need such a force? To stop tourists writing on the pillars? Or just because they looked good standing there? As far as he could judge without going close, they were all at least as tall as he was and very well turned out—the Coldstream Guards of Nextdoor. Were they only for show, or were they an elite force? Smart troops were effective troops. None showed that better than the British Army.
Dolm hesitated, but it was not the guards that deterred him. This was where his pilgrimage must begin. “I’ll walk a little farther with you,” he muttered. “I think I can find the troupe for you.” It was a reasonable excuse to put off the awful moment. The three of them carried on toward the city.
Suss occupied a salient of high ground protected on three sides by cliffs. It was no more than a small town by Edward’s standards, and the sight of its walls was a shock, a reminder that he was living in a primitive world. He might have to acquire a sword! He had fenced during his stay in Heidelberg, but not enough to qualify as a swordsman.
As it neared the city gates, the road crossed a series of arched bridges spanning small tributary canyons. On one of these Dolm stopped and peered over the rail. He unslung his pack.
