Future Indefinite (Round Three of The Great Game)

by Dave Duncan

  "Thank you, Your Holiness."

  She nodded graciously. “We seem to be assembled. Let us begin.” She walked to the head of one of the tables—where the only chair in the room happened to be located—and thumped her staff on the floor for silence.

  Dommi was recounting the boat ride in staccato Joalian. Alice said, “Where did you get the rabbits?” just as Prof Rawlinson exclaimed, “Captain Smedley!"

  "Almighty God!"

  Everyone jumped, turned, fell silent, bowed heads.

  "We give thanks for the safe return of these, our brothers Dommi and Kaptaan and for the glorious news they bring us. Let us see Your purpose through our grief and may our joy at the destruction of the evil Zath be tempered by recognition of Your hand in all things. Guide our debate, we pray You, and lead us in the path of Your truth and justice. Amen."

  "Amen,” chorused the congregation. They shuffled to the benches along the sides of the table. Julian caught Alice's eye, and for a moment a twinkle of laughter shone amid the grief. This stripling bishop knew what she wanted! Eleal took the chair and called the meeting to order.

  So it had come to this. Only nine of them left, out of thousands! Julian was seated between Alice and the intimidating bulk of Tittrag Mason, who completely hid Prof Rawlinson at the end. Opposite sat the saturnine Kilpian Drover, Pinky Pinkney, Piol Poet, and Dommi—whose freckles were barely visible through his windburn. The church itself was down to six, since Prof, Alice, and Julian himself were not officially disciples, not shield-bearers. Yet there were both natives and strangers gathered here, sitting as equals—that was one of Exeter's legacies. How long would it last? How long before Pinky had the Church of the Liberator knocked into shape? Charisma would soon bring back his bearers and silverware and freshly ironed sheets.

  At the moment, the Church of the Liberator did not have two coppers to rub together. All religions began in poverty.

  "We wish to hear the whole story,” Eleal proclaimed. “But first, tell us of Brothers Tielan and Doggan who went with you?"

  Julian did not want to talk at all, not to anyone, not for a long time, so he silently tossed the query to Dommi, who might even enjoy being raconteur.

  "They stayed behind, Your Holiness, hoping to find the trail of the accursed Dosh Betrayer. They promise to return very shortly, having both received directives from the Liberator—as I did myself, and must attend to."

  "We are glad to hear that they did not come to grief. Would you begin at the beginning now, please, Brother?"

  Dommi spoke Joalian, with an occasional repeat in Randorian. When he wasn't strangling English, he was notably articulate, was Dommi. At his side, old Piol Poet scribbled frantically on scraps of paper, his nose almost on the table and his wispy hair in danger of catching fire from the candles. Pinky had his eyes closed; Kilpian Drover wore his usual morose expression, which didn't mean anything. Eleal was engrossed, but remembering to keep her chin up. Whatever Prof Rawlinson was doing was concealed by Tittrag's Himalayan mass. Alice...

  Julian stole a few sideways glances at Alice. She was chewing her lower lip as she struggled to follow the story. He suspected she would decide to go Home now, for Götterdämmerung had taken all the fun out of Olympus. In fact he would not be surprised if the station was abandoned completely. He really ought to take her off somewhere and tell her the whole story in English. He was just too tired. He was oppressed by guilt and sorrow. Why, why, why had he not guessed sooner what Exeter was up to? It was obvious now, but if no one else could work it out, then he wasn't going to tell them, not even her.

  Dommi had run into trouble, hemming and hawing.

  Julian stirred himself with a mental pitchfork. “I'll tell this bit. We loaded the Liberator's body onto a sheet of silver plate from the Zathian junk heap and carried him out of the temple. We stopped to rest outside, at the edge of the big square. A crowd gathered, and Dommi began preaching to them. He was absolutely wonderful! He told them of the death of Zath and the prophecy fulfilled and how the Liberator had laid down his life for it. He had them all weeping. He had me weeping, dammit! And I think he stumbled onto ... No, I think he was inspired! He said, ‘D'ward Liberator sacrificed his life to show us the way to the One True God, for now he assuredly has reached the top of the ladder and is united with the Undivided. By following his teachings we shall also climb until we are united with Him. He brought death to Death—not in the sense that our bodies shall not die but in the sense that death is no longer to be feared. We, too, shall become the Liberator. We, too, shall become God.’ I think that should be the creed of our Church, Your Holiness."

  Who had ever guessed that Dommi was so fluent in Thargian, or that he could be so convincing? Dommi was a miracle, and Exeter had seen that years ago. Julian had not. Eleal was another, of course. She was still inexperienced and impetuous, but she would soon grow out of that. Pinky would take her in hand.

  Piol was busily writing down the new official creed, aided by Dommi and Eleal. Exeter would probably have hated it. He had never claimed to be Buddha or Jesus, but all sects must attribute perfection to their founders. Even Mohammed, although he had remained human, was a unique human.

  Hesitantly, Dommi took up the story again, telling how the crowd had built a funeral pyre right there in the plaza. His voice broke and the room fell silent. The candles burned brighter in the deepening darkness.

  Prof Rawlinson was eternally impervious to atmosphere. “And where did you find the rabbits?"

  "Some of our new Thargian supporters provided them,” Julian said. “They showered us with hospitality. Doggan and Tielan are still with them. You may expect a flood of pilgrims to arrive within days, Holiness."

  Eleal nodded. Her eyes were brimming, but she recalled herself to her role. “We give thanks for this wonderful story."

  Prof cleared his throat. “Three days ago?” he muttered in English. “It should be about time, shouldn't it?"

  Alice gasped and looked at Julian.

  He peered around Tittrag. “Time for what?” he snapped. “What are you implying?"

  Rawlinson pursed his lips and blinked as if he had mislaid a pair of very powerful spectacles. “Come, come, Captain! We all know the model on whom Exeter based his actions. The saga is not yet complete."

  Julian ought to be angry, but he was too numb to feel anything more than disgust. “If you're expecting a resurrection, Rawlinson, then you will be disappointed. Exeter isn't going to appear as Christ appeared to the Apostles, showing his stigmata. Exeter was smashed to pulp. We watched his body burn away to ashes. Don't be obscene.” He leaned his head on his hands.

  "You are overlooking the logic of the confrontation, Captain.” Prof had assumed his lecturing mode. “Zath is dead, we agree. So Exeter killed him. So Exeter was the survivor and acquired all the mana. With that kind of power, it would be fairly simple to fake one's death, I am sure."

  The Valians were looking puzzled, all except Dommi, who understood English. “I am assuring you, Brother Prof, that the person we found was most assuredly the Tyika, and he was most assuredly dead. His face was not damaged. He had a birthmark on his leg, often which I have been observing when he was bathing."

  "I remember it from school days,” Julian said. “And I noticed it too."

  The infuriating drawl would not be hushed. “Mana could simulate that. It would be easy enough to alter the appearance of some other corpse—"

  "There were no other bodies."

  Prof laughed. “Precisely! A most fortunate miracle? Or does it sound like the hand of our friend, taking charge of events when he had overcome the opposition and was free to exercise his powers as he wished?"

  Sudden fury blazed up in Julian. He slammed a fist down on the table with a crack that made everyone jump—his right fist, which the Liberator had given him. “No!” he roared. “It sounds like plain, damned, good luck! I tell you that Edward Exeter was not a shyster! He would never stoop to that sort of deception. However powerful he became, he would no
t have been immortal, so to stage a resurrection would have been the cheapest sort of trickery. He would not have done that! Don't you see? Don't any of you see? He knew he was leading his Warband to their deaths in Niolvale, and he did so because even then he knew that he would have to die himself!"

  Alice whispered, “Oh, no!"

  "Oh, yes! Those were the only terms on which he would ever have sacrificed his friends. He wouldn't just send them over the top without him. He avenged his parents and all Zath's other victims, but he knew the necessary price and paid it. Zath died and so did he!"

  Prof was shaken but not convinced. “Simultaneously? How is that possible? Where did the mana go?"

  Julian wanted to scream.

  "For heaven's sake, man—Exeter didn't have any mana! Haven't you worked it out yet? We all wondered how he could ever convince the Pentatheon to support him, to give him enough mana to win the battle. We all knew that the stronger he became, the less likely that they would ever trust him."

  Pinky's eyes were open wide, for once. “And how did he persuade them to trust him?"

  "He didn't!” Julian shouted, leaping up. He was horribly afraid he was about to start weeping as he had wept in Tharg, as he had wept when he was shell-shocked. Shell shock felt just like this. He yelled louder. “He summoned the Five here, to that courtyard. Alice and I saw them, right out there. But he didn't ask for their help. He didn't ask them to trust him. He trusted them! He didn't beg mana from them. He gave them his! All of it. That was why the Thargians were able to arrest him and drag him off to a fake trial and beat him and take him to be executed. He had no mana left! Zath had never thought of that gambit. Nobody had. But Edward planned it right from the beginning, as the only solution to the problem. Remember the prophecy that the dead would rouse him? He saw the war in Flanders. If millions of ordinary men could lay down their lives to defeat an evil cause, then he would do no less, and he could avenge his parents and the friends who had died...."

  He took a deep breath and forced himself down on the bench again, shivering like the guv'nor when his malaria took him. “Zath must have been horribly puzzled when his mortal foe was delivered to him bound and helpless. He must have suspected a trap. And while he was engrossed in watching Exeter die, the Five took the chance that Exeter had given them, and the extra mana he had given them, and they killed Zath!"

  He stopped, choking. Alice put a hand on his arm.

  "You imply that they cooperated?” Pinky asked dubiously. “The Five?"

  "They had to! Edward had left them no choice, because the winners would share out Zath's mana, so none of them could afford to be left out. They took the only opportunity they would ever get to deal with Zath. The opportunity Exeter gave them as a gift, no strings attached."

  After a moment, Prof said doubtfully, “I suppose that is possible. But ... You'd have thought one of them would have had the common decency to save the Liberator's life."

  "That bunch? Oh, no! They don't know what gratitude is. And they certainly did not want Exeter running loose again. He could play their game better than any of them. He would have gathered more mana next year and then pulled them all into line, at the very least. They got rid of the two men they feared at one stroke. I bet they're all celebrating like a bunch of drunken sailors."

  But they would never again make the mistake of permitting human sacrifice. That was one good thing.

  "Julian is correct,” Alice whispered. “There was another prophecy, you see. A gypsy told him he must choose three times: honor or friendship, honor or duty, and finally honor or his life. He chose honor every time. He knew he must die."

  This time the silence was longer. At last Pinky said, “I do believe we should speak in Joalian. Holiness, brothers, we were just discussing the evil sorcerers, and how much they may have come to the Liberator's assistance. We conclude that they did not, of course."

  "They are doubtless rejoicing in their wickedness,” Eleal agreed majestically. “But the good shall triumph, as the One wills."

  "Yes, it will,” Julian said hoarsely. Tears ran cold on his cheeks; he felt nauseated, ashamed of his outburst, ashamed that he could not conceal his grief as the others could. “And they don't know the power of an idea. What D'ward has left us is a church built on a true historical event, whereas the pagans’ beliefs are merely legend and deceit. We must build in his memory.” There would be persecutions and martyrdoms, and the church would feed and grow on them....

  "I believe—” Piol Poet said. From somewhere he produced a wad of papers and began to thumb through them. “I believe I have some ... Ah! Yes, these were words the Master spoke regarding a church.” Holding a sheet dangerously close to the candle and his nose even closer, he read, “In Jurgvale on Thighday, the Master said:

  "'Is not a church a living thing? It is conceived in union, when a father drops a seed in a ready womb. It comes forth in pain and blood, and they smile who hear its first cries. Is not a church like a child, for it grows and changes and makes errors and learns? Is not a church like a young person, zealous and vigorous to improve the world, but apt to blunder into violence? Is not a church like a mother, who should love her children but not smother them? Is not a church like a father who should defend and discipline his family without hurt to them or others? Is not a church like anyone of us, who may grow in wisdom and compassion or sink into lazy and meaningless old age? Wherefore judge faiths as you judge persons. If they are greedy for gold, spurn them. If they lie, deny them. If they threaten, defy them. If they slay or harm or persecute, seek other counsel, for a false guide is worse than ignorance. And if they repent, forgive them.’”

  Julian could recognize Exeter's sentiments, but the actual words were Piol Poet's. The evangelists were ornamenting already.

  Eleal was beaming at the old man. “Assuredly, that was his hope. He entrusted me to guide his followers here in Thargvale, and he instructed Ursula Teacher to found a temple in Joalvale."

  "And he directed me to do so in Niolvale,” Domini said quietly. “I have been remiss, but I shall leave at dawn."

  "And you, Kaptaan?” the high priestess inquired.

  Julian shook his head. How shameful his repeated lack of faith seemed now! He had never truly trusted Exeter—he who had known him since boyhood. Oh, how he wished now that he could call back those angry words he had spoken after the death of the Warband at Shuujooby! “I am no shield-bearer, Holiness. In fact, I have never even been formally baptized into the Church. I ask now for that honor, although I do not feel worthy of it."

  She gave him her best reverend-mother smile. “Indeed your request will be granted! Is there one among us you would especially ask to perform this sacrament?"

  Julian looked hopefully at Dommi.

  Dommi beamed wider than ever. “I shall be most honored, Brother Kaptaan!"

  Eleal nodded approvingly. “In his last words to me, the Master said that he hoped you would go into Randorvale and found a church, Kaptaan, because he thought you would be a very great apostle. We have one shield with no bearer. He said that if the previous bearer did not return to claim it, then it was to be yours. It is the most cherished shield of all, for it belonged to the holy Prat'han, first among the Warband."

  For a moment Julian just stared at her. Then he babbled, “I should like nothing better than to take the Church of the Liberator into Randorvale. I shall be honored.” Yes, he would take on Eltiana and her gang and stuff Edward Exeter down their throats. And one day he would burn her filthy brothel temple and dance on the ashes. If it took him a thousand years.

  "Previous bearer?” growled Pinky. “You mean Dosh Betrayer, of course? Was that his shield? I just hope he had the grace to hang himself, like the original Judas."

  Unfair! It was possible, of course, that Dosh had taken silver from the Thargians to betray Exeter, but Julian was fairly certain that he had only been following orders. In order to deceive Zath, Exeter had been forced to deceive everyone else as well. It would be better not to say an
ything to damage the burgeoning legend. The calumny would not matter unless Dosh himself showed up, and he must know that he would be torn to pieces if he did. Better to have poor Dosh remembered as a traitor than to admit that the Liberator had set up his own martyrdom. Julian decided he must tell no one about that, not even Alice.

  Nor even Euphemia. But on his way to Randorvale, he would stop in at Olympus and assure her that he had meant all the promises he had made in his letter. And he would hold her to hers. No one had suggested that the Liberator's clergy were required to be celibate.

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  63

  When the usual waves of nausea and despair had faded and her muscles stopped trying to knot her up like a string bag, Alice gingerly raised her head to survey the clearing. It was very small, tightly encircled by dense trees and shrubbery. There was blue sky above her and dew below. The fresh air on her skin was a little too fresh for comfort, but this was an April morning in England. She could probably have guessed that from the smells alone. By the time she had struggled to her knees, she had spied violets, primroses, and cowslips. The branches were dipped in the first green fuzz of spring, and a cuckoo hooted its demented refrain not far off.

  Muttering, “Too true!” she staggered to her feet.

  The hut was so small and overgrown that she might have overlooked it had she not been told of its existence. The key, they had said, was in the squirrel hole in the third tree to the left. The Service had never outgrown a juvenile obsession with cloaks and daggers.

  Half an hour later, she was trudging north in clothes that were at least a generation out of date, but the buttoned boots fitted tolerably well and she had several gold sovereigns in the pocket of her coat. A lorry driver gave her a lift into Southampton and was much too polite to inquire why a lady should be tramping the New Forest dressed for a masquerade ball. Such things had never happened before the war.