The Price of Wisdom

by Shannah Jay

  Querilla thumped the nearest piece of furniture and declared, 'Well, it wouldn't mesmerise me! I wouldn't let it mesmerise me.'

  'No. Some people seem naturally resistant to it. We in the Sisterhood - I mean, we in the Kindred

  - are nauseated by the incense and untouched by it, and anyone named an Elder at a Festival of Choosing seems impervious to it as well. Oh, and the traders, of course. Well, a few of them succumbed in the early days, and then their deleff just walked away, but most of them aren't even tempted to go over to the Serpent. I overnighted with quite a few traders on my travels. They're decent folk.'

  She sat remembering those times. When the temple at Setherak had gone under stasis, protected by the black stasis cubes Davred had brought down from the satellite which froze all life within a set circumference, Fiana had chosen to remain outside. She’d made her way to Tenebrak on foot, wishing to play an active part in the downfall of Sen-Sether. She’d been sure Herra of Tenebrak would never give in to the Serpent, or even hide behind stasis, and had been proved right.

  Fiana had also sworn a solemn oath to kill Sen-Sether herself, for he’d forced her to make sacrifice on the black altar in his shrine, the only way to save her Sisters' lives, and she felt a deep humiliation that she was the only Sister who’d ever been coerced into doing that. She’d felt unclean for years afterwards, but somehow her time with Quequere had washed the last stains away, though not her determination to kill Sen-Sether.

  You didn’t let such evil live.

  ***

  Ten weeks later the booming sound came from the Quoin again.

  'Ha!' said Querilla, slapping her thigh. 'Ha! You were rright, Fiana. Come on, everyone. Rrouse yourselves! Can't you hear Quequere's Summons?' She started pushing those nearest to her outside.

  Once again everyone toiled up the hill, and kept their grumbling to whispers, so as not to arouse Querilla's ire. She’d been impossible to live with these past few weeks, because her furious need to keep busy had forced a variety of activities upon those who’d have preferred a more leisurely approach to life, now that they had a softer style of living and plenty to eat.

  One of the oldsters had great trouble keeping up with the rest as they climbed the Quoin and his laboured breathing could be heard all the way up the hillside. In the end he collapsed, gasping for breath and begging to be left there to die in peace. But his family knew their duty and sent someone

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  ahead for a litter so they could carry him up the last stretch of rocky hillside.

  The darkness of the caves was a shock to eyes which had just been squinting against the dazzle of sunlight bouncing off rocky crags, and for a few minutes everyone paused inside the entrance, murmuring to one another and staring around, wondering who would be chosen this time.

  'Come on, you lazy lot of rrascals!' Querilla ordered. 'Get moving up those stairs.' She bounded ahead of them, hoping desperately that this day would see her reunited with Quedras.

  The amphitheatre made everyone shiver, as always - everyone except Fiana, that is, for she went inside eagerly, brushing the shining white rock plinth with her fingertips in a sort of greeting as she passed it and sitting as close to it as she could. She’d confessed to Quall that she now had quite a fondness for Quequere, who was a very caring and ethical being in his own strange way.

  The thunder boomed and a bolt of Quequere's blue-white lightning flashed around the room, leaving a figure lying on the plinth. A second bolt settled almost immediately on the frail oldster who’d had to be carried up the last part of the Quoin. With the corona glowing around his upper body, he jerked to his feet and stumbled forward to the dais unaided. The figure on the plinth stirred and staggered away.

  A few minutes later the light faded and the old man vanished from the white rock. It was often like that with Quequere, who mostly chose people whose lives had little meaning or whose bodies were worn out. He could keep the bodies alive for longer than they would have been naturally, and so acquire a Voice in a way that hurt no one.

  As people stirred and stood up, Querilla yelled, 'Queddie!' ignoring protocol and custom to rush forward and hug him.

  Quall followed and pulled her off him. 'He's still confused, Quer. He doesn't really know what's happening yet. Don't pester him, you fool.'

  She gulped, knuckled away a tear and said gently, 'Come on, then, you old sword-sticker. Let's get you back down to South Vale so you can recover properly.'

  As he walked down the hill Quedras's face began to lose its wooden look and he stared round as if he’d never seen the Sandrims before, pausing once to stare into the distance in the direction of the desert then running his eyes over the blue mountains that rimmed it. But always his eyes came back to Querilla, and often a faint smile would come into them as they rested on her.

  Quall took charge when they got to their squad's house. 'He needs to rest, Querilla.'

  But she couldn't let him be. She had to bring him food from the cookhouse, the choicest cold meat and the crustiest bread she could find, and sit with him while he ate it. Then she hovered over him as he sighed into sleep. When she, too, grew tired, she lay down beside him, one hand possessively on his shoulder. Even then it was a long time before she slept for she kept opening her eyes to check that he was still there, that this wasn’t a dream.

  The following morning, everyone in the house was woken by a roar of anger as a quarrel erupted between Querilla and Quedras. Quall grinned at Fiana as they left the shouting behind and walked across to the eating hall. 'Now I know everything's back to normal again.'

  Fiana stared at him as if she’d never seen him before, then said in a cool voice. 'Not quite. We need to make arrangements to help the Kindred's quest. That’ll change things here in South Vale, I'm afraid. '

  He stiffened. 'What do you mean, "help the Kindred's quest"?' With a body-doctor's eyes he scanned her face, noting how smooth and expressionless it had suddenly become. She looked -

  different. Was this Quequere still speaking through her, still using her as a Voice, even at a distance?

  Was that really possible?

  She explained, still in that strange toneless way, 'Some of us will need to leave the Sandrims and go off to help the struggle against Those of the Serpent. Quequere has already chosen sides. You, too, will now be called on to do the same.'

  A few minutes later, Quedras came stalking into the eating hall on his own, anger radiating from him. He snatched a bowl and heaped it with food, still muttering things like, 'Arrogant woman!' or

  'Who does she think she is, telling me to rrest?' As he sat down, he looked at Quall and demanded,

  'What does she think I am, an old man?'

  Querilla burst into the hall, grabbed some food and sat down with her squad, her back to Quedras. 'Will you tell that fool to take things easy today, Quall? He's acting like nothing's happened.

  I don't care if he makes himself ill. That's his choice. He's a man grown. In most ways. If rrather stupid. But he should have some consideration for those who'll have to look after him if he collapses.'

  'And will you tell that grranite-brained virrago, Quall, to mind her own business?' Quedras stated loudly.

  The body doctor chuckled aloud. 'No, I won't. You can both do your own telling. You really should take it a bit easy today, but you know enough to pace yourself, I'm sure.'

  Quedras nodded. 'Of course I do. I don't need anyone ordering me around.' He applied himself to his food, eating three helpings of breakfast.

  'Will you see to the fieldrims today?' Querilla said to the man next to her. 'I noticed yesterday that the weeds were creeping forward again.'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'Am I suddenly invisible?' demanded Quedras. 'It's my job to organise the cultivation squads.'

  Querilla sniffed. 'And of course, after ten weeks away from us, you know exactly what state everything's in, don't you?'

  He glowered at her. 'I'll soon find out. I'll be walking the field
rims myself this morning.'

  Fiana interrupted. 'This morning we need to talk, then we need to summon the squad leaders to a strategy meeting. You know we do, Quedras.'

  He frowned at her, then drew a deep breath and sighed. 'Yes. The quest. I'd forgotten.' He stood up and roared at the top of his voice, 'Strategy meeting for squad leaders after morning break.'

  Some men and women nodded, then got on with their meals.

  When Quedras had finished eating, he and Querilla just happened to stand up together. They both hesitated, then he growled in his throat, gave her a nudge, and said, 'I do know my own strength, Quer.'

  She looked down at the empty bowl in her hands for a moment then back at him, blinking hard.

  'I missed you, Queddie. I was - worried you'd push yourself too far today.'

  'I had to go to Quequere. It was needed.' They walked across the room together and deposited their bowls on the serving surface for that day's kitchen squad to clear away, and as they turned to

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  leave, he gave her a sudden hug. 'But I missed you, too, you old shrrew.'

  She gave him a love-tap on the cheek that left the print of her hand behind and both of them were grinning foolishly at nothing as they left the eating hall.

  Watching them, Quall was smiling. 'Sometimes those two can't see anyone else but each other,' he told his apprentice. 'They'll probably even manage to die together,' he added softly. But the thought didn’t make him feel happy. A lot of people were going to die before Those of the Serpent were defeated. You didn't need Herra's Gifts to understand that. And he of all people hated unnecessary death.

  Back in the squad house, Quedras asked Quall to join him, Querilla and Fiana for a chat. 'I've got a few things to say that you should hear before we get the squad leaders in. Let Queverith see to anyone who's hurt today. He's a capable lad.' He waited till they were all seated in the common room, then cleared his throat. 'Quequere thinks we need to help Herra. He wants as many of us as can to go and join her fight.'

  'But we don't have the Serpent here!' Querilla protested. 'Why go looking for trouble?'

  'You don't have the evil of that cult here yet,' Fiana corrected. 'If those devils defeat the Kindred, they'll spread everywhere, and there'll be no stopping them. You of the Sandrims certainly couldn't.

  You're a small community, compared to the population of the Twelve Claims. It'd only take one small expedition of Sen-Sether's guards to overcome you.'

  'That's true,' Quedras said, 'much as I hate to admit it. Anyway Quequere thinks we should go at once to join the Kindred's armies and help them prepare for the battle to come. He says they'll need every trained fighter they can get.' For the first time, his old grin was back, 'And I, for one, wouldn't mind another good fight or two. Peace can be cursed boring.'

  Querilla was still not convinced. 'But there aren't enough of us to make a difference!'

  Quedras's face suddenly went slack and his voice lost its animation. 'It's not a matter of numbers; it's a matter of strength of souls and skills to be shared. They lack trained fighters able to teach others. And Quequere would be with us, too. That's why I was taken to serve for a while, so that afterwards he could speak through me, as well as through Fiana. He can't move from the Quoin himself, but he can communicate and - and change things sometimes, even across great distances. If there's rocky ground, that is. He can't send his energy through sand or water.'

  Querilla was looking more and more mystified. 'But our people have just built a settlement here in South Vale. How can we leave all that?'

  'We can't,' Quedras said in his normal tone of voice. 'Not all of us, anyway. Just the best fighters.

  Quequere thinks we could make a great difference to the training. Some will have to stay behind to look after the children, but I'd want to go, for sure. Wouldn't you, Quer? Wouldn't you like to see the Twelve Claims? Wouldn't you like to travel across the world beyond the Sandrims?'

  She gave him a buffet on the shoulder. 'I surely would! Hey! It might be a good idea at that.'

  'It'll be a hard battle,' he warned her. 'Close thing. Dangerous. We might even die.'

  'You might die tomorrow of falling down a cliff,' she scoffed.

  He let out a sudden spurt of laughter. 'Not with you to nag me! I wouldn't dare.' Then he became serious again. 'The Kindred have been gathering their forces in the High Alder for quite a while.

  They know there'll be a confrontation one day. Worst evil ever let loose upon the world, this is. If those devils win - though we're not going to let them do that – they’ll kill us lot as soon as look at us. They don't allow women to fight, you know, or to do anything interesting, and they whip people raw in those shrines of theirs, even little children. Quequere showed me. He'd taken pictures of it from Fiana's mind.' Quedras shuddered and swallowed hard. 'Made me want to puke, it did.'

  Fiana nodded, her face sombre.

  'Rough time you had, Fiana,' Quedras said, with a hint of awkwardness, for he felt he’d trespassed into her mind by what he’d seen.

  'Many have suffered. But it shall not be in vain. And one day I shall kill Sen-Sether for what he has done.' She sighed and added more quietly, 'Not just for me - though he deprived me of the ability to gather, and that's a sore loss.' Another sigh, then, 'We Sisters were trained not to kill, not under any circumstances, but that was a wrong path, and the Kindred no longer have that taboo.

  Some people have such evil within them that they must be sent back down the ladder of life to be refashioned. Though only as a last resort.'

  She spoke with determination, but her face had changed since her years with Quequere and it was no longer bleak and uncompromising. In fact, she was now an attractive woman again, with her warm loving personality showing through again.

  Looking at her, Quall would have bet that she’d be able to gather now, for something seemed to shine through her eyes, a soul reborn, if that wasn’t too fanciful an idea.

  Legend said Quequere had taken others whose spirits had been maimed or hurt, and sent them back again to the community after a few years, cleansed of their pain. His longest-serving Voice, however, had been a man who’d lost his reason because of a fever long before Quall had been born.

  They’d have had to kill the unfortunate man if Quequere hadn’t intervened. In those days they had little to spare for people who couldn’t contribute to the community, and when someone became downright dangerous to others, well, there was no alternative but to kill that person. Quall was glad times were easier now.

  An hour later the squad leaders assembled in the eating hall and Quedras explained the situation.

  He occasionally spoke with Quequere's Voice, as did Fiana, and at those times, people regarded him with awe.

  By the time he’d finished, they were convinced, ready to make plans about who should go and who should stay to look after South Vale. They were even ready to offer the chance to join them in this minor quest to their neighbours and ex-enemies in North Vale, some of whom would be delighted to go off on an adventure, whatever the excuse.

  Settling down to a life of farming didn’t suit everyone.

  CHAPTER 12 CRISIS IN THE SKY

  Met rushed into the rec-room, beaming and waving his arms. 'Listen, everybody! Listen! They're on their way here. They really are, this time.'

  'Who are?'

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  'The Confex rescue team.'

  'Pah! I'll believe that when I see them docking here,' Lizan jeered. 'They were on their way to rescue us twelve years ago and got distracted by another stupid planetary war. Eight years ago the rescue craft ran into a meteor swarm and had to be rescued itself - can you credit that? Those shields are supposed never to malfunction. And then three years ago, they said there’d been a reprioritisation. To me, that's just an excuse for inefficiency. How can another exploration team have a higher priority than us? We've been shut up in this cal-jinxed tin box for fifteen years now! Fif-teen years! No goin
g into stasis for us, we've just had to sit around wasting our lives! Growing older. Look at us!'

  Meera came over to pat Lizan's shoulder and the tirade broke off abruptly in a gulp. The shoulder beneath her hand was shaking. She could sympathise absolutely with Lizan about wasting their lives, but having hysterics wouldn’t help. Sometimes she thought nothing would, that they’d all die here.

  'But this time we really are next on the list,' Met insisted. 'They said - '

  ' Met! '

  Everyone turned in surprise. Robler was standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, glowering. 'I told you last time you were not to broadcast these rumours.'

  Met turned to face him squarely. 'I can see no reason for secrecy. And what's more, they aren't rumours.'

  'Come to my quarters.'

  Met hesitated, then shook his head. 'No. You can say what you have to say to me in front of everyone. The State of Emergency is clearly over. There's no need for all this secrecy. We should go back to working by the regulations.'

  Lizan gulped. Meera made a muffled noise of protest. They all avoided each other's eyes. They’d agreed not to challenge the Exec. What had got into Met?

  Robler pulled out his personal com-unit and used its stasis function to immobilise Met, giving no warning. As everyone muttered, he looked around and said softly, 'Anyone else want to argue? Lizan?

  You were very vociferous a few minutes ago.'

  When no one moved, he added, 'Met's under arrest now and will remain in stasis restraint until the Confex rescue team arrives - if they ever do. And then Met will be in very great trouble. Mutiny during a State of Emergency.'

  His eyes lingered for a moment on Lizan, who looked away, then he swivelled slightly to stare at Kerem, who wasn’t troubling to hide his anger. 'And anyone else who causes trouble - anyone else at all -

  will join that fool under stasis restraint. Do I make myself clear?'

  Kerem nodded. 'Very clear, Exec.' His voice was toneless, obedient, but anger was still sparking in his eyes, showing in the tenseness of his posture.