by Dave Duncan
"Back at the hospital."
With another oath, the colonel took up a perfectly good shirt and dabbed at his cut. “Who was he writing to? Not you."
"No, sir. A chappie called Jumbo. The letter was never sent, obviously. I found it in his papers last week."
Creighton grunted. “Well, you're right. Jumbo is one of us. There is a portal in Egypt. Now the opposition may learn of it! Damn it to hell! I wonder if I can send a telegram from one of these villages?” He glared wordlessly at the shirt.
"I expect the police will impound my belongings, sir."
"You think that will stop the Blighters? Well, you didn't know; it's not your fault. The Luxor portal is handy because it leads directly to Olympus. Some others do, but they're better known. This key I'm teaching you usually leads to somewhere in the Vales. What else was in that letter?"
"I think,” Edward said icily, “that you cheated."
"Absolutely unthinkable,” Creighton told his reflection blandly.
"I think that when my parole ends, you will have made it impossible for me to enlist!"
"Did I ever say I wouldn't?"
"That,” Edward snarled, “is hairsplitting! Bloody lawyer talk!"
Creighton made his Hrrnph! noise and glared again. “And that is insubordination!"
"You extracted my word of honor. Where's your honor?"
"Insolence! Impudent puppy!"
They were both shouting now.
Edward swung his legs around, dropped to the floor, and straightened up to confront the colonel. He cracked his head resoundingly against the roof, seeing blue flames.
Creighton snorted mockingly. “See? You can't even stand on your own two feet. You're a dead man without me around to save you, Exeter. You'd never get into uniform. The Blighters will track you down, and this time they won't beat around the bush. They'll snuff you like a candle."
Edward sank down on a suitcase to massage his scalp. Trouble was, he had every reason to believe the maniac. “One of the first things I heard you say, at the hospital, was, ‘He cannot cross over with that leg.’ Cross over to where?"
Not getting an answer, he looked up. Creighton was regarding him sourly. Then he shrugged. “Nextdoor, I hope. Nobody's ever tried Stonehenge before, that I know of, but we'll have to risk it. If it doesn't work, we'll head over to the big circles at Avebury and try there. All our usual portals in England will be under surveillance. According to the Filoby Testament, my lad, you arrive at one of the nodes in Sussland, which is in the Vales, on Nextdoor. We must trust the prophecy."
"On Nextdoor? Not in Nextdoor? Nextdoor's an island?"
Creighton turned back to the looking glass. “No,” he said. “Not an island. Nextdoor is a lot more than an island."
"And that's where the guv'nor was living before he came back to New Zealand? The missing thirty years when he did not grow old?"
"You're a sharp little nipper, you are!” Creighton said. “Give me that first verse again."
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40
SUSSWATER WAS SAID TO BE THE LEAST NAVIGABLE RIVER in the Vales. Muddy yellow, it roared along the bottom of a canyon whose sides were hundreds of feet high and usually sheer. In only three places was it narrow enough to bridge, and the bridge at Ruat had been the first and most splendid. When Trathor Battlemaster had laid siege to the city he had begun by throwing down the stone arch on the north bank. The south arch still stood, a notable landmark dangling vestiges of its ancient chains and straddling a paved road now trod by none. From its base the towers of Suss were clearly visible to the north, the sun glinting on the roof of Tion's temple. They seemed but an hour's stroll away, yet it would take a strong walker all day to reach them. The citizens of Suss had blocked any effort to rebuild the bridge, lest Ruatvil rise again as a rival.
So Piol Poet had said.
The Sacrarium must once have been a noble and imposing monument, standing by itself near the edge of the cliffs. It was revered as the oldest holy building in the Vales, its builders long forgotten. Even Trathor had not dared violate a temple so sacred, but time, storm, and earthquake had done it for him. All that could now be seen was a pentagonal platform of giant blocks bearing remains of a circle of pillars. Many were represented only by their bases, less than a dozen still retained their full height. What sort of roof or lintels they might once have supported was unknown, and theologians could not explain why they had originally numbered thirty-one. Pilgrims still came, although rarely, and devout persons had kept the inside of the circle clear of rubble. The surrounding land had been too holy to plow; it had grown a forest instead, and now the lonely ruin was buried in jungle.
Eleal was confident she could find a shortcut. Rather than follow the old highway and the pilgrim path, she would head directly northeast until she reached the edge of the gorge and then approach the Sacrarium from the other side. Holding her hat on with one hand and her sandals in the other, she ran barefoot through the grassy woodland of Ruatvil, skirting its stony ruins. A few young goatherds watched her, but no one challenged her or jeered at her awkward lope. Puffing and sweating in the heat, she came to the woods and realized her error. She had forgotten how dense the jungle was.
Thorns and brambles became so thick that she was slowed to a stumbling walk. Masses of stone lay hidden everywhere. She found the way hard going in sandals, but she forced her way through, being as quiet as she could. Her hat kept catching in branches; she took it off and carried it in front of her to shield her face from twigs. The grove was utterly silent in the heat of the afternoon. Not a bird sang. Even insects seemed to be sleeping.
Then she discovered a stream by almost falling into it. Where had that come from? It crossed her path in a deep gully, whose sides were muddy and crumbly. She slid and floundered down to the water, and was infuriated to discover that it was flowing from right to left. As far as she could remember, the pilgrim path never crossed a creek, so she must be on the correct side already. She struggled back up again, and set off to follow the gully—it could only flow to the river, and the cliff.
It certainly did not flow directly to the river. It wound and twisted until she lost all sense of direction and began to think that the sun was setting in the east. Her legs shook with weariness; her hip ached fiercely. Soon she was tempted to turn back and forget stupid T'lin Dragontrader and his idiotic interest in ruins. Trouble was, she would have to follow the stream all the way.
In the distance, someone began whistling a solemn refrain. She halted and listened. It was not a tune she knew. It stopped suddenly. She started to move again, heading in that direction. Soon she saw steps rising out of the undergrowth, the edge of the plinth. Directly above her stood a stub of stone pillar as thick as a man's outstretched arms and furred with dense ivy.
She heard a murmur of someone speaking.
Step by step she approached. When she reached the base of the mossy, crumbling stair, the voice was clearer, and apparently coming from just behind that same pillar. Barefoot again, she tiptoed up until she stood beside its ivy-coated bulk, and then she could make out the words.
"...the boy to bring her to my camp. I went and told my men to expect them. Then I went back into town and reported to Narsh Prime."
T'lin himself!
That was better. Eleal eased around the curve of the stone like growing moss.
A man chuckled. “And what did he make of all that?"
A Thargian! He was speaking Joalian, but the guttural accent was unmistakable.
T'lin again: “He thought the Service would be interested."
"He was right, of course."
T'lin sighed. “Glad to hear that! Well, we thumbed through the Testament—as much as we had time for—and found her name, as she had said. Funny, that! I've known the brat for years and never guessed she was anyone of consequence. She's an incredible little busybody. I always thought she might make a good recruit when she's older."
"Sounds like she might."
"Well, Prime agreed I ought to bring her if I could. When I got back to my camp, I found the kids had arrived safely—much to my surprise. So I loaded them up on mounts. What I hadn't realized was that the old nun was skulking in the herd. I geared up my own dragon and turned my back for a moment. Before I knew it, she'd scrambled into the saddle and taken off.” He paused, then added diffidently, “In the end I had to bring her also."
The other man chuckled. He sounded quite young. Peering with one eye around the pillar, Eleal made him out. He was seated on a fallen block of stone, his back to her. T'lin must be at his side. They were facing into the empty paved space within the Sacrarium.
"I'm not surprised! The Filoby Testament has turned out to be astonishingly accurate. It said the girl would come with a blue nun, so she came with a blue nun. Only a miracle could have prevented it."
"It's a miracle I didn't strangle the old witch!"
The Thargian chortled loudly, as if that were a good joke. “Violence is not advisable with her kind!"
Eleal eased herself a few more inches around the ivy so she could watch with both eyes. The two men were sitting in shade, and had removed their hats. The Thargian was as tall as T'lin, but he was leaning back on his arms, and they were sinewy, youthful arms, well burned by the sun. He was a much younger man. His hair was black and when he turned his head she saw that he was clean-shaven.
He wore a small gold circle in his left ear!
"She's back at the hostelry now, sir,” T'lin said. “So what do I do with her?"
Sir? T'lin Dragontrader addressed this stripling as Sir?
"Good question!” The Thargian straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you get when you cross a wallaby and a jaguar?"
T'lin said, “Huh? Oh! ‘Fraid I don't know, sir."
"That's all right. Just means there are some things I'm not supposed to tell you. Don't feel slighted, now! I'm sure you have secrets in the political branch that I don't know. This is a religious matter, that's all."
T'lin uttered his familiar snort. “I had gathered that! Subversion and infiltration I can understand. I'm totally out of my depth with something like this."
"You're not the only one, believe me! How much have you put together?"
"Very little. There's supposed to be some child born in Sussland during the festival. The girl delivers it. The Karzon and Eltiana faction is trying to prevent this. Tion and Astina seem to be in favor. I gather the Service is in favor also?"
The younger man grunted. “We are. Zath and Ois are opposed, certainly. Karzon and Eltiana, probably. But don't ever trust Tion! He plays his own dirty games."
Eleal gasped. Blasphemy!
"Tion sent the boy to rescue the girl,” T'lin demurred.
"Kirb'l did, you mean! I shudder to think what his reasons may be. Kirb'l is an outright maniac. Astina herself is staying out of things at the moment."
"That was her grove got burned this morning."
The Thargian sighed. “No! That was Iilah's grove. Iilah is more or less on our side—or she was. She may be dead now. Listen, I'll tell you some things I'm not supposed to, so be discreet, all right? The priests’ theology is totally muddled, understandably. Their idea of five great gods, the Pentatheon, is a useful simplification, but it has definite limits. Yes, the five are all very powerful—Visek, Karzon, Eltiana, Astina, Tion. But some of the others carry a lot more weight than you'd expect, and their loyalties are not always what you'd expect either. All the aspect-avatar business is stable washings. Iilah is not Astina; Kirb'l is not Tion; Garward is not Karzon! Ois is not Eltiana, either. She's an utter bitch, that one, with her ritual prostitution—and immensely powerful because of it, of course. She probably can cause avalanches as she claims. For all his patronage of art and sport, Tion is just about as depraved as she is."
This was foul, foul heresy! Why was T'lin Dragontrader listening to such blasphemy?
"Fortunately,” the stranger added, “they don't all support the Chamber. There's some decent types, and a lot of fence-sitters."
After a moment, T'lin laughed ruefully. “And I thought politics was complicated! Thargdom's going to annex Narshia, you know. Any day now."
"Doesn't surprise me,” the Thargian said. “And the Joalians won't stand for it. Idiots! But that doesn't matter much compared to this. Wars come and wars go. The Liberator may turn out to be far more important than any war. You arrived in Sussland after dawn?"
"Well after. After noon."
"Ah! Garward's mob sacked the Filoby grove before that. So he didn't succeed."
Silence followed. Eleal resisted a temptation to scream. She was relieved when T'lin said, “Succeed in what?"
There was another pause then. The Thargian bent over and produced a bottle from near his feet. He drank and passed it to T'lin. “I'll have to explain a few things. First of all, the birth thing is a misinterpretation. We're not expecting a baby. This Liberator the Testament mentions will be a grown man."
T'lin chuckled. “My young friend will be relieved. She did not enjoy hearing she was going to be a midwife."
"Don't tell her any of this!” the Thargian said sharply.
"Of course not, sir. I won't tell anyone."
"Right. She has to act on her own volition. If she knows what's expected of her, she may do the wrong thing altogether. Not that I know what is expected of her either, so it probably doesn't matter, but we mustn't risk upsetting the prophecies now. The Chamber's been trying to do that for years, and whatever they want we don't want, if you follow me.” He paused again. “That's why Garward sacked Iilah's grove this morning—he wanted to break the chain of prophecy. I think he just strengthened it. He's a headstrong bully and none too bright."
This was a god he was insulting!
"Nevertheless,” the blasphemer continued, “the Chamber has much greater resources in this than the Service does, Seventy-seven. Zath is deeply involved, for one."
"Death!"
"The person who claims to be Death. The Liberator sounds like a personal threat to him."
"He's got a couple of his reapers here, apparently."
"More than just a couple. We're pretty sure he's done a foreseeing of his own—he's plenty strong enough to risk it. He probably knows exactly where the Liberator is going to arrive, and we don't.” The young man laughed ruefully. “At least we didn't until you came. I thought I had an easy watch here, and now you've thrown me right in the thick of things."
"Bringing the girl, you mean?"
The Thargian made an affirmative sound as he tipped the bottle again.
"I should have left her at some handy farmhouse and come on alone!” T'lin said, sounding annoyed.
The other passed him the bottle. “Maybe. Maybe that would have fouled up everything—who knows? Why did Narsh Prime send you here, to Ruatvil?"
T'lin wiped his lips. “Didn't. He suggested I go to Filoby and report to Thirty-nine. He mentioned this place as a backup. Said there was sure to be someone from religious branch here."
He tried to pass back the bottle and the Thargian said, “Finish it. See, as far as we know, there's only six places in Sussland where the Liberator can realistically be expected to appear. Tion's temple is one, the Thogwalby monastery's another. If he picks either of those, the Chamber's got him and he's dead meat. We were banking on Iilah's grove at Filoby, because she'd have sheltered him. Probably she would. Garward's taken care of that possibility! You can bet your favorite organ that he's left some henchmen there to look after matters if the Liberator does arrive. There's a roadside campground just outside Filoby that has loads of virtuality..."
"Loads of what?"
"Forget that. I just mean it's another possible choice. That leaves this place, the Sacrarium, and another node ... place, I mean ... up in the hills near Jogby. That was our second choice, after Filoby, because it's unoccupied."
"You've lost me, sir."
"Nothing there, I mean. No temple or shrine. Too obvious, perhaps? Wel
l, never mind. Question is what to do now. The festival starts tonight."
He thought for a moment. “First, you've got to dump the boy. If he really is a Tion Cultist, then Kirb'l may have marked him in some way. So give him some money and send him off to the festival. That's easiest. After that, he can fend for himself. He'll never be any good to us. There's still a couple of hours of light. Take your dragons over to Filoby and see if you can help ferry survivors to Rotby. Go back and forth several times. You've drawn attention to this place with the dragons, so you'll have to try and muddy the waters."
T'lin seemed to swell. “They're tired, sir!"
"Kill ‘em if you have to and put it on your expense account!"
The dragon trader subsided again. “Yes, sir."
"Sorry, but the stakes in this are higher than you can imagine. Leave the girl at the hostelry."
"I'd best keep her away from this place, you think, sir?"
The young man laughed. “You can try, but I'll put my bets on the prophecy."
Eleal liked him a little better for that remark. She was fighting an urge to walk out and ask T'lin if he'd had any trouble finding the Sacrarium, just so she could see his face.
The Thargian stretched his ropy arms and yawned. “We've got a courier coming round tomorrow on a fast moa, so I'll pass word to the others and hope they can spare me some reinforcements. It's not likely. Got all that?"
And again the strangely humble T'lin said, “Yes, sir."
"It's a pity the Chamber identified the mysterious Eleal before we did, but perhaps our turn is coming. I suppose there couldn't be two Eleals, could there? She sounds too young."
"She's twelve, I'm sure."
"Mmph! Mostly she just appears in the bit that sounds like delivering a baby, but another passage says she will be the first temptation. Little hard to relate temptation to a twelve-year-old, isn't it?"
T'lin uttered a dragon snort. “There's many a time I've been tempted to thump her ear, sir!"
I will get even with you for that remark, Dragontrader!
The Thargian chuckled. “How about cavemen, then? You haven't run into any cavemen in your adventures, have you?"
