“Will you tell me how you met Lucas?”
“I will,” said Yardalen. “But first, let's see if we can get something to eat from the people living around here.”
***
They found themselves in a large wooden hut filled with ferrets who continually investigated their bags and shoes before getting into a fight with a bird in the rafters, and Yardalen was able to get them some cold stew and rice from an old couple who watched them by peeking in through their own windows. The couple were not interested in a blessing or any sermon, only a simple greeting, so they soon returned to the path.
“So how did you meet Lucas?” said Wodan.
“I was just getting to that.”
***
After Lucas exorcised the demon in the cave and was baptized by Sun-on, stories of his wandering and his teaching spread. People came to him, and his words stirred something in them, a quiet thing that most people buried deep inside. They became disciples.
A man named Roc came to him, angry that his own brothers had left their farm to join Lucas. Roc was a hard-working man of common sense, but with a few words Lucas showed him that throwing away everything he knew and never knowing where his next meal would come from was the most practical thing in the world. Roc became the second-in-command of the disciples, and often spoke to Lucas when the others were too afraid to approach him.
But then another disciple met Lucas, and from that day on it was never clear who was Lucas's “second in command”.
***
One day when the group was wandering through the Deepest Vale, Lucas went ahead of the others and came to a well in the forest. Hungry and thirsty, he rested. It was then that Yardalen, who lived among the people of the forest, saw him for the first time. “Woman,” said Lucas, “won’t you get me a drink?”
Yardalen decided that he was very handsome, but more than that, she was drawn to his serene aura. She could see that he had power beyond brute force.
“I can tell you’re not from the forest,” she said. “How can I give you, an outsider, a drink from the well of my people?”
Lucas smiled at her. “Go and fetch your husband, woman. We can work out a deal with him, then.”
“I have no husband,” she said, pretending to be angry. “And you keep calling me woman, but I'm still just a maiden.”
“It’s true that you have no husband, for the man you are with now is not your husband. But in truth, you have been made a woman four times over already.”
How could he know such things? Yardalen looked into his eyes, and it was plain to her that this man was not like other men. It was as if he came from another world, and could see through others. No secrets could be kept from him… thus it was completely unnecessary to wear a mask for him. For the first time in her life, she had met someone around whom she could be herself. He put his hand on hers, and she did not have to think of what her answer would be when he asked a question of her.
“Will you come with me, Yardalen?”
She leaned in close, and then-
***
“You would tell this story to a child!” said Magog, fumbling with Haginar's hair as he searched for his ears.
“It's to be understood symbolically, of course,” said Jarl.
“What's to be ashamed of?” said Yardalen, fanning herself and smiling slightly.
“Were they going to fight or something?” said Haginar, screwing up his brow.
“P-perhaps we should move on,” said Magog.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing about some miracles,” said Jarl.
“I was just getting to that,” said Yardalen. “Lucas and I were married in Samatrea. We didn’t have much, we couldn’t count on family, and most of the people who showed up were strangers interested in Lucas. We ran out of wine after the ceremony. But Lucas took care of that.” Yardalen looked at Wodan. “He turned water into wine.”
“He what?” said Wodan. “You’re saying he… he made water transform into wine?”
“I am,” she said. “He did.”
“Wow,” Magog said quietly.
“Hm,” said Zachariah, rubbing his chin.
Wodan let the matter drop. He had heard equally ridiculous stories about himself over the years, how he'd stopped a horde of dogmen from destroying Pontius by fighting them all, how he'd overturned a Smith tank during the war – slender threads of truth woven into overblown, oversimplified tales as they passed from one person to the next. Wodan did not necessarily believe the story of water being turned into wine, but if Lucas had affected as many lives as people said he did, then he did not need to be able to manipulate the laws of physics in order to impress Wodan.
They came to a sparsely wooded land. Up and down they went over low hills, and as the sun fell and the sky hastened into darkness, Wodan saw many outcroppings of tall, gray stone. A few had stoic faces chiseled in their sides, but most were uncut and jagged, like pillars that held a roof of clouds overhead.
“When do we reach the Deepest Vale?” said Wodan.
“We're there,” said Yardalen. “Baalinar and Samatrea are both near here, hidden away in the woods and hills. Ah… do you see the blue light ahead?”
On a distant hill covered in the black silhouette of woods, they could see a pale, ghostly light.
“That will be Lucas and the others,” she said. “Burning a wisp's will plant for us to see them.”
Wodan was nervous, but he could tell that Yardalen's spirit was growing stronger. “What other miracles has he done?” he said.
Yardalen looked up thoughtfully. A handful of lonely stars swam through openings in the roof of clouds. “In time,” she said, “he no longer needed medicine to heal the sick. He could lay his hands on people, pray over them, and make them whole. He even brought a girl back from the dead. And I don't just mean me.”
Wodan looked at her.
“This meeting is important,” she said. “This is our reunion. The last time we were here… well, I suppose there's time to tell that part of the tale before we arrive...”
***
Lucas gathered with his disciples on the hilltop, where they made a great fire that cast wheeling shadows among the trees. They were little more than a dozen. Roc was there with arms crossed, sitting directly across from Yardalen, who stayed close to Lucas. Sun-on sat on the periphery.
Lucas rose and went to the center. “Now you have learned my teachings,” he said, “and together we have woken up. Now it's time to wake the entire valley of Srila. You're going to leave my protection – all of you – and go to the outlying farms, and even to the Upper Valley and to the very footsteps of the Temple of the Summons. Do not go into the Temple just yet. Save that task for me. Your task will be to heal the sick, resurrect dead souls, and drive out demons from the minds of men.
“Listen to me. The path you will walk cannot be understood by the mind. Listen to what I say and you will not be lost. Even if you do become lost, don't get wrapped up in self-doubt. Falling off the path is a part of the path. Listen well.
“Be honest with others. Freely you have received from the world, so freely give. Take no money, no extra clothes or gear. You must depend on others for your food and rest. This will force you to speak to others and to trust everyone you meet. Do not make any scenes, do not be argumentative with people. Let your inner peace be your testament.
“I am sending you out like sheep among wolves, so be as cunning as serpents, and as innocent as doves. Many men, especially those wholly enslaved by the undead in the Temple, will hate you because of me. Now is not the time for violence. If persecuted, flee. But also do not worry about what you will say or what you will do. When the time comes for action or for words, give in to what’s natural. You have been made by nature. Nature will not abandon you.”
Firelight danced on the face of their lord as each of them grappled with the terror in his heart. “You are only children. That means there is nothing for you to worry about, and it means that you must be humble. No one in the Temple w
ho pretends to have authority has any authority over you.
“The truth of the corruption of the Upper Valley will soon be out in the open. As we cure our people’s blindness, those who use the name of God to justify their pettiness and cruelty will be seen for what they are. There is nothing to fear. Even if they kill us, the stone that was rejected will become the cornerstone of a new temple. One that no man or monster or god can ever take from you.”
***
“And now we've returned,” said Yardalen, finishing her tale. As they drew near the hill where the blue light burned, they crossed other hills filled with people. They saw men and women who lived in the forest, pale and covered in paint and animal skins. They saw others who must have been brought in from the outlying farms or even the Upper Valley, new converts who had given up their old lives to be near Lucas. Several groups were cooking animals on spits, boars and deer and little hares. Magog stopped to investigate an interesting stew, then Zachariah recognized people he'd met earlier and took Haginar with him. Yardalen kept Wodan and Jarl moving.
She led them up a winding path toward a tall circle of stones. Pale blue light leaped overhead, and they could hear the hissing and popping of the wisp's will seeds thrown into the fire. They crested the rise and found the most devout disciples standing around heaps of logs burning in white fire. They were a mix of forest primitives and farmers and traders and wanderers, old and young, male and female. But their gathering seemed more serious, the conversations more intent. Unlike the people on the periphery who seemed relieved that they had “made it”, the inner circle of disciples knew that this was only the beginning. A huge man in rough clothes moved to bar their way as they drew near, then stopped when he saw Yardalen. Wodan knew he must be Roc. He glared through a wild beard that went up nearly to his eyes. Wodan knew the giant must have been intimidating to most people, but to Wodan he looked no more intimidating than a sack of dried beans. He could see the disciple unconsciously leaning on programming he'd developed since childhood. Wodan returned his gaze without malice.
He took a seat on a log near a group of disciples debating on the nature of the Cognati, and how their power could be undermined through faith. It was a wonder to Wodan that they would openly speak against such power. He admired their courage, though he doubted they could do very much against Jared and his kind.
I need to meet their leader, he thought. One thing's for sure… he will not be some soft playboy.
Finally Wodan saw what must have been Lucas and his entourage arriving from the far side of the hill. Wodan could see only a rough earth-colored robe, long dark hair, and a beard, but too many others rose and greeted him for Wodan to see him clearly. He was shockingly thin; it was clear that he had been fasting. He sat and waited for Lucas to make his rounds as he reunited with his disciples and greeted newcomers, then Yardalen arrived and they embraced tearfully. Roc turned away muttering.
Lucas drew near and Wodan rose to greet him. Wodan stood over him and the small human hand entered his own. Wodan locked eyes with him – and was shocked. He knew the man.
“Greetings,” said Lucas. “You must be the king that I've heard so much about. I'm honored that you would come here.”
Wodan worked his jaw up and down, trying to comprehend how such a thing could be possible. Lucas had the rough, dark skin of one who spent much of his time outdoors. But the cheekbones, the shape of his mouth… they were not just similar. They were the same. He was a different size, much smaller, but the posture was also the same. His eyes were such a deep shade of blue that parts of the iris were violet.
Words trickled through his memory. Black is not the only robot who goes out into the world… Robot Number Seven is difficult to explain. Perhaps you will meet it someday.
“Mah… mas...” Wodan stopped himself. “Setsassanar?”
“I'm sorry,” said Lucas. “I don't know what that means. Do you speak our language?”
Wodan could tell that, as far as Lucas knew, he was telling the truth. The so-called son of God had no idea that he was a clone of Setsassanar.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SHADOW, FORM
Wodan left the hilltop circle in a daze. The others were confused that he would leave in such a hurry, but Wodan reasoned that they could discuss their new religion well enough without him. They might not like it if he let it slip that their lord and savior was a clone of a being they would consider a monster.
Why would Setsassanar do such a thing? he wondered as he made his way down the hill. Why would he toy with the hopes and dreams of these people? It's… it's sick!
Wodan passed by people discussing Lucas and his ways, each secretly humiliating themselves in Wodan's eyes. Then a horrible thought struck him. He knew that Jarl was working on a theory in which there were multiple Redeemers, each a slight variation on another. What if the very Redeemer Wodan had grown up hearing stories about – and even prayed to when he was a child – was none other than Setsassanar himself? What if the immortal playboy sent out clones of himself every few hundred years, caused trouble with establishment religion, was killed, and then the survivors took what he'd said and added a mediocre “do good and be nice” spin to the narrative?
And here I am, thought Wodan, sent to witness the event. Unable to tell the truth to anyone because the truth is too strange, too jarring. He's watching this right now. Laughing, most likely. But this is just too much. Why does he always have to push me like this?
Wodan sat with his back against a tree, near a circle of painted primitives sitting around a fire.
It's impossible to be comfortable, knowing he's around. He's always there, pointing out that what you always assumed is one thing was… is actually another.
And he always has an explanation. Maybe that's what's so damned frustrating about him. As sick as I feel now, I know he's going to laugh at me and explain it all away. He'll even explain why this dopey religion, or even the one I grew up with… was all a fun game for him!
Wodan laughed. He remembered the image of Setsassanar modelling underwear in another age. “Selling underwear, selling belief,” he imagined Setsassanar saying. “What's the difference, Apprentice?”
He realized that the people sitting nearby were watching him. An old man cradling a cup and a pipe came and dropped down beside him.
“Come to see Lucas?” said the man.
“Oh, I saw him alright.”
“Ha! Has quite an effect, doesn't he? Here.” With small-talk apparently out of the way, the old man pushed the little cup toward Wodan.
“What's that?” He saw juice inside the cup, dark green with bits of husks floating on top. It smelled like the business end of a dead animal.
“That? We been passing it around.”
Of course, Wodan knew that it was a drug. He had long since brushed aside his childhood indoctrination, Haven's quaint stance that anything besides alcohol that modified awareness was bad. He was also on vacation – technically not on duty. But Wodan hesitated because his body was no longer what it once was. He could smoke an entire bushel of silver clove or betel and feel only minor effects. He didn’t want to waste these poor people’s limited supply.
“Better not,” said Wodan. “My tolerance is too high.”
The old man looked at him as if he were a child. “Can anyone really 'tolerate' life? The world's just a bit too much for anyone, isn't it? Go on, have a sip and see with new eyes.”
New eyes! thought Wodan. What a cliché for religious types. He began to wonder if the entire gathering wasn't just an excuse to get high.
“Tell me,” said Wodan. “What does Lucas mean to you?”
“He's just a man.”
“Oh?”
“But before I met him...” the old man looked away, then laughed quietly. “I can honestly say I never had a single thought that was my own before I met him.”
Wodan was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“I was… like an automaton, I've heard them call it. A moving clockwork.
Or an animal, I guess, reacting to situations or having shadows of thoughts.”
Wodan was surprised by the old man's ability to express himself. He realized that he had judged him based on his rough appearance and smell.
“Very well,” said Wodan. “Thanks.”
He drained the little cup and found the syrupy stuff was without taste or smell. He did not even feel it go down. Had there even been anything in the little cup?
Wodan looked at the old man. He was young once again, fresh-faced, smiling. But he had always looked like that. Always a child, eyes beaming with a smile, or mouth hanging open in confusion before turning to one of the older boys to see what they would do. Wodan could also see the skull behind the face. What was the face but skin stretched across bone? What were the bones but calcified matter reorganized by cells that moved for a moment, then fell silent? He was already dead. Had he ever been alive?
The old man blinked once and changed into his ancestral influences. Wodan could see cheekbones and eyes changing and connecting to the features of father, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, then changed once again on the mother's side, thin nose, a bump in the center, a crease between eyes, a heavier nose discarded by whims of genes in favor of a slighter one. Wodan had not been speaking to an old man, but to a strand of people who were a web of possibilities and an end of possibilities. The old man was a pinching of the web, a momentary break in uniform potential. When he was gone, the web would be unpinched, twitching as a breeze passed through, then a return to stillness and potential.
The vision was not strange. The strange thing was that Wodan had always been able to see this. He had simply ignored it. It had been too confusing, too overwhelming. Easier to dim the lights, to draw the shades rather than see reality as it was.
[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants Page 39
