The Sleeping God

by Violette Malan

  Yes, Dhulyn thought, her heart pounding. That’s what the Shadow had meant, when it spoke of making nothing. What it had done so casually to the small bench in the Tarkina’s room, it wished to do to the whole world.

  Cullen leaned forward, drawing in his attention from the distance where Dhulyn was sure he followed his Racha’s flight.

  “The Dead Lands,” he said. Dhulyn found she was nodding along with the Scholar.

  “But the peril was overcome?” Zelianora said.

  “It was. The people called upon the Sleeping God, and the God awoke. When the peril was banished, the God slept again, or departed, or, well-again the texts differ.”

  “But have the same essential meaning.” Dhulyn shifted her weight to her left leg. “Beslyn-Tor told us. The Green Shadow fears the God.”

  “The New Believers said,” Bet-oTeb said, her girl’s light voice trembling, “that we are the dream of the God, and if he awakens, the world will be destroyed.”

  Gundaron shook his head, his lips pressed together. “There’s just no basis for that idea in any text, book, or scroll. And the Old Believers among the Jaldeans have always denied it. The ancient stories say that the God awakened to destroy this great evil, this peril. So the God was awake, do you understand? It destroyed the peril and then…”

  “Fell asleep again?” Parno’s voice was a soft rumble.

  Gundaron shrugged, and nodded.

  “Are we in any doubt that this is the same peril?” Karlyn-Tan asked.

  “Given the use it has made of the New Believers, and its insistence that the Sleeping God not be awakened, I think not,” Dhulyn said.

  “How do we awaken the God?” Strangely, it was Bet-oTeb who voiced the question in everyone’s mind, as if, childlike, she was not afraid to ask.

  Gundaron licked his lips, glanced again at Mar, and seemed to draw strength from her.

  “The stories don’t say how,” he said. “Just that the call went out into the world, and the Sleeping God awoke and came.”

  “How can they not say?” Zelianora massaged her temples with her fingertips.

  “It’s not unusual,” Dhulyn said. “It’s the reason there are so many commentaries on the old books. The writers take a certain knowledge for granted, they assume a shared understanding. They say ‘the enemy,’ without naming or describing the foe-for them, there can be only one enemy, and description is unnecessary.”

  “But how could this be?” Dal slapped the tabletop with his hand.

  Parno shrugged. “When you tell someone how to catch fish, do you tell them what a fish is? What it looks like? Of course not, everyone knows what a fish is. But when we were in the deserts of Mondothir, we had to draw pictures of fish in the sands, for some of the tribes there had never seen one. These texts, they would be like that.”

  “So Scholars try to understand fishing, without ever having seen a fish?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “We must remember,” Gun said. “What we have in our Libraries of the times of the Caids are mere scraps of their writings and knowledge. In his Commentaries, Holderon speculates that by the time the Shadow was finally defeated, so much of the land had been laid waste, blighted by its presence, that the rule of law collapsed. There followed a long period-no one knows how long, really, but it must have been generations, not years-before the books were gathered again, and learning reestablished. It was then that the first Jaldean Shrines, the Scholars’ Libraries and the Mercenary Schools were founded, then that the Marked were first gathered into Guilds.”

  “And if the method of calling the Sleeping God is in one of these lost texts?” A silence followed Zelianora’s words.

  “Excuse me,” Mar said, blushing as everyone in the room turned their eyes to her. “But surely calling the Sleeping God must have something to do with the Marked?” Her voice faltered as she took in the faces of those staring at her. “Mustn’t it? The Shadow has been gathering and destroying the Marked for months, maybe years. And Tek-aKet, when Dhulyn Wolfshead-I mean, the Shadow tried to destroy her as well.”

  “Wonderful,” Parno growled. “And the only trained Marks more than half a moon away.”

  “Cullen?”

  The Cloudman was already on his feet and heading for the door. “Let me go to a rooftop. Sometimes I can reach over greater distances if I have greater height.”

  “Dhulyn Wolfshead.” Zelianora Tarkina spoke into the silence that followed Cullen’s departure. “Before I return to Tek, I must ask. I have told myself time and again that I will not, but you have saved him twice now. Have you Seen anything?” The Tarkina rubbed her forehead with a hand that trembled. “I’m sorry. I know you would have said.”

  “I have Seen nothing new for days,” Dhulyn said. “And what I have Seen-” she shook her head, frustration rising yet again. By force of will she kept herself from glancing down the table at Mar and Gundaron. “Without a context, the things I have Seen mean nothing. I do not even always recognize the people I See. Are my Sights important to our dilemma? How can I know?”

  Zelianora bit her lip, then nodded her head. She patted her daughter’s arm and stood.

  “Send for me if there is any change,” Dhulyn said to her. “And, Tarkina, don’t release him, no matter what he says or does.”

  The face that turned toward her at these words was not the face of the loving wife, but the face of a Queen’s sister, and a future Tarkin’s mother. “No fear,” that regal face said. “I will not.”

  Dhulyn leaned back against the wall as the discussion went on among Dal-eDal, Gundaron, and Parno. Her Partner pulled out Zelianora’s chair and sat down. She had nothing more to contribute, they were only rechewing the same mouthful of overcooked stew. She hadn’t told the strict truth, but only Parno knew it. She hadn’t Seen anything useful. She’d had several Visions more than once, but nothing that could help them. Mar-eMar in her silver gown. The unknown man-a mage? a king?-with his magic window. Was that a way to make the Shadow disperse? Would someone else call it into a different land? Gundaron sitting at a table, looking down on something. She repressed the urge to spit, mindful of Zelianora’s clean parquet floor. Now there was useful Sight. A Scholar, seated, looking down at a tabletop. If the Marks were a creation of the Caids, as some of the stories Gundaron had been talking about alleged, she wished she had a few of those old-timers with her now. She would give them the benefit of her thoughts on the subject of the Sight.

  A movement at the far end of the table caught her eye, Gundaron fidgeting with his pen case. If her Mark could not help them, and there was no Healer near enough to reach them quickly-would a different Mark be of more use?

  It was past time this meeting was ended.

  Gundaron hung back with Mar, letting the others leave the conference table before them. Karlyn-Tan hovered by the door, exchanging a soft murmur with Dhulyn Wolfshead and giving her a Mercenary’s salute, touching his lips instead of his forehead, before following Dal-eDal out of the room. Gun was pushing himself to his feet, hands braced on the edge of the table, when Dhulyn shut the door behind Karlyn-Tan and turned back into the room. Mar licked her lips and looked from one Mercenary Brother to the other and back again. Gun merely sat down and lowered his face into his hands.

  Dhulyn Wolfshead sighed heavily, turned a chair around, and sat astride it, resting her cheek on her hands.

  “Gundaron-Sun and Moon are my witness, if I were going to kill you, I should have done it long before. Will you look at me, and listen? Mar, can you help us?”

  The touch of Mar’s hand on his shoulder was like a rope to a drowning man, firm, stong, life-giving. “Gun, I’ve told you Dhulyn Wolfshead wouldn’t hurt you, and now she’s told you. What more do you want than her own word?”

  He looked from the Mercenary’s face to Mar’s and back again. Dhulyn Wolfshead raised one eyebrow and slowly blinked.

  “What are you more afraid of,” she said. “That I will kill you, or that I won’t?”

  Gu
ndaron’s lips parted, but no protest came out.

  “Wolfshead!” It was Mar who spoke, a wrinkle forming between her deep blue eyes.

  “Would you rather he wasn’t bothered by what he’s done?” the Wolfshead said, her voice calm as still water.

  “But he’s trying to help. The Tarkina and Bet-oTeb forgave him.” Mar spoke her next words to Dhulyn Wolfshead, but she looked at him when she spoke. “I forgive him.”

  “He hasn’t forgiven himself.”

  Heat burned through Gun’s face and he lowered his eyes. Not that Dhulyn Wolfshead wasn’t perfectly able to read him without looking into them. How did she do this? How did she know him so well?

  “People are dead because of me,” he said. “No amount of ‘help’ can bring them back.”

  “Many have died at our hands also,” Parno Lionsmane’s light voice fell softly into the air. “And many are also alive because of us. You still live; you have time to make the second true for yourself as well.”

  “You’re not the first to do what he finds repulsive,” the Wolfshead said. “And you won’t be the last, blood knows, people being people. But you stopped the first chance you had, hold to that.” She shook her head, blood-red braids shivering. “Words won’t help you, at least not now. But I assure you, time will, if you let it.” She looked at Mar before turning her steel-gray gaze back to him. “In the meantime, since you’re sworn to help, I’d like to share a thought with you. I’m thinking that when something is lost, it’s a Finder we need, not a Healer.”

  “You might have thought of this before the Racha bird was sent,” Parno Lionsmane said, with just enough sarcasm in his tone to ease the tension in the air. “We’ve no more a Finder than we have a Healer.”

  “I think we do,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said. “What do you think, Gundaron of Valdomar?”

  “How-” Gun’s throat closed. He would have said it was impossible, but he was sure he felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t… How could she know? Had she Seen? He shot a quick glance at Mar, but she was shaking her head.

  “I didn’t-” Mar subsided when the Wolfshead raised her hand.

  “No one told me,” she said. “Except you, yourself, when I thought about what you have done. Found documents left carelessly aside for centuries. Found the secrets of tribes and cities lost for generations. When Marked were wanted, you Found them.” Dhulyn Wolfshead paused, tapped herself on the breastbone, causing tiny bells tied into the laces of her vest to chime. “When a Seer was wanted, you Found her. You told Parno where to find the Green Shadow when it was in Lok-iKol-ah, you thought we’d forgotten that. Even now, you know where to Find the information that we need.”

  “But that’s research…” Gun let his protest trail away. He could not use that lie again-not even to himself.

  The Mercenary was shaking her head. “You forget, I’ve been trained as a Scholar myself, though it was not the life for me. I know how research is done, and the kinds of answers it produces. And how swiftly. And how many important answers in one person’s lifetime. What you do is not research. Your books may have told you what to look for, they couldn’t have told you where. You are Finding.” When Gun still hesitated, the Wolfshead went on, her voice rough but warm. “Come now. The time for secrets is past.”

  “I’ve never…” Gun took a deep breath. He’d never convince anyone unless he could speak clearly. “I meant to tell you, after Lok-iKol, it’s just… I’ve always kept it secret. I’m a Scholar. It’s all I ever wanted. Even before the Jaldeans turned against the Marked, I never wanted to be…”

  “Do you think I wanted it?” The Wolfshead was quiet but firm. “Untrained and half useless as it is? The world is not what we want, but what we make.” She paused, as if that word had some special significance for her, before continuing. “I wish your world was the Library carrels, the shelves of books, and the under-Scholars fetching ink and pens. Once I wished that for myself… I know how precious it is. But you are needed for more than that now. Wish for it or no, you will have to come out of your Library now and join the rest of us out here on the edge of the knife.

  “You are a Finder, Scholar Gundaron. I am a Seer. Neither of us wants this. But we are what we are.”

  Gundaron hung his head, aware as if from a distance that he was shaking it ever so slightly, wanting to deny her words. But Dhulyn Wolfshead was right. He lifted his head and found the Mercenary’s cool gray eyes ready to meet his. Next to her, leaning his hip against the table’s edge stood her Partner, Parno Lionsmane, the left corner of his mouth lifted. Beside them sat Mar, her blue eyes darker than usual with concern. When his eyes found hers, she smiled, her face lighting as if from within, and for an instant his heart stopped beating as the breath caught in his throat.

  He would have to come out into the world. But he wouldn’t be alone.

  “What do you want me to do?” he said. He’d thought his voice would shake, but it rang out firm and true.

  “The Tarkin’s mind is lost. I would like you to Find it.”

  Gun’s heart sank like a stone into a lake turning to ice. “The Tarkin? But how? I’m not trained. To Find something like that…”

  “How did you Find the Green Shadow?”

  Of course she would think of that. Library-trained, Dhulyn Wolfshead the Scholar. Her mind would work like his. Gun looked at them, Mar smiling, the two Mercenaries watching with guarded faces. He had to tell them, he realized. It would change everything, he would lose all the ground he’d gained, but he would have to tell. No more secrets. No more lies.

  “I can Find the Green Shadow,” he began. “Because it… it touched me.” He looked up again into the silence. Mar, white-faced, lips trembling; Parno Lionsmane, the killing look back in his face, a knife in his hand. Dhulyn Wolfshead… Dhulyn Wolfshead calm and nodding?

  “I’d lost some memory,” Gun said. “There was time I couldn’t account for, so I looked for it, and when I Found it…”

  “You Found the Green Shadow. I Saw,” the Wolfshead said. “When One-eye was questioning me. The Green Shadow was there, looking through your eyes.” Parno Lionsmane made as if to move forward, but stilled at the Wolfshead’s raised hand.

  “But it only looked through my eyes, I swear it! It never lived in me as it did Lok-iKol.” Relief at having finally told them warred with fear that they would not believe him.

  “And when it comes back?” Lionsmane’s voice was a snarl.

  “It can’t.”

  “How can you be sure? Convince us.” Dhulyn Wolfshead spoke with the voice of command.

  How to make them understand? “It’s not Marked. I’ve hidden myself. It can’t Find me.”

  “Dhulyn, we can’t be sure,” Parno Lionsmane said.

  But the Mercenary woman was nodding. “Yes, we can. He is probably the one person we can be sure of. Who better to hide, than the one who Finds?” She looked up at her Partner and took hold of his sleeve. “The boy’s right. It was not the same. I Saw it in him, and I Saw it in Tek-aKet, and it was not the same.” She frowned and then looked at Gun once more. “Still, the Green Shadow has touched both you and Tek-aKet. Can you use that link somehow to Find the Tarkin?”

  Could he? Did he dare? He looked at Mar’s face, calm now, but wary. If he didn’t try, would she ever smile at him again?

  “I’ll need Mar’s bowl.”

  “Now, Scholar Gundaron,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said, stepping back from the scrying bowl and setting the empty water pitcher on the little desk under the window. Gundaron took his seat at the small round table, set his hands flat beside the bowl, and looked down.

  “I have Seen this,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said, her hand on her Partner’s arm.

  Gun took a couple of deep breaths and focused on the water. He’d found Tek-aKet before, but that was just… the water shimmered, and the image broke. Gun steadied his breathing and tried again.

  Parno Lionsmane sighed and Gun jumped in his chair.

  “I’m sorry,” the Mercenary began,
but Gun held up his hand.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “All I’m getting is the Tarkin in his room.”

  Mar put her hands on his shoulders. “Relax,” she said. “Try again.”

  Gun blinked, his eyes suddenly threatening tears. He dragged in another breath and let it out slowly.

  It’s not water, it’s a bright page of paper. What should he write there? The story of Tek-aKet. Suddenly he’s back in the Library. Of all the lines on the floor before him, he needs to choose one in particular. Dark red it should be, the color of carnelians. He frowns. It’s there, but it’s stained, as if someone spilled green ink on if and didn’t clean it off fast enough. He shudders; the last thing he wants to do is follow anything green. He takes a deep breath, looks around him at the ghosts and shadows of other Scholars and steps out, following the red line. Concentrating on the red. He walks swiftly now, down the main aisle, shelves and scroll holders branching off to left and right. The place is enormous, the silence broken only by the sound of his bootheels on the wooden floor.

  He turns a corner and the thread of color is gone. The floor is covered in a thin carpet. The shelving is darker, too thin to carry the weight of the countless tomes on it. He reaches out a tentative finger. It’s cold, painted metal. He turns around. The shelves behind him are exactly like these. There is no sign of the Library he came from.

  There is a red mark like a small square of paint on the spine of one of the books. Gundaron looks around. There are similar marks on other books as well. Clean red marks with no green stain. He sets off again. This is only a Library. There is nothing to be afraid of.

  He walks faster, following the red-marked books as they lead him across a wider lane with a metal cart in it. The cart holds books with green marks on their spines and Gun averts his eyes as he crosses the aisle into the next wall of shelves. There’s a man at a desk farther down, his elbows on the tabletop, his head down between his hands. Just a shadowy figure at first, but he comes clearer as Gun advances. Gun knows the man won’t look up, that he’s afraid to. Gun puts his hand on the man’s shoulder, wondering whether he knows the book the man’s reading. He can see the writing, but it’s a language he doesn’t know.