“So why did they get stuck?” She gestured toward the band of students. Perhaps it was because of their haggard appearance, but none of them looked young or novice-like. Then again, Zae herself was proof novices could start their training at any age.
“Lots of reasons. On a deadline for a project, lost track of time, contest to see who can hold out the longest, or simply didn’t listen when they were stood right here and given this very warning. It’s not quite as dire for healers—a lot of us can conjure food and water—but we still shouldn’t get cocky.”
The engineers were pale and gaunt. They wore filthy white smocks, and it looked as if it had been days since their last shower or meal. Their eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles, and they glanced about with quick, paranoid glances like dogs coming out of hiding after a thunderstorm.
Zae’s mind set to work. “Can’t we leave a box of supplies in each lab…?”
From the way Rowan shook his head before she’d even finished asking the question, she could see that such things had been tried before. “You’ve got a good heart, Zae of Brigh, but the Thumpers don’t care. Plenty have tried to trick them and sneak supplies in one way or another, but the Thumpers seem to know what’s meant for sustenance or luxury. They remove anything a construct would find unnecessary.”
“It seems particularly cruel to take exactly the sort of person who would get immersed in something and forget to look up, give them everything they need to feed their obsession, and then punish them for getting too immersed to look up.”
“Not cruel,” Rowan said. “Indifferent.”
At first she’d thought the exhausted engineers were all walking together in a tight knot, but as they neared Zae could see that two of the students were supporting a third, his arms across their shoulders and feet barely moving of their own accord.
“Do you need help?” she called. They all turned to her at the sound of her voice, then exchanged furtive glances with their stony eyes. “Do you need help?” she called again, taking a couple steps away from Rowan, ignoring his plucking at her sleeve. “We’re healers! Hello?”
One of them, the one supporting the left side of his limp colleague, curved his cracked lips in an angry sneer. “Of course you are. Aren’t you fortunate.”
“Stay away, you scavengers,” another one spat. White flecks foamed at the corners of his lips. “Starving us out, then stealing our ideas when our backs are turned, eh? I promise you, disturb our work and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Zae rarely found herself at a loss for words, but just then she wasn’t sure what to say. If she had been home in Lastwall, she would have treated the man for malnutrition and dehydration, and probably checked for a fever. To be accused of self-interest, even by someone who was obviously raving, stung more than she would have expected it to. At the same time, she couldn’t force upon him healing that he didn’t want. Could she?
He shuffled off with the rest of his group, and Rowan closed his hand around her arm to stay her.
“Shouldn’t we give them water now?” She had found her voice, and it came out of her with an accusing tone she hadn’t entirely intended. “I thought you said we were partly here to help the other cognates. Why aren’t we going after them?”
“I did say that. But there’s a certain degree of self-sufficiency and awareness this place requires of us. People who don’t have it don’t succeed here. The building itself culls them out. And those who do have it and survive being tested, well … sometimes they’re bitter at those of us who have some of those tests a little easier.”
Down the way, a quiet rasp of metal along a smooth track signaled that another corridor was closing. Zae wanted to go and watch it, but at the same time, she didn’t.
“So,” Rowan said. “The gears. It’s important to learn the timing of the gears.”
“So,” she repeated, and cleared her throat. “Yes. The gears.”
“Quite.”
“All of them do this?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And no privies, or kitchens, or windows?”
The halfling dipped his head in a slow nod. “Not so much as a cushion to be found. Don’t come here alone until you’ve learned at least this main hallway, and don’t ever venture alone into areas you haven’t learned.”
She turned her eyes slowly ceilingward, where the giant iron gears that moments ago had been a source of grand ambiance now nestled among the peaks and columns of the vaulted ceiling like guillotines poised to strike.
“Don’t wander. Got it.”
10
CRUSADERS AND CRUSADES
KEREN
Back at the Tempering Hall, in a large wood-floored studio, Keren and Evandor sparred. First with sword and shield, and then with swords alone. Keren was only slightly surprised to find herself an even match with the knight; she had dedicated herself to her sword skills, and could see that they had both learned to fight from the same masters—her father, and the other instructors at the War College in Lastwall. Evandor already knew that this was where she excelled and that magic was where she was untrained, but he had wanted to put her through her paces all the same. After the incident at the bridge and her meeting with Yenna, Keren was wound up enough to be grateful for the opportunity to expend some energy.
After, when Keren’s skin and hair were wet with the sweat of exertion, Evandor wore only a faint sheen of it across his brow. He accepted water from a squire. “A good showing. Lest you think it, I didn’t go lightly on you.”
Keren hadn’t seen anyone enter, but now that she looked around her, she saw that they had attracted a fair crowd around the edges. Two efficient young squires offered water to Keren also. They helped her out of her armor while the onlookers dispersed.
Attired in her loose cream-colored tunic and plain breeches, she suddenly felt quite small, as if she were standing before Evandor in her nightdress. The way he stood back and appraised her wasn’t helping. She fidgeted with her sleeve, caught herself doing it, and shifted to parade rest instead.
“Your combat ability is beyond question, Rhinn. All the more reason those skills shouldn’t be neglected while you’re here. We don’t want you to rust with disuse. No matter your path, your sword will still be essential. So. Let’s talk about that path. On the floor, if you will. Flat on your back.”
“Sir?” Keren found herself keenly aware of the distance between her hand and her sword.
“Good. You questioned it. I wasn’t sure you would. We’re going to take a page from Sula’s book by giving you a change of perspective.”
Warily, Keren lowered herself to the floorboards. Even more warily, she stretched out on her back with her arms at her sides.
Evandor paced around her with contemplative, slow strides.
“Before you learn,” he said, “you’ll need to unlearn. Your conflict isn’t with your superiors, but with yourself. Look within yourself and tell me about your doubts.”
“My doubts?”
“You’ve come to Absalom to find Iomedae’s presence, but connecting with her isn’t about going different places, it’s about finding her within. You want the kind of connection your companion has with her god, but this isn’t jealousy over her abilities. It’s deeper. It isn’t about how you compare to others, it’s about what’s within you.”
What was within her, Keren wondered. Her father had distrusted magic; she had always assumed it was a path closed to her. She had respected her father, been proud of how others respected him, but that had led her to a desperation to please him, and a constant feeling that no matter how much she did, it would never be enough. Her brother had possessed the strength to act on what was within him, had followed the paths that Julian Rhinn forbade, and all it seemed to have gotten him was isolation from his family and a horrible death.
“Am I doing enough,” she said out loud. Not as a question, but as an answer. “I always feel I’m not doing enough. I could be doing more. Doing better. Being better.”
&n
bsp; “What else?”
The dam had cracked; words could flow more easily now. Keren closed her eyes. “People say that when you feel a divine presence, you’ll know. But when you ask them what it feels like, they say it’s different for everyone. They can’t tell you what it’s like. I’ve never known what was real and what was my imagination.”
“Have you prayed to Iomedae for that little extra edge in battle, and received it?”
This, at least, was familiar ground to Keren. “Many times. But I’ve never really known whether she’s heard me, or whether the edge was mine and the praying just helped me focus.”
“Does it matter whether she paints the brush stroke or guides your hand, if the result is the same?” His footfalls continued around her, loud when his boots passed her head.
“I don’t know the answer to that. I think to some people, it matters a great deal. Look at all the things mortals say their gods have endorsed, when they haven’t. How do I know if she’s guiding my hand, or if I’m using her name like a shield and doing what I want to do anyway?”
“I suspect you do know, but you’ve been trained to doubt yourself. Your father trained me to be much the same.”
Keren closed her eyes. She’d never spoken this candidly with anyone who had studied under Julian Rhinn. “All right. That’s a fair point.”
“More doubts.”
“I worry that someday Zae will leave. Gnomes crave novelty, and what am I? A creature of law and routine.”
“Do you love Zae?”
“Yes.”
“Does Zae love you?”
“Yes.”
“How certain are you?”
“Completely certain.”
His footsteps halted. “Can you describe what being in love feels like?”
A moment too late, Keren saw where he had led her. She sighed and answered all the same. “It’s different for everyone and when you feel it you’ll know it.”
Evandor started walking again. “There’s a difference between being aware on an abstract level that people may not interpret a god’s designs the same way, and deciding that since one commander gave you an order you didn’t like, you’re not going to follow orders anymore. The latter is how you fear people will see you.”
“It is.”
“As long as you hold fear and doubt in your head, you’ll never be able to hear over their whispers. When you embrace your strengths and listen, you may be surprised by how close she’s always been.”
Keren thought about that, silent and still. Now that she was aware of them, she could hear the whispers of doubt for what they were. That didn’t mean she knew how to silence them, but hopefully that would come.
“So. Sit up, if you would.”
She opened her eyes, got her bearings, and pushed herself up with her hands until she was seated.
“Crusader Rhinn, this is what I’ve observed about you today: You’re a good fighter. You’re righteous. You have passion, but you keep your head. You’re to be an agent of Iomedae, keeping her justice, but I need to trust that once you’re filled with the power of that office, you won’t decide to become an agent of Keren Rhinn instead. The biggest failing I see in inquisitors is a tendency to give in to their own power. Understand?”
Keren had never contemplated having enough power to even make such a thing a possibility. “I understand.”
“I give you leave to shed the conflict between orders and instinct. You answer only to Iomedae now. This doesn’t put you above the hierarchy of the church or your order—your superiors are still superior—but you are no longer a foot soldier in their army. You are not a defender, but a true crusader, to go forth and uphold Iomedae’s edicts by any means that serve her ends while honoring what she stands for.”
He held out a hand; she took it and let him pull her to her feet. “I can do that,” she said.
“I suspect you can, at that.” Evandor straightened. “Now. Have you ever cast a spell?”
“Never. I wouldn’t know how.”
“Performing divine magic isn’t much different from calling on Iomedae in battle with those short prayers. Some swords are wielded with one hand and some require two; they might have different shapes, but they’re all a blade and a place to put your grip. Yes? It’s something you can already do and something you already understand.”
Keren nodded again. “Thank you. That helps.”
“Here. This is for you.”
She held out her hand and he filled it with a small statuette of Iomedae’s golden sunburst-and-sword symbol, on a thick leather thong. “This is your holy symbol,” he said. “It will be your focus. Wear it someplace conspicuous, like around your neck or on your wrist, and never be without it.”
She turned it over in her hands. It was carved, not cast, but she felt nothing particularly holy about it. “What distinguishes this from the statuettes we saw at the God’s Market?”
“Spend some time with it, and maybe I’ll ask you to answer that question for me someday. Tell me, when you make your small prayers in battle, how do you visualize what you ask for?”
The answer was something she’d never put into words, so it took her a moment to respond. “I think on the specific thing I’m trying to do, and how I need to execute it. I envision it like … like asking Iomedae to fortify a bridge before I cross it.”
“Well put,” he answered, surprising her; she thought she’d been clear as mud. “When you channel through the symbol, you’re doing just that, but you’re requesting that she create the destination at the other end of the bridge, as well.”
“All right.” That made a sparse dusting of sense, but Keren couldn’t imagine how to frame it in her head to make it happen. “Why did you have me lie on the floor?”
He smiled, and a fleeting curve of his lips matched the warmth of his eyes. “In dog training, that position is a submissive one. It calms a frenzied dog and shows it that you have dominance over it. With people it’s not so pronounced, but it brings a feeling of vulnerability. Of letting the walls down, if you will. Being safe in that vulnerable state helped you express vulnerable things.”
“And you kept walking so that I would feel safe.”
“Yes. So that even when I was silent, you would know where I was.”
Few people in the world had ever been so concerned with Keren’s own perception of her safety. Fewer could be trusted to make her vulnerable in order to show her that she was safe. Emotion swelled in her chest, and she could only nod.
“Now, we move onward, Crusader Rhinn. We’re going to teach you to cast a spell—a very basic one for detecting magic. Be patient with yourself. This will be difficult, and will likely take some time to master, but know that it’s within your grasp.”
* * *
Keren collected Appleslayer and walked home. She wasn’t sure what was headache, what was strain from trying to perform magic, and what was her imagination. She hadn’t been able to cast the spell, and the whole process had been disorienting, but Evandor had seemed to think she was doing well regardless.
She found Zae in their kitchen and hugged her tightly in greeting. Her gnome looked a bit wild about the eyes, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Appleslayer, also pleased to see Zae, sniffed her all over and licked her face when she ruffled his ears. Inspection done, he turned his attention to the water bowl Zae had put out for him.
Water was put out for Keren too, in a manner of speaking. That is to say, it was already steeping in a tea service made of a deep red clay, fired but not glazed, with slender cups to match. “Here. I found these in the cupboard.” Zae brought the tray out to the couch and poured for two. “You look like I feel. If you feel like I feel, then this will help.”
Keren curled her hands around her teacup and inhaled the steam. It was strong, with faint notes of fruit and honey. “Thank you. How was your first day?”
“My mind is full and my finger is stiff,” Zae answered. “How was your day?”
Keren blew across the surface of th
e tea, then sipped. “My mind is also full.” She paused. “And my finger is … not stiff? Is that code for something?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Your day first!”
“Productive, I think? I don’t entirely have words for my training yet, but I did learn what we’re all wrapped up in.”
“The artifact?” Zae handed over a bowl of thick barley stew. “Here. I didn’t know when you’d be back, so I already ate.” Keren set it on the table while the gnome settled in beside her. She realized she hadn’t kissed Zae hello, and did so now, while she put her thoughts in order.
“The artifact. It won’t mean much without context, and it’s kind of a long, complicated story.”
“I’m listening,” Zae prompted. “Once upon a time…?”
Keren settled back. It wasn’t how she’d intended to start, but it made the telling easier and she went along with it, grateful for the detachment it offered. “Once upon a time, which for our purposes means about a thousand years ago, the god Aroden had a handmaiden. She was a demigod, and her name was Arazni. She was the patron of the Knights of Ozem.”
“I thought Iomedae was the patron of your order, and isn’t Arazni—”
“Now, yes. But this is a story about back when Arazni was our patron and Iomedae was mortal. She was a member of the order—the leader of it, in fact—but she wasn’t a god yet.”
“Okay. Go on.” Zae had a cube of cheese in her hand, but was too rapt to remember it. Appleslayer padded into the front room, flopped himself down across Keren’s feet, and nudged his nose at Zae’s knee. She gave him the cheese.
“So.” Keren wet her lips. They weren’t yet to the hard part of the story, but foreknowledge of the words was already knotting her stomach. “So, it came to pass that Taldor launched what we call the Shining Crusade, uniting with the Knights of Ozem and the dwarves of Kraggodan to fight the Whispering Tyrant, the lich-king ruler of Ustalav.”
Pathfinder Tales--Gears of Faith Page 9
