Meliu paced and glared at the both of them. “The both of you need to quit playing your godsdamned games.”
Ulrikt grabbed her shoulder, a gentle touch. “When the game is for blood and souls, you can’t stop playing. This child, Kinesee… There is a reason she is important enough for them to risk revealing themselves to me.”
“If you don’t know who they are—”
“I was close to figuring out which of three people was a Heretic of Rin… it’s no coincidence this person hired the brigands, and then died in the attack on the girl. My one link gone.”
“If the Heretics of Rin are real—”
“They are, my child. Which is why you will forgive me for having Sedut join the petition for the girl to marry the Choerkin.”
Meliu’s chest seized with a fury, but she did her best to squelch the heat in her words. “You son of a bitch.”
And the bastard smiled. “It may take a while to forgive.” The Lord Priest strolled to a cedar chest and threw its lid open, pulling something from its depths. “I admit that traditions change, but not always with haste; those who achieve the high priesthood never marry.” He turned, robes lined with white silk clutched in his fingers, for a high priestess of Erginle, but the cuffs bore stitches in glistening black thread to honor Kibole.
Her chest slipped from fury to shock. “Me? A high priestess?”
“The youngest ever… well, second youngest.” His grin would’ve been endearing a year ago. “Come, my child. Whatever your future holds, you must know it was never to be the mother of Choerkin babies.”
It might’ve been, and it might’ve been wonderful. She stepped to the robes and stared at a dream she’d had since stepping foot through the gates of Istinjoln as a child. “If I accept, no more secrets. I’m one of you.”
“No more secrets… within reason.” He handed her the robes, supple, smooth, and scented with cedar, then pointed a finger at her chest. “The business of the Lord Priest’s Face is their own. I will not answer any questions, and you stop speaking of them.”
It was enough to know the Face was real, except… “You are the real Ulrikt then?”
He tapped his nose with a grin. “Yes. That is the final question I will indulge.”
The answer left the distinct impression of being half an answer. “Anything else?”
“And, you still must translate the Codex of Sol yourself, no help. You must trust the words.”
She licked her lips; this son of a bitch knew her every weakness. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
66
What the Monkey Saw
Negotiating peace is much like a monkey fight. Two animals go nose to nose, screeching hair-raised puffery until one flees without a drop of blood spilled. No one knows who is the mightier, only who won and who lost. Belief becomes reality. Glorious Victories are won with blood and steel; Great Victories are won with ink and a handshake.
–Codex of Sol
Glimdrem feigned a search for a secret door or other hiding place; it was difficult not to stare at the monkey statue, its yellow jade with orange streaks, and its missing eyes. He’d hoped to arrive at Uvin’s study alone, but the Chancellor sent a second pair of eyes: Tilsferu. She was a beautiful woman with green eyes flecked in gold, and raven black hair, a Trelelunin. If the woman were Edan, he would have abandoned hope of a candle alone to explore the little statue he hoped was the Temple of the Blind Monkey. Either way, she worked for the Chancellor, so his odds of solitude were slim.
The Archangel’s study stood as Glimdrem left it, nothing missing, nothing moved. Not even the Latcu needle imbedded in Ikoruv; this surprised him. “Did you know I spent ten years on Sutan?”
Tilsferu meandered to the rows of statues and other trinkets, and Glimdrem’s heart beat fast as she approached the monkey. “I heard, yes.”
He strode to a statue carved from lustrous green jade, a woman with eight breasts. “This! She is the goddess Mosh-ho’lenu, said to be the mother of the Rihite people on Sutan… a brutish lot. Less than human, even.”
Tilsferu leaned close to the goddess and away from the monkey. “Eight breasts, more like an animal.”
“True, but not an animal; she is worse. In the beginning there were four sisters, and each fell in love with the same man, the god Hinzjo’lu. Each grew pregnant, giving birth to twins. They approached Hinzjo’lu, declaring he could only keep one of them as a bride. Hinzjo’lu didn’t appreciate this ultimatum and said he could only love the most powerful of them. Mosh-ho’lenu devoured her three sisters and grew six more breasts. She raised her boys, and the other children, on their mothers’ milk… so to speak.”
“A hideous tale.”
Glimdrem chuckled. “It is, isn’t it? The gods of so many peoples are brutal, barbaric, but so much is myth.”
“How can we be certain? You spoke of the Pantheon of Sol on the way here, the things you saw on Kaludor. Why couldn’t this goddess with eight teats be real?”
The word impossible jumped to mind, but he refrained from such a lie. He sighed. “I hope it is a myth. I hope many legends are mere fancy, for the sake of those in the stories.”
“Yes, let us hope if they were true, the gods remain banished from our world.”
Glimdrem picked up the statue; smooth, heavy, cold. “Ten years searching for Oxeum only to have Uvin tell me he’d never found it.” He replaced the goddess and stepped to a statue life-shaped from ebony, a man with three heads.
“And what is that little guys horrifying tale?”
“Ah, Kulk’holar. An irony these two rest beside one another on a shelf, if real, they would tear at each other, but if one killed the other, they both would die.”
Tilsferu giggled. “Do tell.”
“Kulk’holar is a god of giants known as the Ko’du-hiin, who lived in the mountains of Axdonhar. Their gods lived in the clouds above the mountains and warred with the Rihite. In battle these two gods met, and Ko’du-hiin sliced open her chest and ripped out her heart, but in the struggle, she drove her hand into his chest and—”
“Tore out his heart?”
He pointed to the statue’s chest. “If you look close, there’s a tiny mark here, a scar. Both gods fell, dying, but each clutched the others’ heart. Near death and desperate they shoved these hearts into their empty cavities, and boom boom! They healed, but thereafter legends state that if either died, so too did the other.”
Tilsferu nodded to the monkey with his spear and khopesh. “And this one?”
Glimdrem picked up the statue, fighting a tremble of excitement in his fingers. “I don’t know this creature’s story.” The jade was heavy, but was it right? If the base was hollowed and empty, it would be too light for its size. He gave the monkey the slightest shake; nothing moved inside. “Funny thing. The night Uvin died, it was a khopesh of Latcu and Ikoruv which ended him.”
“Two conceits of his arrogance coming together to kill him.”
He smiled at her. “I suppose you are right. He also spoke of a Temple of the Blind Monkey on Sutan. See where this monkey once had gems for eyes? A blind monkey. I wonder if it came from the temple.”
He stroked the statue with a gentle touch, seeking anything from the ordinary: He found it in the monkey’s right eye. So perfect that with a look it appeared just a change in the jade’s color, but there was a seam.
His mind raced and he couldn’t resist. He pushed, but of course nothing happened; except she noticed.
“Something unusual about his eye?”
The thrill to his pride was too great to deny. He should’ve lied, and a part of him knew it. “Yes.” And he heard the voice of Uvin: Pride is a pitiable trait, don’t you agree? “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Glimdrem glanced to her. “I don’t know what it is, there must be a key.”
“You think—”
“The Codex is inside. It is why Uvin mentioned the Blind Monkey… a game he was playing.” He looked around the room, his
eyes landing on the Latcu and Ikoruv experiment. “Unbreakable glass and infused steel… They create an energy, like magnetism, to push apart from each other.”
He ran to the table, fingers shaking as he lifted the ball of black Ikoruv and its clear needle. “Blind the monkey.” He pushed the Latcu tip into the eye, scratching the stone: Nothing. Flipping it in his hand, the ball fit the empty socket, and click.
Tilsferu gasped as the base slid open, and Glimdrem set it to the table: A book bound in bumpy hide, maybe crocodile or a relative, and a couple hundred pages thick.
His companion stroked its length with a single finger, and Glimdrem’s heart panicked into a lurch.
“You’ve done it. You’ve found the Oxeum Codex.”
He lied. “No, I’m sure it’s something else.” It was a fool’s lie; it didn’t matter, even if true, the Edan would claim this book, and he’d never see it again.
The monkey’s head turned, and its lips moved, speaking with Uvin’s voice. Pride is a pitiable trait, don’t you agree?
Glimdrem’s fingers clenched and unclenched, clutching his face and letting go as if he was no longer in control. Panic. “No, I don’t.” The same answer he’d given the twenty-fifth the day he died. But Glimdrem realized he’d been wrong. He blinked, and with his eyes open again the monkey hadn’t moved at all.
Tilsferu lifted the book and opened its pages. “No, this must be it. The Chancellor will be so proud of you.”
A vine slithered beneath the door, verdant leaves shaking, and its voice came to him. You have what you wanted. Kill her.
Glimdrem stepped back, chest heaving. I will not kill her.
She will take what is yours. You will never regain what you once were.
What was I?
Kill her and know.
He turned to leave but instead spun a full circle, and his hands clutched the woman’s head so hard his fingertips ached. He penetrated her skull with Spirit and Life, and she slumped without a sound, held by his powerful grip.
Kill her.
I will not kill her.
He turned her head to see her face, and for a moment a vision of Lelishen blended with Tilsferu’s features. “I love her.”
Kill her.
“I will not, I can not.” Spirit and Life raged, and he dove into her mind and soul, melding with her being in a way beyond what he’d accomplished with Inslok; in a way he could never have achieved with Inslok. “Forget. Please forget.” Her eyes stared transfixed, blank, and he dropped her unconscious to the floor.
Dead? Alive? Murder didn’t exist in the Mother Wood; the punishment the Edan meted out would be unique and terrifying.
He dropped to his knees, hands to her head again. She breathed, and he pushed Life into her, gentle this time. “She’s alive.”
Good, said the vine, this is even better.
He didn’t want to know what the vine meant by that. Glimdrem jumped up, shoved the book into the monkey, and closed its drawer. He should take it and run… run where? Inslok would kill him within a day, no prey escaped the legendary hunter.
“What happened?” Tilsferu’s weakened voice.
He stooped, lifting her shoulders to cradle her with gentle strokes to her hair. “What do you remember?”
“The monkey, the Latcu… I do not know.”
“A trap. I triggered something, a puff of dust hit you and you dropped. I tried to heal you, but wasn’t sure if it worked. I thought I killed you.”
She smiled at him with beautiful blue eyes sparkling with silver. She isn’t Lelishen.
Her hand snaked over his shoulder and pulled him to her lips for a kiss. He blinked. She isn’t Lelishen, but when he looked at her, the sparkle in the eyes… He kissed her back.
And the vine said, This is even better.
67
Stranger Eyes
Blue, brown, green, black, violet,
flowering eyes and flowering lies,
bloodline ties and spittle flies.
The future is water and the past ice;
which is easier, to melt or to freeze?
Or are both illusory?
Figmented and Demented creations.
–Tomes of the Touched
Eliles sat alone in the stars, her second home these past weeks, waiting for… What? More priests to reveal themselves? A great eye? The stars to reveal some portent of the future?
Jinbin and Artus were both below in the library studying, although with different purpose. Once Artus picked up the knack of the written word he was hard to keep from the shelves. It didn’t hurt that he held out hope of finding another treatise on making any sort of alcohol. Jinbin searched the tomes for words related to the Elements and why plants weren’t growing, and he’d found an interest in enchanted gems.
Eliles wondered about the latter; the book Meliu left open spoke of enchanted gems, but she didn’t push him on what he might know. Not yet, at least.
The stars played a tune to steps, and she sensed Temeru strolling her way. “For a high oracle, you spend little time among this portion of the stars.”
The priestess laughed with the unnatural volume of the stars. “I walk these stars often, but not the same time.”
The phrasing felt awkward. “You mean when I’m not here, or in a different time?”
“Both. In a sense, we can be side by side and never notice the other.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Meris spent thousands of days staring at these stars, little good it did her in the end. What answers do you seek?”
Pressed to it, one question stood out. “We found a boy dead in the tower. Murdered after Kotin’s poisoning and before I summoned the Fire. Do you know anything?”
Temeru’s brows arched. “Dear, no. I haven’t a clue. My life has been amid the stars, further from the Watch’s towers than ordinary distance.”
Eliles wouldn’t expect the truth even if the woman knew it, but if she was in a chatty mood, it’d be worthwhile to come up with something. “The plants aren’t growing on the island, nor dying. They’re locked in time, or some such. I’ve no doubt you and your people would benefit from fresh crops.”
“Ah! I noticed this too. Our food supplies are deep, and none of it rots… and often I feel we eat as much from habit as need. But you are right, we would appreciate fresh fruits and vegetables. I assumed this was something to do with your Fire, how could I assist?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what happened.”
“I could break bones, see if Bontore will give you an answer?”
Eliles laughed. “The bones are full of lies.”
If Temeru was taken aback by those words, she didn’t let it show through a sincere smile. “And full of truths, but we never understand which is which until time passes.”
“More lies than truth.”
“More misleading than lies. Most priests sit their time in Istinjoln watching the bones and never recognize this truth. But you are different, One Lash.”
“I am.” And for a rare time in her life, proud of it.
“People believe the future is stone, hence difficult to carve and change, but the truth is the future is mud, difficult to shape because it’s always shifting, falling through your fingers.”
Eliles stood, looking her in the eye. “You don’t sound like any oracle I’ve ever heard.”
“I suppose I too am like mud, always changing. But haven’t we learned much since Ulrikt’s fall, what disaster one’s unquestioning devotion to a particular future may invoke?”
Eliles sighed, perhaps it made sense that a prophecy’s failure would change those devoted to foreseeing the future the most. “Worse than I imagined.”
“Blind faith is no worse than faith with your eyes wide open to a thousand thousand colors if you don’t understand what you see.” She took several steps with her head tilted back, staring into the night, before she turned back to Eliles, her smile returning. “Which is why we should focus on the garden.”
Eliles giggled, all
her tension gone. “Yes! Solve the puzzle we have hope to solve. I tried Life, Spirit… I tried shielding the plant from the energy of the Fire. Nothing.”
“The hairy Choerkin found the book on growing grapes, didn’t he?”
Eliles cocked her head; what passed beneath the stars that this woman didn’t know? “Yes, he did.”
“Fedenu of Ulmor had that book brought in with the first seeds a decade ago. An obsession with the fruit, not unlike your friend, except she preferred to eat rather than drink them. So tell me, why does a grape vine produce fruit?”
Gardening wasn’t an interest Eliles entertained, but… “Fruit has seeds, the next generation of vines.”
“Fedenu told me that the finest fertilizer wouldn’t produce grapes because the vine becomes too happy. Why produce seeds if you do not fear dying? Prune the vine, fool it into fearing this might be its last year despite its perfect health, and the vine will reward you with the most fruit.”
Eliles mulled her words. “You’re suggesting the plants have too much Life, Spirit, to grow?”
“I don’t know. Of course it isn’t the same, I don’t even know how true it is… just something she said. If you water a plant too much, it will drown. Life and Spirit will heal in their natural form, if you drown a living thing in it, they couldn’t die.”
“But they might reach a stasis in perfect health?”
Temeru shrugged. “You’re the only one who can find out.”
“It’s a possibility I hadn’t considered, and it might make sense.”
“Can you imagine the canonic implications? They say you never age in the Seven Heavens nor the Twelve Hells, we always assumed because the soul is an ageless thing, but what if it’s because Spirit and Life are too powerful to allow time’s effects?”
Eliles glanced to the stars behind the priestess’ head. “The implication for me is less fish.”
Trail of Pyres Page 66
