Emissary

by Melissa McShane

  Of even more help were the detailed reports some enterprising assistant, probably Paola, had compiled, noting time, place, duration, and type of fourteen of the more than one hundred reported apparitions. They were helpful because, in contrast to the mapped clusters, they showed absolutely no commonalities beyond being apparitions of people who had died in the last five years. They ranged in age from an eighty-year-old grandfather to—disturbingly—an infant who lay in the street and soundlessly squalled for ten minutes before vanishing and reappearing exactly twenty hours later. This last bit of information they discovered from going to the neighborhood themselves. Zerafine had had the idea of finding out whether the apparitions, or rather the people they represented, had created ghosts when they died. Five hours of trekking across the city, a journey dramatically reduced by Nacalia’s ability to find the shortest route to anywhere, turned up the useless fact that only two of the fourteen had become ghosts. Zerafine wasn’t sure what it would have told them if all had been ghosts, or none, but either way it came to nothing. Either way, the day was a complete waste.

  They returned home to find two invitations. The first was from Dakariou, telling them that Genedirou would be performing a banishment in Naklos the next morning at ten. Nacalia said it was a neighborhood on Talarannos hill and would be easy to find. The second was from Berenica, inviting Zerafine to dinner. Zerafine groaned inwardly, but penned a response and sent Nacalia scurrying to deliver it. She went to change into more formal, less sweat-stained clothing. Unfortunately, her options were limited; they took very little with them on their journeys, and she was forced to make do with the selection of clothes left behind by other visitors.

  “That is an ugly dress,” Gerrard said, truthfully if not tactfully. The gown was an unflattering green with a slightly lumpy weave.

  “I swear, first thing in the morning, we’re going to trade in some of that seicorum you’re hauling around and buy some decent clothes. I don’t even care if we leave them behind when we go. In fact, we’ll be doing future residents a favor.” She coiled her hair high on her head and pinned it with a beaten brass comb that was unexpectedly beautiful. Possibly Berenica had overlooked it in her quest to remove all things attractive and tasteful from the house.

  “First thing tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow morning we get to watch Genedirou put on a show.”

  “Agreed.” She traded grimaces with her sentare, then crossed the street to Berenica’s home, where she was welcomed by the same dark-clad man as before. Inside, Berenica greeted her. She was alone; apparently this was to be a more private meal. Berenica waited for Zerafine to take her seat, then sat opposite her. The servitor brought them tossed greens with a light oil and vinegar dressing, then withdrew.

  “I understand you’ve been working hard,” Berenica said.

  Zerafine wondered where she got her information. “Doing my job,” she said brightly.

  “Indeed.”

  They ate in silence for a while, Zerafine unable to think of a conversational gambit, Berenica closed-off and silent with her own thoughts. “I met the council liaison yesterday,” Zerafine finally said.

  Berenica’s frown deepened. “An impertinent young man.”

  “I found him engaging. He certainly had a lot to say about our situation.”

  “Don’t be too quick to take his word. His appointment was political. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s using you to his advantage.”

  Zerafine wiped her lips on her napkin. “That’s all very well, since I intend to use him too,” she said. It wasn’t entirely true, but she felt a little rattled at Berenica’s direct approach. She had assumed the old lady would be more subtle.

  “And what have you discovered?” Berenica said.

  “That if Sukman is involved, it’s not in the way Genedirou believes,” she said. She could be direct, too. She added, “You must have realized that Genedirou has much to gain from this as well.”

  Berenica’s eyes narrowed. “I told you that I haven’t seen fit to poke my nose into this business beyond what our Lord demands.”

  The servitor returned to clear their places and bring out some lightly poached sea bass in some kind of creamy sauce. His timely appearance saved Zerafine from saying something a lot more pointed in return. “Our Lord requires us to be arbiters of justice as well as consolers of the dead,” she said. “My role in this goes beyond simply making pronouncements about His part in all of this.”

  “Are you accusing me of negligence?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. You don’t appear to have done much to be accused of.” Oops.

  Berenica sucked in a deep breath. “Do not you dare to pass judgment on me, thelis,” she said. “My conscience is clear. I’ve declared that Atenas has nothing to do with it and I resent your implication that my part has been inadequate.”

  “Tokthelis, I have no intention of calling your work into question.” Zerafine swallowed a handful of nasty words and said, “I apologize for implying otherwise. I think you may misunderstand why I was sent here. This is not about Atenas’s role in the problem. The Marathelos is concerned about the entire situation, this...rash of appearances.” Her mouth quirked up, remembering Dakariou. “The Council requested an emissary; he believes I will be an effective neutral party—”

  “Which is to say that I am not!”

  “Which is to say that he respects the work you do here and does not think it wise to pull you away from your regular duties. After all, you can’t go hunting all over town and perform consolations and fulfill the daily ritual duties.” You arrogant cow, you have no idea how much I want to throw your words back into your smug face.

  Berenica subsided only a tiny bit. “You’ve certainly seen fit to throw your weight around, given that you’re only a young thelis and unranked.”

  “I bear the rank of the Marathelos. Would you care to take it up with him?” Zerafine drew a deep, calming breath. “Remember that when I leave here, you will still be tokthelis, and I will once again be a lowly thelis.” That might have been too obvious, but she was tired of fencing with the old woman when she wasn’t allowed to use the point of her blade.

  Berenica held her gaze for a long, long moment, then sat back in her chair. “True,” she said. “We do all have our parts to play. Please, eat.” The sudden change in conversation made Zerafine’s head whirl, the more so because Berenica’s conversation from that point was full of pleasant trivialities, as though they hadn’t been at each other’s throats moments before.

  Dessert was another light sherbet and then Berenica offered an after-dinner coffee, which Zerafine declined, pleading tiredness and an early morning. They parted on superficially civil terms, but Zerafine was seething underneath. The feeling grew as she crossed the street, until when she reached her front door her jaw was clenched and her head ached.

  In the seconds it took to swing the heavy black door open, she regained enough control that, instead of raging when she stepped inside, she merely said, “Gerrard. Let’s walk.”

  Gerrard was in the middle of playing some ratty old board game with Nacalia. He looked surprised, but stood up and joined her anyway. Nacalia leaped up to follow, but Gerrard, accurately gauging Zerafine’s mood, said, “No, we won’t go far. You get ready for bed.”

  Outside again, Zerafine stormed off down the street, Gerrard lengthening his stride to keep up. “I take it you and Berenica aren’t best friends now,” he said.

  Zerafine rounded on him, causing him to pull up short or run over her. “She should have been an ally,” she raged. “There is no reason, none at all, why she shouldn’t want to help me, but instead? She’s a bitter old hag who can’t stand that someone younger and smarter and prettier than her gets all this power and makes her look bad, at least as far as she believes—”

  Gerrard put his finger to her lips. “Try not to scare the neighbors,” he said. She slapped his hand away.

  “I came out here because for all I know those servants of ours are spies f
or her. You see what she’s got me doing? I’m suspicious of two people who are probably perfectly nice and honorable. That’s what she’s done to me.”

  “She’s certainly made you bitchy enough,” Gerrard snapped. “No need to hit me.”

  “Oh, like you even feel it, you big—” Zerafine stopped. “Oh, Gerrard. I’m so sorry. You’re right, I’m being bitchy. I’m just so angry at her, and I’m angry at myself. We spent all day learning absolutely nothing, and I really don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe we should give it up.”

  Gerrard put his hand on her shoulder, then withdrew it quickly. “Sorry. I was afraid you might hit me again.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  He grinned, then gripped both her shoulders. “I was thinking, right around the tenth or eleventh apparition today, that it was all a waste of time because we kept coming up with nothing. But what we’ve really done is narrow down the possibilities. That means we’re actually making progress. And given the number of possibilities we’ve had to eliminate, it’s pretty obvious the Council hasn’t given much attention to this. I’m really starting to feel like we’re the only ones who want to know what’s going on.”

  “Us and Dakariou,” Zerafine said.

  He grimaced and released her. “Him too,” he said. “But even he has an agenda. I don’t like that you’re so high up on it.”

  “I’m not worried about him,” she said. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen when we inevitably confront Genedirou about his agenda. Dakariou did have a point about not upsetting the balance in the city.”

  “Maybe confronting him won’t be necessary.”

  “Maybe.” They turned and walked back to the house. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The banishment took place on an estate halfway up Talarannos hill. Zerafine rode there in an enclosed sedan chair. She and Gerrard had argued about this, since Zerafine hated to travel anywhere except under her own power, but Gerrard had won by pointing out that she didn’t want to arrive sweat-sodden and exhausted. She had to concede his logic.

  Now she watched the city pass by through the gauzy curtains of the conveyance Nacalia had hired. It smelled strongly of roses; no doubt she’d be perfumed when they reached their destination. Gerrard paced beside her, easily keeping up with the bearers. They’d looked so relieved when they learned he wouldn’t be riding with her.

  “This neighborhood is beyond wealthy,” Gerrard said in a low voice as they began their ascent. “I mean, Berenica’s compound is certainly upscale, but I’m afraid I’m going to start gawking like the uncouth Northerner I am. That last place had fire-breathing stone gargoyles on the gate posts!”

  “Conspicuous consumption,” Zerafine agreed. “I can’t imagine how the owners of this place we’re going to must feel about having an apparition in their backyard. So pedestrian for us trample over their property.”

  But when they arrived at the estate and were ushered in, a plump woman dressed in an intricately woven blue and purple gown hurried to greet them and identified herself as the lady of the house, Serrana. “Thank you so much for attending,” she said, giving them a weak but genuine smile. “I really don’t know what we’d do without dear Genedirou, but it’s so comforting to have a thelis of Atenas present. Somehow it makes everything more real.”

  She led them through the house while, behind her back, Zerafine and Gerrard exchanged equally surprised glances. Fear of them was common, respect understandable, but pleasure was rare.

  The garden was cool even in the mid-morning sun. Shade trees provided cover from the heat, and lemon and orange trees added their tangy scent to the air. Late summer flowers bloomed everywhere, and cobblestone paths wound through neatly trimmed grass past the occasional bench. It was a tidy little gardener’s paradise.

  Genedirou hadn’t arrived yet. He’d probably want to make a grand entrance. Dakariou was there, though, talking to Councilwoman Vessa, Alita Talarannos, and a man Zerafine didn’t know. Dakariou greeted her with what she thought was genuine pleasure. Possibly she’d underestimated him.

  “Madama thelis, you’ve met Councilwomen Vessa and Alita, so let me introduce you to Marathelos Alestiou, thelos of Kalindi and Council representative from the temples. Marathelos, Zerafine of Dardagne.” Salutes were exchanged all around. Vessa gave her a pleasant smile, Alita an arch one.

  Marathelos Alestiou was a skeleton of a man, tall and dark, with long white hair worn gathered at the nape of his neck, held in place with a band bearing the circle of Kalindi. Zerafine bowed low before him; he was the highest ranking thelos of the chief goddess of the Pantheon, first among equals—as if anyone believed that. One glance was enough to tell Zerafine that this was not a well man; his hands trembled as he saluted her, the skin paper-thin, and his face had lines of pain at the corners of his mouth and eyes. If a man of his rank, and that ill, were here to witness the banishment, the Council must think the situation very dire.

  “It’s good to meet you, emissary,” he said. His voice was as frail as his appearance. “And this must be your sentare.”

  Gerrard’s mouth quirked. Dakariou turned quickly and said, “Of course, I’m so sorry, I should have introduced madama thelis’s companion, Gerrard of...”

  “Kionnar,” Gerrard rumbled. Zerafine had to stifle a grin. Her sentare was back to playing the dumb ox. Had Dakariou genuinely forgotten to introduce him, or was he playing a deeper game? Either way, Zerafine provisionally rated him down again.

  Serrana personally brought drinks to her guests. Not wedded to tradition, or just nouveau riche? In any case, she was a sweet and likeable person, and for her sake Zerafine hoped Genedirou wasn’t faking his ability to banish an apparition.

  Just as she thought this, she noticed what seemed to be a thickening of the air, something like heat waves, but with more substance. The next moment, a child stood there, tossing a fist-sized ball up and catching it, toss and catch, over and over. Zerafine plucked the sleeve of the person nearest her, who turned out to be Vessa. “Look there,” she said.

  Vessa looked, and started. “It’s here,” she announced. Aside from her initial startled reaction, she didn’t seem either surprised or afraid. Zerafine remembered that the councilmen and women had witnessed more than a few of these banishments. Serrana squeaked and stepped behind a tree.

  “Where is Genedirou?” Alestiou said.

  “I am here,” Genedirou said grandly, stepping past them all and approaching the child. He made a show of examining it from all directions, tapping his chin and saying “Hmm” on occasion. Finally he straightened up and said, “I believe I can banish it. If you would all step back—I’m afraid the space here is so constrained, I will have to make some adjustments to the ritual.” They all obediently took a few steps back.

  Rovalt came past them, holding a stemmed silver cup inscribed with spirals. He and Genedirou both wore their ritual robes, crazy patchworks of different fabrics and different shapes, but nevertheless invested with a mad dignity. Genedirou took the cup and held it while Rovalt searched in his robes, finally coming up with a pair of copper tubes stopped with wax. Rovalt peeled the wax away with his fingernails and poured first one, then the other into the cup. Genedirou held it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then drank the mixture down and flung the cup aside.

  They all waited. Nothing happened. Genedirou’s eyes were closed and his breathing heavy. They waited a few minutes more. Zerafine found herself holding her breath. The perfumed air was heavy with a new, unidentifiable scent. Then Genedirou opened his eyes. His pupils were pinpoints, almost invisible in the dark brown of his eyes. He began to stretch, arms over head, one leg lifted until his foot reached his chest. His body seemed to move independently of his mind’s control. His fingers fumbled with the catches on his robe, undoing them at random, and then he threw his robe to the ground.

  He was completely naked underneath.

  Zerafine wanted to laugh, but something about his movements made him seem dign
ified, even though the outline of his ribs was clearly visible in his concave chest and his potbelly hung over his manhood like a ripe melon. At that moment, Zerafine actually respected Genedirou; any man who could so thoroughly expose himself (in every sense) could not be acting entirely out of self-interest.

  Genedirou began to wander through the garden, oblivious to his audience, who were sometimes forced to step out of his way. He stood on his head. He took positions out of classical and modern dance. He made obscene gestures that Zerafine simply could not look away from, however unsettling they were. He looked ridiculous and he looked like a man touching the face of the Divine. Zerafine was so caught up in his movements that it wasn’t until he had nearly reached the illusory child that she realized his random movements were actually tracing out a sigil: the spiral of Sukman. Genedirou was invoking the presence of his god. She felt an unusual pressure behind her eyes, began to taste colors, hear impossible sounds. Sukman was there. She felt sure that if she could see Him, she would go mad. She wondered what the others sensed.

  She closed her eyes and drew three cleansing breaths, opening her heart’s eye. What she was trying might be dangerous, but she wanted to see what Genedirou’s banishment actually did. From this perspective, the child tossing the ball vanished. In its place was a tangle of hair-thin threads, a knot about the size of a walnut that glowed with the same light a spirit did. She couldn’t see where the threads began; they faded into invisibility only a few inches from the tangle. But she was certain they were attached to something.