by Jean Johnson
Conversations broke out all over the room. Since they were neither loud nor heated, the head of the local Consulate allowed them to continue for a minute or so before tapping his gavel. Rexei remained on her feet as the crowd of men and women fell quiet again. “Your words of warning have merit, though I doubt we will come to a vote within a single evening, young Master Longshanks. But we will hear your petition . . . and any others that may come along.”
“There really is only one choice, Grandmaster,” Rexei stated earnestly. On this ground, she felt secure and calm, not nervous. Turning to face the crowd on the pews and benches, she addressed them. “I ask all of you, what is our true strength in this land? Is it our weapons? No, for magic can and has thwarted them. They have kept us from losing more than an inch of our kingdom in decades, but neither have we gained more than an inch. Is it our militia? No, for the same reasons, having gained or lost nothing. Was it our engineering skills, our grasp of construction and machinery?
“No . . . and it should not be such things, because these things are nothing without the framework that has kept us strong and kept us safe in spite of Mekha’s accursed hunger. What kept all of us safe was not even the rule of law,” she added, looking down the table to the midpoint, where the formidable Precinct captain sat. Somewhere out in the audience was his leftenant, Alonnen’s brother, but she didn’t look toward Rogen. “It was the system that enforced those laws. The guilds kept all of us safe.
“The guilds have organized our crafts, proposed and ratified laws, even tended to the sick and the injured. Each guild is not just an organization that teaches certain skills; each guild is a family, bound by ties of expectation and regulation, not by mere blood. So I propose that we consider turning our thoughts and our faith and our strength as a system of guilds into worshipping a force I have come to call Guildra, the Patron Goddess of Guilds.”
“A Goddess?” The question came from one of the men seated near her. She didn’t know his face or his name, but from the oval medallion he wore, he was the Guild Master of Clockworks. “Why a Goddess? Why not a God?”
“Forgive my bluntness, Guild Master,” Rexei apologized, “but the women of this kingdom are sick and tired of being forced into lesser status and rank under the thumb of a male God run by a male priesthood. We are all tired of the False God, and we need something completely different from everything that Mekha was and everything that He stood for. Which includes everything that His priesthood stood for—everything you saw for yourself when they arrogantly tried to come in here and claim their old right to force their will upon us. Do you really want to follow in their footsteps by forcing women to continue to take a subservient role, or would you rather women stand as an equal at your side, something they would not have put up with?”
The head of Clockworks shook his head, lowering his gaze.
“The Goddess I envision welcomes both genders equally into Her service,” Rexei explained. “More than that, Her priesthood should not be ranked higher than any other guild, but instead should be considered to be in the service of other guilds rather than be served by them. I propose that Her priesthood be drawn from women and men alike, so that everyone is represented equally. I propose that this new priesthood should also be like unto the Gearmen, in that anyone wishing to join should serve as an apprentice in at least three different guilds, so that Her priesthood understands the differences and the similarities in each and every guild.
“I do not propose that the Gearmen should become the new priesthood,” she added quickly, catching sight of Toric’s chest rising. She didn’t want him to interrupt. “Members of the Gearmen’s Guild may be welcome to join—and they will certainly qualify—but no one should be forced to join. More importantly, the Gearmen already hold an important position, as adjudicators and arbiters of the law. That should not be changed.
“Instead, I propose that those who would become members of the new . . . the new Holy Guild, to label it as distinct and different from the old Priests Guild,” she added, since she hadn’t been able to come up with any better name for it, “those who wish to join should be required to step down from participation in the Consulate system, because while Gearmen have a proud tradition of serving more than one guild, priests should not have the right to rule over gatherings such as this.
“We have all had it up to here,” she added, hand rising to smack the back of her fingers into the bottom of her chin, “with Mekha’s priesthood making the laws. The Holy Guild should be no more important than the Actors Guild, or the Tillers, or the Cobblers and Cordwainers, who repair and make shoes—they should have a vote in a meeting like this but not the deciding vote. So I propose that the Holy Guild, and our Goddess, be very different from all that we used to know. We all deserve something completely different!”
Her words were having an impact, for more than one head bobbed in an agreeing nod. Many did, so she increased the fervor of her proposal, her argument.
“Our Goddess should be a gentle deity whose focus is the gathering of supplies, the drafting of designs, and the crafting of the things we need to live in peace and cooperation. We shouldn’t give up the pursuit of mechanical understanding, but we should turn our weapons of war into tools for construction,” Rexei stated fervently, putting into words more than what she had put onto paper. She put her belief, sprouted and nurtured over the eleven-plus years during which she had run from all the evil that Mekha and His priesthood had inflicted upon her people. “Serving as an apprentice and a journeyman in numerous guilds, I have given the true nature of our culture many years of thought. I have even done my best to spread a symbol for this Goddess we need, so that we should have something to look forward to one day. And while I never thought to see this chance happen in my lifetime, this opportunity is upon us now.
“I’m sure you have all seen the symbol by now: The paintbrush, through which we design all that is best in our lives,” she recited, looking up often from her notes to make sure she caught the eyes of a woman here, a man there. “The hammer, with which we craft all that is useful. The scythe, through which we feed and supply ourselves. Each of these forms the spokes for a gearwheel. Even the gearwheel of our engineering achievements should be accepted and welcomed, for it is by the clockworks and the engines and the pistons and the whatevers that we have improved our magicless lives. Guildra shall be a Goddess of creation, not destruction. Guildra is a Goddess of cooperation, not deceit.
“Guildra is, therefore, a manifestation of everything the guilds already stand for: law, order, creation, innovation, cooperation, peace, and rankings based not upon our ambitions but upon our qualifications. That is who and what we deserve as our Patron,” she asserted, watching the sea of faces staring at her . . . and now staring past her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but Rexei strove to continue. “We are not going to fall into lawlessness, because we have the Guild System in our blood and in our bones supporting these things, the ways and means of cooperation and organization.
“We don’t have to invent any new concept to gain a true Patron of this land. Let our Patron be the Patron of the Guilds, and let Guildra be the Goddess of a new land. Let Mekhana dissolve along with its False God, and let Guildara rise and take its rightful place in the world. Guildara, which means the Land of the Guilds, overseen and guarded by Guildra, the Goddess of Guilds,” she finished, spreading her hands in the hopes of emphasizing her words enough to recapture her audience’s attention. “Because this is what we are and have always been, even when crushed under the will of the False God, Mekha.”
It didn’t work. They continued to stare past her shoulders, though all she could sense magically was a cool, clean feeling, like soaking hot, sore feet in a shaded, spring-fed pool in the summertime—refreshing not shocking. But there wasn’t supposed to be anyone behind her. Uneasy, Rexei turned and peered over her shoulder as well.
EIGHT
A woman, strangely familiar, had appeared
between her and the stone wall, though she was no woman that Rexei could recall seeing before this moment. Rexei took in her light complexion, her long dark brown curls that gleamed like the richest silk framing the rectangular face of a native Mekhanan, and wondered who she was. She even wore a knitted overgown similar in shape to Grenfallow’s, save that this one came in every natural shade of wool imaginable. From the creamiest white to the reddest auburn to the blackest of fleeces, it had been embroidered with a repeating motif.
That motif was the one which Rexei herself had created and described: a gear-toothed wheel with the spokes formed from the crossed shafts of a hammer, a scythe, and a narrow-tufted brush, one sized for either painting or writing. Machinery gears, farming tools, crafting tools, designing tools, all of those things decorated her gown . . . or rather, Her gown, for Her eyes gleamed with a light that made it impossible to say what hue those irises were; like Her aura, Her eyes shimmered with the cool promise of water on a hot summer’s day.
She looked only somewhat like Rexei had imagined Her, but it was clear who She was.
“You have an immense strength to your faith, Rexei,” Guildra stated in a soft, pleasant voice not much louder than a murmur.
A quick glance behind at the crowd showed Rexei how the murmur echoed through the great meeting hall, reaching every ear and widening every eye. Rexei faced Her again, speechless at what was happening.
“Your words in expressing it are well-spoken. You have convinced many here that I should exist, enough for Me to briefly manifest. I am . . . grateful . . . for My birth, and I will be honored to guide and defend you all . . . but you will have a long road ahead before you can achieve your goals of banding together as a new form of kingdom . . . and four more years before I can be Named and so take My place among My Brethren. Should you succeed,” Guildra added in soft, sober warning. “Only the past is immutable; the future must be seized and shaped. What you believe, so shall I be.” She smiled. “I would prefer to be a Goddess of Peace and Prosperity, as well as your Patron of Guilds.”
That radiant gaze shifted to the others. Released, Rexei discovered she had forgotten how to breathe while the Goddess, her Goddess, had spoken to her. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she tried not to shake too hard. No Mekhanan cared to have any deity’s attention, particularly a mage . . . but at the same time, Rexei believed with all her heart that this deity was what they needed and wanted, and thus She could not ever possibly bring them harm.
For several seconds as She regarded the crowd, Guildra said nothing more, until Her gaze came back to Rexei’s face. Lifting Her hand, She placed it on Rexei’s brow. It felt warm and alive, but not entirely solid, leaving a hint of cool waterfall in the back of the young woman’s mind.
“Your task is well begun, Rexei. I place My blessing upon you,” She stated. Sparks of light trickled down from Her touch, solidifying around Rexei’s neck as a heavy weight. “Your belief, first and foremost, has created Me, so I name you the incipient Guild Master of My Holy Guild. Petition them for its entry, Guild Master. I shall return when your collective faith in Me as a new nation has grown substantially.”
Pinpoints of light shimmered through Her form, first as faint as starlight, then growing in brilliance until they flared and faded, leaving nothing behind. Nothing but that heavy weight on Rexei’s chest. Glancing down, Rexei blinked at the new medallion on her chest. Not the ribbon-strung one that marked her as a Master Actor, which was roughly the length of her thumb in diameter. No, this one had been strung on sturdy gold links. It was a flat oval as long as her palm and stamped with an engraved image she had never dared to carve so large.
Slowly, Rexei turned first to face the other men and women seated at the Consulate bench, then to face the breathlessly curious crowds on the pews and benches of the hall. She held herself still, trying not to tremble, and let them look long and hard at the tool-spoked wheel symbolizing her faith in the guilds the others represented and the Goddess she had envisioned for them.
It was all she could do not to faint. From journeyman to Guild Master in less than a quarter hour . . . Giving up, Rexei sagged onto the bench next to Grenfallow . . . and a storm of conversation erupted. It seemed that everyone in the meeting hall just had to comment, discuss, and argue over what had happened. Rexei let it wash over her while she struggled with the idea, the concept, the fact that she was now responsible for the spirituality of her nation.
Everyone knew where the Gods came from: They literally came from the belief and faith of Their people. Culture dictated Their focus; for example, if a culture believed that horses were the most important things in the people’s daily lives, they would have a Horse God or Goddess. Equally important, the more people worshipped that God or Goddess, the more who believed in Them, the more their collective willpower fed that deity, permitting Them to grow strong and powerful.
The most often cited examples were the Patron of Fortuna, the Threefold God of Fate, believed by everyone to be the oldest and most powerful deity of all, and the second-most powerful deity in the world, Menda, Goddess of Mendhi and Patron of Writing. It was said They could even act well outside Their normal homelands because of this pervasive, worldwide belief in Them, though such miracles and manifestations were still exceptionally rare.
The terrible corollary to this belief-equals-power had been the bane of Mekhana for far too long, for fear could also keep a God in power. Sitting there, trembling from the draining effects of manifesting an actual deity, Rexei felt ill. If the priesthood in that temple worshipped whatever great demon they summoned . . . that demon could become a dark and vicious God—one with a small following, but even a small amount of belief could wreak miracles, regardless of whether they were malicious or divine. With that thought preying on her mind, she swallowed against the nausea raised by the possibility and swallowed again from nerves while people shouted questions and demands and argued near the top of their lungs.
The heavy cracking of the stone-headed mallet against its equally hard base cut through all the noise. Grandmaster Toric smacked his gavel again, a trio of sharp raps that demanded order. Looking up, Rexei could see the Guild Master of Masons wincing. Having been a Mason apprentice for four months at one point, she knew the stone used for the Consulate gavels was strong enough to withstand a fair amount of punishment, but it made a painfully loud, hard-struck sound.
Toric whacked the stone anvil twice more, then set his gavel down as the crowd finally fell quiet. “Thank you. I have listened to the chaos of your words, and I have gleaned three important questions. First, was that a true manifestation of a deity? Second, is this Guildra the sort of Goddess we actually want? And third, is Master Gearman Longshanks’ apparent elevation to Guild Master of the as yet unvalidated Holy Guild a legitimate elevation? These questions will be addressed by this Consulate meeting, but we will have order in this hall.
“Technically . . . there should be a fourth question in there,” he added dryly, “of whether or not we want a Holy Guild. I admit I am personally of the mind that I would rather do without any priests or any God . . . but then I have lost seven extended family members to the predations of the last group, who were less-than-stellar examples of what every other nation calls a priesthood. I acknowledge my prejudice, and must recuse myself from participating in any deciding votes on the particular subject regarding the validation of any new priestly guild . . . though I will oversee any arbitration needed with absolute neutrality.
“Let us begin with the first question,” Grandmaster Toric stated as everyone stayed respectfully quiet. The guilds depended heavily upon the Gearmen for that very neutrality and the fairness it carried, and were willing to listen to the debates. He dipped his head in appreciation of their respect and placed an hourglass—or rather, a two-minute glass, a standard length for timing short speeches in such meetings—prominently in front of himself. “So. Was that a true manifestation of a new deity?
“I will
open the floor to short speeches of proof or disputation of the matter. Please raise your hand if you have something useful and unique to contribute. Remember, if anyone else has covered what you want to say, simply state that you agree with them and sit down, or move on to a new point to be discussed.”
The apprentices came around with a second set of refreshments, moving as quietly and unobtrusively as they could. This time, Rexei accepted a mug of hot spiced cider and a wedge of cheese. It gave her something to do while one by one, various citizens of Heiastowne and the retinue of the visiting Guild Masters stood and gave their opinions on the matter. Most everyone was in at least tentative favor of it having been a true manifestation, save for one repeating question.
“Master Longshanks, as many have asked just now, answer us truthfully,” Toric finally stated, making her head jerk up like a deer hearing a noise in the woods. “Did you yourself plan for or attempt anything which would have caused that apparition?”
Caught in the mass of stares aimed her way, she shook her head quickly. “No! I swear, I wasn’t even expecting it. If you’ll remember, I was looking at all of you and . . . and just speaking from my heart. The only thought in my head was to hopefully sway you by the logic of my words and by the truths which we all know.”
Alonnen spoke up, addressing the grandmaster. “For my own part, Grandmaster, I believe I saw a near-manifestation several hours earlier while in a discussion with Longshanks about the sort of Patron we should have now that the, ah, False God is gone. Longshanks did not notice anything then, same as he did not notice just now until after She had manifested. But he was speaking from the heart, then as now. Given what my Guild manages, I can also say with strong certainty that there was no magic involved, either then or just now.”
“Your word on this?” Toric asked him.
“I give my word,” Alonnen confirmed, bowing his head. “It is for that reason, the earlier, barely discernible image of the same figure we all saw just now, that I requested Longshanks put his words and thoughts into a usable format, defining what sort of Patron we best need and what sort of Guild might serve as the facilitators for that Patron Deity.”
