The man had rescued Hederick from a lynx and given him dinner… and listened to his long tales. Wasn't that enough to know about someone? "You're a trader," Hederick said. "Or a mercenary."
"I'm a Seeker priest."
A priest! Hederick struggled to his knees. The blankets snared him around the ankles, and he tore at them with clumsy fingers. He didn't know what a Seeker was, but no matter. The man was a heathen and a priest!
"I speak for the New Gods, son."
"No!" Hederick shouted angrily, feeling betrayed by the man he'd begun to think of as a hero. "There is only one god. The Old Gods deserted us in the Cataclysm, and every god since then is just pretend, except for Tiolanthe. He speaks to my mother. And I'm not your son, you fraud." Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Tarscenian carefully gauged the boy's heated denial. Some of the friendliness left the gray eyes. "Who do you think saved us from the she-lynx, Hederick? Who frightened her off… me? You and your clods of moss? Some higher power? Or this Tiolanthe-while we're speaking of frauds?"
Hederick refused to look at him. "You did," he said sulkily. "You had the sword."
Tarscenian cocked his head. "My blade never touched the lynx, son. And what about the explosions?"
Hederick had no answer.
Tarscenian's hand locked around the boy's thin wrist, pulling him near. "The New Gods interceded, Hederick," the priest said gently. "Can your mother do that, by calling on her god? Can this Tiolanthe himself, for that matter?"
"N-no," Hederick mumbled.
"Well, then, perhaps the New Gods have a plan for you, son." Tarscenian's voice grew insinuating. "Perhaps I'm a part of that plan. Who are we to question the will of the gods?"
Hederick risked an upward glance. Tarscenian's gray eyes were direct; the friendliness was back. And yet… "What do you take me for, a fool?" Hederick exclaimed suddenly. "I'm no part of a plan… " He crawled out from under the canvas. Tarscenian surprised him by letting him go-Rain lashed at the boy, and in moments he was soaked.
A few steps away, the campfire still flickered under a scrap of suspended canvas, but Hederick was determined not to return to Tarscenian's sanctuary. Lightning erupted. Thunder crashed through the trees.
"Where will you go, lad?"
"Home!" Hederick said desperately. "My… my mother will be worrying about me in this storm."
Tarscenian said nothing for a few moments. Hederick's words hung between them. "From the sounds of it, lad, your mother worries about no one but herself," the Seeker priest finally said. "She'll not take you back if you return to Garlund so soon, you know. She wants you to suffer. You're being made an example. She craves the power, and you're a threat to her. None of the other villagers has the spunk to take her on, is my guess."
"She's my mother," Hederick whispered. "You've never met her. What would you know?"
The priest laughed. "I've met hundreds like your mother, Hederick-men as well as women. I'm a priest. I run into all sorts of troubled souls who think they've reinvented the gods." He sighed, then failed to suppress a yawn. "I'll take you home in the morning, Hederick. I believe I can make things right with your mother. Why not trust me, at least for now? I'd hardly snatch you from a lynx's jaws to devour you myself, son."
Still Hederick hesitated. "You'll take me back?" He imagined the villagers' faces when he strode back into Garlund with this sword-wielding, towering heretic. "Tomorrow?"
"If you wish."
Hederick crouched to peer under the wide canopy. The rain streamed down his back. "Early?"
"At dawn, if you want." A smile creased Tarscenian's face. "Lad, I'm bone-weary. I walked many miles today. I did battle with a giant cat and, what's far more daunting, locked horns with a stubborn twelve-year-old. The New Gods will watch over us tonight, Hederick. I must sleep now, son, and I won't be able to if I must worry about you wandering off in the rain. You'll be prey to every creature and lung ailment on the prairie." He yawned hugely. "Make your choice, lad. Truce?"
"All right," Hederick finally said. "But I'll listen to nothing more about New Gods."
"For the night, anyway. Good enough."
Hederick crawled back into the shelter, dribbling rainwater like a sodden kitten. Stripping off his wet clothes, he accepted Tarscenian's spare shirt, so huge that the sleeves fell past his fingertips. Dry again, Hederick curled up in his blanket. The priest, already snoring, exuded heat like a hearth even though he'd relinquished both blankets.
Hederick was asleep in seconds.
The boy saw Garlund as though through Tarscenian's eyes as they approached it early the next day, Hederick perched on the big man's shoulders. The village rose from the lush prairie like an abscess. Hungry-looking people stared from windows and doorways.
Venessi appeared in the square and halted, struck as dumb by this towering visitor as the common villagers were. She made a gesture for the stranger to halt, and Hederick suddenly realized how short his mother was. Of course, he told himself, wouldn't fate enjoy the joke of him, the son, taking after tiny Venessi, whereas Ancilla had inherited Con's height, strength, and good looks?
Venessi's faded blond hair, cropped just below her ears, waved in uncertain curls around her round face. Her eyes, which appeared green in some light, were frigid blue in the early morning. Hederick saw in Venessi's face the same round nose and protruding eyes that he bore.
"That's your mother?" the priest asked beneath his breath. "The round one with the nervous hands?"
"That's her."
"I'd certainly not take her on unarmed," Tarscenian said sotto voce.
Hederick waited for Venessi to order the attack. Could even a man such as Tarscenian stand long against the united villagers? The priest had spent a few moments earlier in special prayer, muttering rhymes and tracing figures on the ground with colored sand. He seemed to think that would evoke his Seeker gods to protect him. But Hederick pulled at the stranger's hair. "Tarscenian, maybe we should…"
"Hush, lad. I'm well-armed, and with more than a sword."
Tarscenian's pack was too small to hold more than food, bedroll, and perhaps a small hand weapon or two. "A knife?"
"Ah, you disappoint me. I am a priest; I have my gods at my back. Follow my lead." Tarscenian's head swung to the left. "That's the building where the precious icons are stored? The stone-and-daub hovel?"
"The prayer house."
"It is locked?"
"Only from the inside, when someone is within. It's for the use of the common folk. Mother prays in her own house."
The priest grunted. Then the convivial Tarscenian of the night before was back.
"Greetings, people of Garlund!" he boomed. "I bring you joyous news! I am Tarscenian, Seeker priest. I have news of wondrous gods who can ease your lives of strife and trouble and promise you immortality!
"What a splendid community, and what pious residents. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to visit with you and bring you the word of the New Gods."
"Stranger," Venessi said coldly, "you are not welcome here. Nor is this boy."
Tarscenian stepped back as if slapped. Anger colored his face. "You are Venessi-the one who dared to banish this brave lad? This boy who last evening helped me beat off a deadly predator thrice his size? Truly he walks in the grace of the New Gods-yet you reward him with banishment? Don't you care about your soul, Venessi?"
Tarscenian stood taller. His voice was so deep that it growled like thunder. "Have you no idea how much you-and these poor folk who have followed you in innocent trust-have sinned in the eyes of the New Gods? Do you intend to make that sin even greater?"
"Kill them," Venessi snarled to the villagers.
Hederick closed his eyes. Certainly Tarscenian could not hold off so many armed villagers. No doubt the priest was afraid-he was mumbling distractedly. The villagers had formed a ring around Tarscenian, Hederick, and Venessi, but they had not yet made their move. Hesitantly, Hederick opened his eyes again.
"Kill them!" Venessi scre
amed. "Tiolanthe orders it!"
The men and women shuffled their feet. They exchanged nervous looks, yet none dared act. When the Seeker priest finally spoke, his voice was gentle. "Good people of Garlund, has Venessi ever shown you a sign from this supposed god, Tiolanthe?"
No answer came from the villagers, but Venessi shouted, "I order you to slay them!"
Tarscenian ignored her. "Has this Tiolanthe appeared to any of you? Has he given you a personal sign of his regard? Have you any evidence that he is more than this deluded woman's imagination?"
Furtive looks passed between husbands and wives. Venessi's face grew livid in her rage. "Begone, stranger!"
she shrieked. "And take that sinner of a boy with you."
"I challenge you, heretic," Tarscenian said, facing her anger with calm confidence. "My Seeker gods demand a duel. You speak for this Tiolanthe. Do you consent to a duel?"
Venessi, the paleness of her face giving way to mottled pink and red, gawked around the circle of villagers. "Gar-lunders, you are ensorceled!" she cried. "He is a witch! You have pledged your lives to me and my god!"
"I'm no witch, and no mage, either, Venessi," Tarscenian responded. "I am only a priest for the real gods. Do you accept my challenge? My gods will act through me, yours through you. Or would you prefer to concede defeat now and allow these poor folk to begin working immediately to save their tarnished souls?"
"Tiolanthe, destroy him!" Venessi raised her fleshy arms, then gestured toward Tarscenian with a flourish. "Destroy them both'."
The observers took in a breath and held it-all but Tarscenian. He cocked his head like a bird viewing the curious movements of an insect. After a time, Venessi lowered her arms and smoothed her dress. She looked flushed but stubborn. "My god speaks when he chooses, not when heretics demand," she said primly.
Tarscenian set Hederick upon the ground without comment. The priest held his hands skyward and shouted, "Omalthea the Motherlord! Sauvay of the blessed revenge! Cadithal, Ferae, Zeshun! Bring hope to this village! The people here long to know you, to feel your approbation. If you are loving gods, give them the sign they so desperately need!" He swung his hands down and out to the sides.
Fire danced around him in a ring, leaping between him and the watchers. "Show them your power!" Tarscenian demanded. "Show them that you, unlike their false god, are not afraid to demonstrate your force to those who would
believe." The fire ebbed and surged. Then it vaulted over the heads of the people and encircled them. Flame crackled.
Tarscenian gestured, and the blaze died. "The Seeker gods are prepared to accept you, people of Garlund. Renounce this false deity."
"No!" Sweat beaded Venessi's red face as she hurled a desperate warning at the villagers. "This is a test, you fools! Can't you see that as soon as you accept this cheat's words, you are through? Has my work been for naught? Have you learned nothing?"
The people seemed barely to hear her. Tarscenian said quietly, "My New Gods have provided further proof, Gar-lunders. Open your storehouses. At my words, they are full."
"But they are empty," one man faltered. "We've been rationing-"
"No longer. Seeker gods provide for their faithful. Open your storehouses, people of Garlund. Behold your new riches."
Venessi's eyes bulged, and she made a choking sound. As always when she was having a vision, she fell to her knees and groveled in the dust. "Tiolanthe, help me!" she cried.
But this time, the villagers paid her no heed. They plucked the keys from her waist, unlocked the swinging doors of the storehouses, and gaped at enough food to feed the village ten times over.
"Praise the New Gods!" cried one scrawny woman. The crowd cheered and surged forward, filling their arms, aprons, and pockets with much-needed foodstuffs.
Tarscenian directed his next words to Venessi. His gray eyes were sympathetic. "You may keep your house, Venessi. I will take up residence in the prayer house. My duty is to tutor the villagers in the true religion. Especially brave, wise Hederick." He patted the boy's shoulder.
"Hederick will be released from field work. He is too frail for coarse labor, anyway. His talents are more cerebral. He will be my assistant."
Venessi watched with eyes like stones. Silently swearing retribution on the evil child who had brought about her downfall, she returned to her house. She remained there, closeted behind locked doors, for four days, while the grateful Garlunders feasted and celebrated.
"… and Sauvay, Zeshun, Cadithal, Ferae, and Omal-thea," Hederick finished, anxiously watching Tarscenian's face for sign of approval.
The priest nodded. "You're a quick learner, son-you know both pantheons and their histories by heart, and your prayers are wonders of rhetoric. Your gift of words will stand you in good stead, should you ever consider joining the priestly orders." Tarscenian reached for a wooden tray that held a half-eaten loaf of bread and a porcelain tub filled with soft butter. "Another portion of this blessed bread?" he asked.
Hederick nodded eagerly, grateful for the words of praise and the attention he received from Tarscenian. The boy, who had seldom known kindness before the arrival of the Seeker priest, had become the man's near-constant attendant, caring for his quarters and assisting him at the services the villagers willingly attended.
The priest had transformed the dilapidated prayer house into a home. A braided rug concealed the dirt floor, and long, flat cushions lay on the pair of benches. A tile-topped table held the tray and bread. A brazier heated the room, for the temperature grew brisk at night, although the days were still stifling. Tarscenian led daily worship just outside the prayer house, much as Con had years ago, but Tarscenian's performances lacked Con's wrath and threats of doom, holding instead the promise of full bellies and better times.
If Tarscenian were the messenger of gods, he was the most genial messenger the village had seen. Certainly, he lectured on sin and redemption, but he also instructed the villagers on how to brew ale and urged them to drink it with each meal. It was a gift from the New Gods to aid the digestion, he said. He sang songs until the shutters rattled. And he drew children to him with the enthusiasm of his embraces and the freedom with which he dispensed sweets from the deep pockets of his brown robe.
In addition, he ordered one of the villagers, Jeniv Synd, to make Hederick some new leggings and a loose over-shirt with decorations of embroidery and shiny stones, endearing himself even further to the impressionable boy.
And Tarscenian performed miracles daily-innocent-looking tricks that ended in a scarlet explosion or in a rabbit appearing in his cupped hands. He told villagers these miracles were signs that the Seeker gods approved of the Garlunders.
One way to impress the Seeker gods, Tarscenian reminded everyone, was to be generous with the religion's holy men and women. As gifts began to pile up in file prayer house, Hederick grew worried. He had nothing to give of his own but his new clothes.
Tarscenian ordered feasts held regularly to fete the New Gods. For the first time, the people of the village began to lose their gaunt appearance. Yet not all the villagers, it seemed, were happy. Those who had been favorites of Venessi would grumble whenever Tarscenian was out of earshot.
"It's not right," Jeniv Synd told her friend, Kel'ta, as they watched Tarscenian lead evening services one night. Hederick, leaning against the side of his mother's house, out of sight of the two women, caught the words.
Kel'ta nodded at Jeniv. "Lady Venessi kneels in prayer from dawn to dusk. She never wavers in her faith. She is a true holy woman."
"This Tarscenian says she is a fake, but he suffers her to remain in Garlund," Jeniv muttered. "Were she seer of a false god, wouldn't he expel her? Her holiness rebukes his tricks and lies."
Hederick started to speak out in indignation, then thought better of it. There were other ways to deal with those who spoke against Tarscenian and the New Gods. That night at midnight, when even Venessi had left off praying and retired, he sneaked out of the village and, by the light of the moons, dug
in the prairie soil. Even after ten years, Hederick could remember Ancilla's voice as she held a bulb before his face and warned, "Never, never eat this, Hederick. It looks like an onion, but it is poison. It's the macaba bulb. Don't even touch it!" Her injunction had lingered all these years. Now Hederick had need of this poison bulb.
He made little sound as he crept into the Synd house, keeping to the deepest shadows. He went to the pantry and selected a jar of spice-a common one, but not too common. There was no hurry. It would be eaten eventually. It would be easier to maintain an air of innocence if Hederick did not know exactly when death would strike.
The next day, Tarscenian ordered two huge wagons built. Four men headed west a week later to sell the best of Garlund's wares in Caergoth. "The harvest is fast upon us," the priest said over the protests of Venessi's dwindling band of supporters. "We'll refill the storehouses. Garlund needs money, and it is time that the village gave to the Seeker church. I ordered the men to present half the proceeds to the church in Caergoth."
The dust from the pair of wagons had no sooner settled on the horizon than a scream came from the central village. Jeniv's friend, Kel'ta, stood in the doorway of the Synd house and bellowed until her face was ruddy. "Jeniv is dead!"
Jeniv's husband, Santrev, pushed past Kel'ta and rushed to his wife's side. Jeniv's body was contorted, her face twisted beneath tangled blond hair. The skin about her mouth was discolored, as though flames had touched her lips. Venessi shoved past them all, fell to her knees, and began to pray to Tiolanthe. Half the crowd joined her; the other half gawked and exclaimed.
Tarscenian touched Kel'ta's shoulder. "What happened?" he asked.
"I don't know," she wailed, and pulled away. "We spent the morning at my house, gardening. Then Jeniv went home to prepare lunch. I came to borrow eggs and found her like this." Kel'ta broke into fresh tears.
Tarscenian cleared everyone away but Venessi, Santrev Synd, and Hederick. He intoned the Seekers' Prayer of the Passing Spirit. "Great Omalthea, accept the commitment of this guiltless soul. Gather her to your breast and comfort her. Jeniv Synd is free of the pain of this world. Comfort her loved ones, and help us remember that we, too, await this fate. Gather this soul and make ready for all others to follow. For there ever will be more."
Hederick the Theocrat v-4 Page 2
