Hederick the Theocrat v-4

by Ellen Dodge Severson

  He waited for the priest to leap to his feet and rush to confront the village woman, but Tarscenian only shrugged. "Hederick, she's nearly forty. She's only trying to win the heart of Peren Volen. If it's a sin, it's a harmless one. Anyway, I doubt Frideline has even heard of this particular passage in the Praxis. Few in this village can read, and I've not gotten to that passage yet in evening devotions."

  "That's an excuse?" Hederick raised his voice. "She's violating Seeker law! And isn't Peren Volen also to be chastised for enjoying the lengths to which Frideline goes to draw his attention? The whole village is laughing about it. Isn't every holy rule important? And what is a 'harmless sin,' anyway, Tarscenian?" Hederick was so overwrought that he had to pause for breath. His reddish brown hair was damp with sweat.

  The skin beneath the priest's eyes was translucent and creased, his eyes bloodshot. Tarscenian sighed and took a sip of the mead that had been his near-constant companion since Ancilla had arrived.

  "Hederick," the Seeker priest said sadly, "it occurs to me that all the words of the Praxis cannot be equally important-or equally true. The document is hundreds of years old, lad. It's been copied many times by clerics of varying skill. How easy it would be for errors or misconceptions to creep in!"

  "Errors? In the Praxis?" Hederick's voice cracked. "You dare say that?"

  Tarscenian's eyelids drooped. "I'm tired, lad. You always were one for rattling on unabated. Leave me."

  Hederick pressed on, pulse racing. "But how could the New Gods permit errors to form in the Praxis, Tarscenian? Are you saying the gods are fallible? If the Seeker gods don't guard each word of their holy parchments, how am I, a beginner, to know if a particular phrase is correct or not? You must be wrong."

  Hederick sat bolt upright and reached for the priest's sleeve. "Is this a trial of my faith? You're testing me, aren't you?" Hederick gazed hopefully at Tarscenian. It would be just like the priest to see how angry he could make Hederick, to measure his devotion to the Seekers. Hederick waited for Tarscenian to grin and slap him on the back.

  But the priest only drained the rest of his mug.

  "Tarscenian?"

  "Leave me!" The priest refilled his mug, splashing mead on the rug. Tarscenian ignored the stain, although Seeker law clearly declared that one should maintain discipline in one's surroundings as strictly as in one's thoughts and emotions.

  "The Praxis advises caution in the use of spirits," Hederick remonstrated.

  "That's for those of lesser standing," Tarscenian snapped. "The Praxis also orders us not to wear certain types of wool in certain seasons, which strikes me as something the New Gods, if they ever existed, shouldn't be wasting their precious time worrying about."

  "If the New Gods existed-?" Hederick's heart pounded until he thought he'd expire on the spot.

  Tarscenian drained the mug nonchalantly. "Take the damned parchment and go elsewhere to study it, lad. Your yammering is giving me a headache of ogrelike proportions." He limped to a chair and slumped into it, his back to Hederick, facing the wall.

  Feeling betrayed and hurt, Hederick blindly did as ordered. He spent the rest of the day behind the paddock, huddled over the parchment. He examined each word, seeking holy guidance, wanting any error to be his, not Tarscenian's. So deeply was he absorbed in his studies, he even ignored the call to supper.

  Hederick found the passage about the wearing of wool, and rejoiced that the New Gods cared about each small detail of their devotees' lives. He reviewed the parts about glorification of the body over the mind, and concluded that Frideline and Peren-and most of the occupants of Garlund-had committed far more sins than he'd previously thought. He had great work before him.

  Hederick probed the centuries-old, hand-lettered words of the Praxis until they swam before his eyes. Finally, just as the setting sun withdrew the last bit of light, he found a passage that both inspired and frightened him.

  Allow not a caster of spells to live, the Praxis read. Magic corrupts and infects. Magic derives from the old, betrayer gods. Magic defiles even the most faithful, if suffered to continue. Magic, and belief in its use, is evil. Those who seek the New Gods have no need for magic.

  Tarscenian had been different since Ancilla had arrived,

  the boy thought as he remembered the priest's heavy drinking and irreverent words. Had Hederick's sister enchanted him from the very first? Hadn't she lured the priest, that first day, into using spellcasting, in the show of the dragon and human figurines? And didn't the witch hover like a rapacious bird within sight of Garlund even now? She'd spent ten years studying the arts of magic, ten years that should have been spent caring for him!

  As though the thought came directly from Omalthea, Hederick suddenly knew where Tarscenian was spending his nights. Ancilla had tainted the priest. That meant Hederick was now the only true believer in a town of sinners. But what to do? Hederick vowed to pray until his gods sent him a sign of what course to take next.

  And they did. A wondrous, holy, terrible sign.

  It was past midnight in Garlund. For hours Hederick had been secreted in the grass on the prairie west of the village, praying to the New Gods and staring at the red moon until he could see it with his eyes closed.

  At first he'd been conscious of every night whisper of the greenery around him. Prairie spiders, while only the size of his fist, built webs so strong and sticky that creatures as large as a dwarf had little chance of escape. Southlund ticks, while only the size of his thumb, could drain the blood from a grown deer in half a day, and they were fearfully difficult to dislodge. Earth elementals, disguised as hummocks, had been known to burst through the prairie soil and engulf whatever lay on the surface.

  But some time passed, until all but one lamp in Garlund was extinguished. Hederick felt as though he were alone with the New Gods. The prairie still whispered, but no footfalls broke the night.

  Then the last lamp-the one in Tarscenian's dwelling-

  went out. A door creaked, and a tall figure staggered from the prayer house. Tarscenian paused and carefully surveyed the prairie in the direction of Ancilla's Copse, gazed upward briefly at the moon Lunitari, then headed north.

  The boy watched him go, his heart numb with disillusionment. With the aid of magic, the witch had destroyed a devout priest in less than a week. Certainly the Seekers could not rise to any position of power in the world until they eradicated magic.

  Perhaps Tarscenian's only purpose in life had been to bring Hederick to Seekerism. Now that purpose was fulfilled, and the Seeker gods had no more use for the priest. Perhaps he was like a dumb beast now, conscious only of hunger and thirst-and whatever base urge drove him toward the witch Ancilla in the dead of night.

  Hederick marked the priest's passage across the prairie, and a voice within-straight from the pantheons, he knew-urged, Follow. There was no refusing. At times Hederick drew close to Tarscenian, but the once-alert swordsman suspected nothing. His hand never went to his blade. The tall, broad body moved like a dead man brought to life. Tarscenian's gaze had but one object now: the copse.

  While they were still some distance from the trees, the inner voice advised Hederick, Pause. Keep back from the witch. She has set wards. Pray. Hederick sank to his knees.

  Tarscenian went on alone.

  "Omalthea," Hederick entreated, "send me a sign to tell me what you desire. In all of Garlund, I am the only one who is truly devout. Your priest has lost his faith. I know it is my destiny to continue without him. Please make me worthy, Divine One. Send me a sign."

  Hederick's body ached down to his soul. He clenched his hands, pressed his teary eyelids shut, and bowed his head. He begged for Omalthea's grace and wisdom.

  At that moment, the boy became aware of light. "By the New Gods!" he whispered.

  This was more than mere illumination from Solinari and Lunitari: neither red nor silver-white moon was full enough to account for this growing brilliance. The luminescence, diffuse at first, soon concentrated on a rise directly in fro
nt of him. The light became a glowing column. Sparks of seafoam green, blue, and purple danced within. Roaring wind filled his ears. "Omalthea, be merciful!" he shrieked.

  Was this a sign from the New Gods? Or had Ancilla detected him and brought down the force of her magic?

  The smell of a forge assailed him. It brought more tears to his eyes, and Hederick fancied he could taste the tang of metal, heated nearly to liquid. His hair whipped in the gale. He could not see for sobbing. He threw himself facedown on the grass.

  The wind changed to keening-banshees? The light, the sounds, the smell engulfed him, and Hederick could not stop shaking. "Ferae, daughter of the gods, come to my aid," Hederick begged. "Cadithal. Zeshun. Sauvay. Omalthea, please! I desire only to serve you. Don't slay-"

  Then the roaring, the keening, the cries in the wind-all stopped.

  Hederick lay, muscles jerking, in a circle of brilliance, bathed in heatless fire. His heart quavered in his chest. All warmth had fled his hands and feet.

  Heddderrrick.

  He could not open his eyes.

  Heddderrrick.

  He whimpered, sure he would be struck blind or mad if he lifted his head. He prayed that this was proof that he'd been ordained to greatness. But fear so paralyzed him that he could not raise himself from the crushed grass-not even to accept the mantle of exaltation.

  Heddderrrick. I orrrder you to rrrise.

  "I will die," Hederick whispered.

  I hhhave plans for you. Yyyou mmmust be my priessst, Hed-dderrrick. I hhhave need of you. Rrrise.

  Hederick inhaled, then let out the breath slowly, trying to expel his fear. The gods were calling him, or were they? Was this what Venessi had felt when she experienced visions of Tiolanthe? It could not be the same; his mother was insane, prey to fertile imaginings.

  This was certainly real.

  He drew himself together, then stood in the circle of brightness.

  Opennn your eyyyes.

  Hederick obeyed.

  At first the boy could make out only a rough shape before him. Then he saw a muscular torso that appeared to flow right from the prairie soil. Corded shoulders, draped with a gauze shirt, bore a proud head with flowing yellow hair. The jaw was broad, the mouth severe. A braided circlet of iridescent threads banded the god's forehead. Tiny bolts of gold and purple lightning radiated from the crown. Sparks rained down on Hederick, but still he felt only coldness.

  Below the glittering crown, the eyes beamed fire. They looked straight at him.

  Heddderrrick.

  "My lord?" Hederick forced his voice low and steady. This being would not tolerate weakness; Hederick must not show any.

  Yyyou knnnow mmme, thennn? That is good. Sssay mmmy nnname, Heddderrrick ofGarlund. Greet me as I deservwe.

  Warmth coursed through the boy. This magnificent being approved of him! "I honor and welcome you. You are Sauvay, supreme god of power and vengeance and Father-lord of all the Lesser Pantheons."

  Annnd…?

  "Once consort to Omalthea, Motherlord of the Pantheons.

  And father of the goddess Ferae."

  Annnd nnnow demmmoted beneath mmmy own daughterrr, Heddderrrick. The fire in the heartless eyes burned brighter.

  Hederick measured his words. "That is so."

  Yyyou wwwill be my chief mmminion, Heddderrrick. You will ssserve me. For I ammm Sauvay, God of Vwengeance, and yyyou have mmmuch to avenge, young Heddderrrick of Gar-lund.

  "I?"

  Mmmuch evvvil hhhas been done here in the nnname of fffalse rrrighteousness, Heddderrrick. Yyyou have begunnn to might those wrongs. I sssee and approve. You must continue. Escalate this hhholy wwwar. Dessstroy all sinners, if it takes until yyyour dying day.

  "I will do as you order."

  Yyyou mmmust destroy the witch in the treesss.

  Hederick nodded readily. "And Tarscenian?"

  The stench of molten metal thickened. Hederick's eyes watered. The wind sighed.

  Hhhe wwwas a Seeker priessst, Heddderrrick. He hasss sinned the greatest sin. If Tarscenian were ssstrong in faith, Heddderrrick, magic wwxvould have no hold on himmm. He hasss made hhhis choice. Know, Heddderrrick, that if yyyou are faithful, I will be at yyyour side alwaysss.

  Hederick bowed. "I will do what you ask, my lord."

  The being vanished.

  Hederick plunged through the grass like an antelope, and within moments he was crouched by the copse. Birds chirped sleepily, though sunrise was still hours away. The boy's clothes grew uncomfortably damp with dew as he waited.

  Hederick knew Sauvay was watching. He knew that when the time came to annihilate his sister and her traitorous lover, Sauvay would show himself in all his brilliance, and for a few moments, Sauvay's power would be Heder-ick's power.

  Ancilla and Tarscenian would die.

  There was no need for stealth. Hederick had Sauvay's protection.

  "Ancilla! Tarscenian!" Hederick shouted into the leafy blackness.

  Silence swallowed his words. No magical carnivorous being, no emissary of the undead, reached for him. Had the witch and the blasphemer sense enough to be frightened? Were they hiding? Hederick longed to stalk them as the lynx had pursued him months before, when he was only a boy of twelve. Now he was thirteen, practically a man, and a servant of the Seeker god of vengeance.

  Something sparked before his eyes. A globe, scarlet and silver, the size of a forest puffball, hovered and sputtered, moving away, then back. It repeated the motion, the message clear: Hederick was to follow.

  Either Sauvay or Ancilla could have sent the globe, but to Hederick it didn't matter. One was on his side, the other helpless before him.

  Within moments, Hederick stood before a stone cottage-magically created, for there had been no building in the copse before-and the globe disappeared. The door stood open beneath the thatched roof, and lights gleamed within. "Ancilla!" Hederick shouted. "Tarscenian! Your wards are powerless before me!"

  Ancilla's warm voice flowed from the doorway. "Did you think I would set wards against my little brother? After I worked so long to come back to free him?" She appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the orange light from the fireplace. "The wards were for the people of the village."

  "But not Tarscenian?" Hederick's voice filled with contempt.

  "Tarscenian did not come to the copse to do me harm. He came to learn." She stood aside. The firelight glinted on the embroidery of her white robe and on her curly cascades of pale hair. "Come inside, Brother. We have much to discuss, the three of us."

  Tarscenian sat cross-legged on the floor before the fireplace. He didn't look up as Hederick entered. Instead, the priest's gaze seemed riveted on a tiny, glittering object. Hederick thought at first that it was a smaller version of the sparkling globe that had led him here, but as he drew nearer he recognized the steel and diamond dragon that Ancilla had displayed in her palm in the village. It had appeared to move then; now it was still once again, only a statue.

  It was pretty, but Hederick could see no reason for it to fascinate Tarscenian so-none but witchcraft. That Ancilla had the priest in her power was painfully clear.

  Hederick remained standing before the fire, while Ancilla arranged herself in a comfortable sitting position on the floor. "Hederick is here," Ancilla said soothingly to Tarscenian.

  The priest lifted his head slowly, as if the Diamond Dragon released him from its spell grudgingly. Recognition dawned in the gray eyes. "You have come at last," he said, his voice hoarse. "I have done great wrong, son. I am grateful that you are here. We must atone, you and I."

  Ancilla spoke gently. "I've been instructing Tarscenian in the ways of the Old Gods."

  "The betrayers," Hederick spat out.

  Tarscenian quickly shook his head. "No, Hederick," he said. "I was wrong. The Seekers are wrong. The Old Gods did not betray us with the Cataclysm. We humans brought it on ourselves. We sought to become gods, nearly three centuries ago." His voice grew more excited, and he reached out to clasp the boy's small
hands in his. "There are no Seeker gods, Hederick," he said. "Omalthea, Sauvay, and the rest-they are illusions, no more real than Venessi's god, Tiolanthe. Believe me, lad!"

  He tugged, and Hederick knelt down next to him. Ancilla wordlessly watched the two. The fire crackled in the background.

  "No!" the boy denied vehemently, pulling back. "The Seeker gods are the true gods. I have proof."

  "What kind of proof can you have that the nonexistent exists?" Tarscenian asked.

  Triumph rose within Hederick. "Sauvay showed himself to me tonight," he declared. Excitement choked his voice. "He spoke to me, Tarscenian! Sauvay, god of power and vengeance! To me! He has been waiting for me to follow the Seekers. It is my lot to punish the sinners! I have been especially chosen."

  Tarscenian stared dumbly at Hederick, and the boy redoubled his efforts to convince the priest. "To bring me to the Seekers-this was your mission in life, Tarscenian. That's why you were drawn to Garlund. Perhaps Sauvay even sent the giant lynx to bring us together. You've fulfilled your purpose."

  Hederick felt the power of oratory fill him. "Don't compound your sin by denying your faith and betraying the pantheons. Pray with me! If you prostrate yourself, you may die forgiven!"

  Ancilla watched silently, her face devoid of emotion. Her unblinking gaze flicked between her brother and Tarscenian.

  The false priest came to himself with a start. "You… saw… Sauvay," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "A god… showed himself to you?"

  Hederick clasped Tarscenian's hands tighter. "Yes," he replied eagerly. "Outside the copse. I…"

  "Did his voice rumble? Venessi always said the voice of her god rumbled like thunder."

  "No, it was more like the wind speaking-like a loud whisper. I…"

  "Were there explosions? Did he wear a robe? Or did he come to you like Tiolanthe did to Venessi-half naked and built like a Caergothi blacksmith?"

  "I could see only half of him, Tarscenian. He flowed up out of the ground. His torso was covered with a loose shirt. It could have been a robe, I suppose…"