by Scott Rhine
****
Jotham had to coax and persuade the ox through the underbrush. The ox had a pleasant, ruddy color, but the tip of its left horn had been broken off. Though the priest led it through wide gaps by pulling on the rope, the beast didn’t always follow. Nevertheless, the wild-haired man never cursed or beat the animal. Eventually, Brent’s curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “Teacher, why are you running?”
The priest was evasive. “I’ve told you many reasons.”
“You’ve told me why you continued tonight, not why you started,” said the boy.
Jotham stopped so abruptly that the ox nearly stepped on his foot. “You’re a perceptive student. To fully understand a thing, you must understand its roots. Most recently, I suffered from an error in judgment, which brought the wrath of many upon me. But just to be clear, the reasons behind the anger were mainly political; I have done nothing outside the scope of my authority.”
The boy narrowed his eyes, trying to squeeze meaning from the excuse. “So you made a mistake because you didn’t understand history well enough?”
Jotham laughed at this. After all the books he had written on history, insufficient attention to the lessons of the past had indeed triggered his current situation. “Yes. Sometimes even monkeys fall from trees,” he said, quoting an old expression.
“What’s a monkey?”
“Eh? It’s a small, tree-dwelling animal that may be found in the jungles of south Zanzibos,” said the teacher.
“What’s a jungle?” Brent asked.
The teacher was saved from an endless series of sch questions when they reached a particularly steep incline. The ground was slick with dew and the ox lost footing. All three pitched uncontrolled down the slope. The man and boy landed safely on the ground, while the ox had its good horn embedded in the trunk of a tree. The ox was level, but the ground was not, and its front legs were dangling a full arm’s length off the ground.
“I think I am going to invent a new proverb,” said the priest dusting himself and the boy off while analyzing the situation. “An ox does not travel well through the woods.”
The boy giggled. “Or sometimes even oxen fall from trees.”
The priest’s face fell. “Hmm, that could be dangerous. His bones are not the strongest, as you can tell from the broken horn tip. If we allow him to fall naturally, he might break a leg and be unable to continue.”
Brent stopped laughing. “My grandmother had that problem, too.”
Jotham calmed the desperate ox by whispering and stroking. “If this were an old woman, it would be easy. We’d give her bread made with ground cliff stone in it, the white kind you find on your shores. Then we’d invoke a minor blessing in the name of Calligrose, asking that the strength of the mountains inhabit her bones. With an ox, however, we must use our brains.”
“Why can’t we bless Red?”
The priest rubbed the side of his forehead. “Compassion is an admirable trait. We should be kind to the animals. I do not fault your heart. But there are two very good reasons I shall not pray for this ox. First, one should never resort to miracles when the mundane will suffice. It dulls the wits and angers the gods. Second, the Traveler has not replied to a plea for mercy for seven times seven years.” Even a child could tell from the crack in his reedy voice how much this fact pained the priest.
“It’s better that we gather loose stones, branches, and earth to pile under his hooves. Then when we’re ready, I will bid him sit.” Together, they undertook the small project and built a crude ramp beneath the ruddy ox’s forelegs. When the ox proved unwilling to sit of its own accord, Jotham added his own weight to the beast’s rear and concentrated. In moments the animal’s hindquarters sank as if under a mighty burden. When the horn pulled free, he praised the ox and re-seated the boy.
When they reached level ground again, on a hard-packed, dirt trail, Brent said, “I don’t know what you did, but it was definitely supernatural. I thought you said the Traveler didn’t answer prayers any more.”
“The Traveler has given us knowledge of many Ways, among them the secrets of the giants,” said the priest. Thankfully, the ox seemed to follow the road of his own accord, with no coercion needed.
“Perhaps the Traveler has taught you all he can,” Brent suggested.
The half-breed shook his head. “I would that we could be so advanced. Alas, there’s something wrong in our land and it grows worse every day. I think that before we can speak to the Messenger again, we must put something right. Still, it does no harm to pray because you never know when someone may be listening.”
By dawn, they were back on the Emperor’s Road again. Their pace was about half of what Jotham could have managed alone. At the first opportunity, Brent grabbed a handful of the cliff chalk, which he mixed with Red’s feed. All the while they walked, the boy rubbed the ox’s head andmurmured pleas to strengthen the animal’s bones.
As fate would have it, less than a league later, Jotham and Brent passed a group of three travelers breaking camp. The three carried walking sticks and wore green capes, clearly Sons of Semenos. When he saw others in the distance, the Tenor pulled an eye-patch over his brown eye. This gave him the appearance of a pure Imperial with a disability.
The leader of the local priests was thin and too advanced in years to be on such an errand to the outer towns. His joints ached from the night outdoors, and the younger priests did most of the packing. The youngest priest accompanied him out of untrammeled idealism, the desire to learn from an experienced master. The other was an accountant clerk from the main temple, sent to spy and make sure all offerings were handled properly. As the animal passed, the accountant appraised the Imperial, the boy, and the sorry state of the ruddy ox. He sniffed disdainfully. Such a broken horn would have made the beast unworthy of his temple’s herd.
Nothing more was said of the two travelers until the Sons of Semenos reached Wrensford once more. When the king’s soldiers went to fetch the merchant and his sacrifice, they discovered the escape. Descriptions of all parties involved were related to the priests. The accountant blinked a few times when he heard the report about the ox and the tip missing from its left horn.
Once the priests had blessed and dismissed all the survivors remaining in the small hamlet, the soldiers were ordered to burn the village, bury the coals, and return to the capital with the last few sacrifices. Meanwhile, the priests would track down the escapees as a sacred duty.
****
When Jotham saw the smoke plume on the horizon behind them, he was testing Brent’s reading abilities. Although the priest knew that pursuit was inevitable, he didn’t interrupt his student or goad the ox to move faster. The boy did well sounding out the words on the scroll, but needed help with comprehension. Questions about the Silence led to an impromptu history lesson.
“Our sect’s current difficulties began seven times seven years ago when the Traveler ceased speaking. With no more miracles to offer, fewer people supported us. Kings, and even the emperor himself, grew nervous about so large an unaligned force loose in the world. Yet no one remembered how our patrols maintained safety. They saw only an opportunity to gain at the expense of someone weaker. At first, the kings merely refused us provisions. Toward the empire’s end, they began to take active measures of aggression. I believe that the emperor’s failure to defend the temples led to his own decline. Three cycles ago…”
“Cycles?” asked Brent. The boy didn’t mind the big words, because listening grew easier as it stretched him in small ways.
“A cycle is seven years,” the teacher explained. “…the temples began to fall to the greed of kings. On the eve of the last temple falling, the emperor met his doom. Thus, this land entered its darkest hour. Priests and Imperials both were punished. The rule of law failed, and there were several civil wars raging at once. Whole cities starved because the emperor’s ships no longer brought them grain from the distant fields of Mandibos.” There were far more personal tragedies of which Jotham
said nothing.
“Out of those three years of utter chaos rose an alliance. The kings of Intaglios and Semenos joined their armies together and invaded the steel foundries of Kiateros. This move took their neighbon s surprise, and enabled the aggressors to consolidate their new holdings before anyone could react. Then they picked an Imperial of the lowest caste, rescued from the dungeons of Kiateros, to be the new emperor: Sandarac the first. Like Myron, he’d been named for a type of incense burned in the temples. There were enough details matching his description from fringe prophecies that some people believed.
“Controlling the source of all Honored swords, this Pretender might have succeeded in reuniting all the land. However, the spymaster at the Great Library received news of this attack and mobilized the kingdoms of the south, Bablios and Zanzibos, otherwise known as the twins. The vast kingdom of Mandibos didn’t join their blood pact, but vowed to defend her borders against aggression by the false emperor. These are the battle lines still drawn today, with both sides evenly balanced. The slightest advantage to one side or the other could mean the beginning of a bloodbath such as we’ve never seen.
“To make matters worse, no trade will be permitted until the kings of the north restore the crown of Kiateros to its rightful owner, or until the heir dies. Mandibos shelters the only surviving member of the Kiateros royal family, Lugwort the Jeweler.” He then went on to describe Lugwort in great detail. Occasionally, Jotham would take long digressions such as this one, causing the boy to fall asleep in his saddle.
Chapter 19 – The Power of a Single Word
The Jotham’s chase was nothing compared to the lion-like hunting of Tashi. With the infirmities and frequent stops of the eldest priest of Semenos making progress only slightly faster than the lumbering of the ox, the race took almost three days. By now the landscape was flat and they’d almost reached the medium-sized town of Cardinado. At evening mealtime, the accountant demanded that they press on, before the criminals could reach town and disappear into the crowds. The long delay had given the clerk time to work himself into a frenzy of righteous indignation about the theft.
They finally came upon their quarry in a small clearing between the road and the Inner Sea. While Brent stirred a pot of vegetable stew, Jotham tied the ox to a branch and located a collection of tiny, delicate ferns. The patch went quickly back into place over his brown eye. When the three Sons of Semenos crept up from all sides, the Tenor exclaimed, “Welcome to my camp. All who travel are my brothers.” He laid his staff on the ground in a grand gesture.
Almost without thought, the old priest replied in the old ways that few today remembered. “We are all travelers.” In doing this, he inadvertently accepted the offer of hospitality, and could do nothing to harm his new host. “I’m Harkan, and these are my acolytes.”
“Indeed,” said Jotham raising the eyebrow over his patch. “I thought them pledged to Semenos.”
Harkan’s mood lightened at this. The distinction told him that he was in the presence of a trained theologian, not a career criminal. The eldest priest held out his arms and warned his companions, who were bridling at the perceived slight. He lay down his staff, and the other Sons followed his lead. “Peace, brothers. We are here to speak and to dine with our host…”
“I am Jotham the Tenor, also known as Jotham the Historian. The boy Brent is an orphan in my care,” he said, introducing them both, as protocol demanded. The half-Imperial eyed them all closely, waiting for them to make the first foray.
The accountant pointed a stubby finger and accused, “You are harboring a plague carrier!”
Jotham handed him some of the fresh, little ferns and said, “He never had the plague, only a fever, which I helped to cure. Take some of these tambla leaves. See how they curl toward his forehead, not away?” Harkan was struck by how gigantic the Imperial looked when standing next to the small, angry man. Were this wild-haired, wide-framed historian actually violent, the accountant wouldn’t stand a chance. Yet the larger man was tolerating all the hostile words placidly.
“Not all contagion shows fever at the outset,” said the youngest priest, almost hesitantly.
“True, but check him yourself for signs of any disease,” Jotham said confidently. “I purchased new clothes from your king’s men according to the rules of quarantine, as I’m sure they told you. Here is my receipt for the clothing and this is the document making me legally responsible for the boy. My student is clean.”
Brent, though bored, patiently endured as each man in turn checked his eyes, his mouth, his arms, legs, and chest for signs of the dreaded illness. The old priest stared the longest at the protective symbols drawn on Brent’s flesh in blood. When Harkan asked him how he felt, the boy replied, “Hungry.”
This made the old priest laugh, and he concurred. “I should say we’re all quite hungry by now, young sir. There’s nothing wrong with him except a little weakness, which should pass. Noble Jotham, the Sons could use a healer of your abilities.”
“Semenos heals by the plants found only in the temple garden,” said the youngest priest.
Jotham allowed a lilt of amusement to creep into his voice. “Strange, I find those same plants beside the highway. Perhaps all have the virtue to give life, no matter where they take root.”
The earnest, young man was stunned by the heresy. The senior priest covered this awkward moment by suggesting, “We should eat before discussing anything further.”
As the other two dug bowls out of their packs, the accountant saw the missing ox and grew angry again. “He had no right to take our sacrifice! That theft invalidates the contract of hospitality. I refuse to dine with thieves.”
As the indignant man reached for his staff, Harkan stood on it. “It’s illegal to condemn without opportunity for response. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Actually, I was doing a favor by delivering the sacrifice. It’s all proper.” Jotham handed over the writ. “If you choose to accompany us to Cardinado, you’re welcome to do so. I’ll warn you, though, that we travel at night for safety. I see better at night with one eye than all of your eyes put together.” As he spoke, the Tenor began filling his guests’ bowls.
“Do you expect us to believe you were taking this ox to Cardinado?” scoffed the accountant.
Jotham shrugged. “Where else does the road lead?”
“Indeed,” whispered Harkan, wheels turning in his mind.
Unwilling to let the pair of fugitives escape blame, the accountant shrieked, “Stop being so nice! You had no right to take that boy without our blessing.”
Harkan was wary. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. We’re not the only men in the world capable of blessing or verifying the clean.”
“True, we and the merchant were blessed by a traveling priest,” Jotham said, no longer certain where this path would lead.
“What was his name?”
“You know it,” said the Tenor. “I am he.”
With the utmost courtesy, Harkan said, “Our host understands that we will need concrete evidence of this.”
Jotham sighed, and opened his cloak to reveal his own holy symbol, the flare hospitable. All of the adults drew back in momentary amazement.
Respectfully, Harkan said, “We haven’t seen such a sign in this part of the world for many years.”
“Perhaps this is because your rulers were so swift to murder those who bore it,” Jotham countered. Brent and the youngest priest both dropped their spoons at the sharpness of this rebuke.
Harkan bowed his head and admitted, “Some kings are fools. One cannot climb to the glory of the future by slaying the wisdom of the past. But our redemption might lie in the excuse that more greed than conscious evil sped their misdeeds. Our current darkness is sufficient punishment for what they did.”
In the doctrine of Semenos, the king was the leader chosen by their god, and second only to the One who chose him. The accountant had barely begun sputtering his objection to the implications of this statement when Hark
an snapped, “Silence. I still command you both. There are more things on this earth than you’ve been taught. Listen and you may learn more than years of seminary can offer. Good sir, what is your rank in your sect?”
Quietly, Jotham said, “I am a high priest.”
Harkan gasped. Years of questions bubbled to the surface. “Sir, I long to take you at your word. If you but prove your case, I’ll send you on your way with everything you had at our meeting and my meager blessing besides. There are certain questions only a high priest of your faith can answer about the holy scrolls and seeming contradictions.”
Jotham looked at the ground and then sat. “Beware the mysteries, for it is often men, not gods that seek to hide them. I’ll answer one question from each of you, but you must share the reply with all those who ask.”
“This is contrary to the rules of our order,” complained the accountant.
“If you love the rules of the order, then you must still obey me,” snapped the old priest in green. “Surely each of you has a question you have always wondered about. If you stump this man, you may prove him a liar and trap him in his crime. If not, you will have gained more than any rule in existence can offer you.”
The youngest priest went first. “In the scroll of Bardok, the barbarians tore down the walls of Semenea without defeating the ancient fortress at Pernathum or the one at Queed. How was this possible?”
Jotham began a history lesson beside the fire, drawing a map of the region in the dust. “The short answer is that Bardok refers to a different city of the same name, high in the valley of Orestra, on the border of the plains. Semenea was relocated because the original capital had been sacked so easily. This can be confirmed by the fact that the original city sent a messenger east to Pernathum, when the present position is clearly to the west. The barbarians in the tale were really tribes from Mandibos, banding together to stop your king from stealing their cattle. That particular term for ‘wall’ in the ancient tongue meant stone animal stockade. The Mandibosian raiders smashed the fences to set their herds free to feed on the plains, just as they do to this day.”
