by Helen Gosney
He was beginning to think that he’d never be able to straighten his knees again, when the twins got gracefully to their feet. As he scrambled up beside them, he saw old Brother Hess limping forward, his rainbow robes flapping, and a beaming smile of welcome on his dark face. Quickly Cris introduced his new friends.
“Be welcome, my friends,” said Hess, “and, Cris, I didn’t think I would see you here again so soon... surely Sister Talli hasn’t had her toes nibbled again?”
The little ratcatcher laughed and quickly told the puzzled twins the story of Talli, a haughty priestess renowned for her fervent and very lengthy prayers. At the height of her devotions one evening she had indeed found herself the target of a hungry young mouse; she’d been very vocal about it and attendances at evening prayers had trebled for a month afterwards.
“No, Hess, no, I don’t think the poor mice are silly enough to try that again,” Cris chuckled, “My friends just wanted to see the god houses.”
“You were wise to start with the Temple, then,” the old priest replied, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know you’ll have to tramp up all those wretched steps to get into the other place; and then, when you do, it’s cold and damp, and dark and gloomy... not a single flower to be seen, and only a handful of candles in the whole place... and as if that’s not enough, those miserable heretics don’t even provide any seats...”
Rose smiled at him. “We thought it might be like that over there,” she said, “but this Temple is glorious... I’ve never seen light like this.”
They chatted happily together for a few minutes and then they walked slowly towards a door.
They were nearly there when Hess said quietly, “You didn’t find what you sought here, did you?”
Rowan looked at the old man sharply as he continued, “I saw you praying and listening at each of the small altars, and I saw you at the Octagon... I do the same myself every day...and sometimes... often... I can hardly feel a Presence at all... I fear the Gods are forsaking us...” the old priest’s voice faltered.
Rose reached up and impulsively kissed his cheek.
“I don’t know, Brother, I don’t know... but we’re trying to find out,” she whispered.
“Then all I can do is pray for you, and hope that my prayers might find a listener...” Hess said sadly.
**********
They were almost at the base of the steps leading up to the Tabernacle before anyone spoke.
“Is that what you meant this morning, Rose?” asked Cris, more shaken than he liked to admit. He remembered his boyhood, when Temple attendance had been enforced by his devout mother. Even to a lad who’d spent most of his time praying to be elsewhere, there’d always been a comforting sense of... something there, something that seemed to show a benevolent interest in him, a Presence. But now... now he could sense nothing.
“Yes, we thought that the Presence might be stronger here, in the city, but...” she broke off as Rowan said quietly, “Please, Cris, bear with us a little longer. I must go into the Tabernacle too, but I’m sure it’ll be the same... then we can talk.”
The Tabernacle loomed high above them, an uncompromising building of dark basalt set squarely on its great stepped plinth. Its facade was perfectly plain, broken at regular intervals by the tall narrow slits of windows, and with a great oak door in the centre. They began their ascent, Rowan loping effortlessly up the steps as he always did without thinking about it as the others toiled up after him.
Rowan waited at the top for the others, breathing easily.
“Why do you suppose... they have so many... steps?” Cris wheezed.
“The One only knows,” panted Rose, glaring at her brother.
“’Tis probably something to do with holiness, I think... or possibly bloody-mindedness,” Rowan replied with a smile.
The oak door was massive, but perfectly balanced, and it swung open easily as he pushed on a great circular plate of gleaming bronze. This, and the bright bronze hinges, was the only hint of decoration they’d yet seen.
Inside, the Tabernacle was indeed cold and gloomy, as Brother Hess had said. He’d exaggerated a little about its darkness, but not much, as little of the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow windows, and the faithful of the One were frugal in their use of candles. At least it didn’t seem to be damp.
The building had no unnecessary ornamentation, certainly no decoration for decoration’s sake, but still there was an austere beauty in the symmetry of the whole, with the great columns and pilasters that buttressed the walls, and the pointed clerestory windows that were catching the last of the late rosy light, and the surprisingly delicate vaulting of the roof.
The huge expanse of the flagged floor was empty except for a few people kneeling reverently in front of a polished oak altar. It had a white linen cloth on its exact centre and a few wax candles standing in tall brass holders to one side.
A tall spare figure stalked towards them. Cris was relieved to see that it was Brother Tadeus, for he found some of the other clergy of the One to be rather daunting. Tadeus, though he looked every inch the old soldier that he was, was in fact a kindly man, and a good friend of the frail Hess, in spite of their religious differences. Often Cris saw them sitting in the sun in the Great Square of the Gods, munching bread and cheese and squabbling amiably as they played interminable games of chess.
Again Cris performed introductions and explained that his friends were interested in seeing both god houses.
“A good thing you came to the Tabernacle second then, my friends,” the grey-robed priest said, his pale eyes twinkling. “You’ll need to recover from all those idols and things staring at you, and the pollen getting up your nose, and the mice nibbling at your feet... and the One only knows why those misguided pagans have so much furniture cluttering up the place...”
“Aye, ‘twas a bit like that,” Rowan said, struggling to keep a straight face and not entirely succeeding.
Tadeus was pleased to show them around the Tabernacle, but as their tour progressed he became quieter and a little withdrawn. Finally, excusing himself from the others, he took Cris aside.
“Cris, did you and your friends speak with Brother Hess while you were over there?” he indicated the Temple with a little jerk of his head. At Cris’s nod, he continued hesitantly, “Hess has been concerned for quite a while now... By the One, we both have...! Did he mention anything to you about...?”
“He said he thought the Presence of the Gods was becoming weaker,” Cris said quietly, thinking even as he said it that he was beginning to believe it himself.
“Ah... I wondered if he had,” the priest said nothing else for a few moments, then went on, “If he said that to you, he must have thought...” He seemed to come to a decision suddenly, and continued more strongly, “Cris, we both fear that our Gods - whether One or Many - are no longer interested in their people’s welfare. Maybe the One thinks we’re no longer interested in Him, either... certainly faith doesn’t seem to be so popular these days... but for whatever reason, even here in the Tabernacle the Presence of the One is very faint...”
Tadeus looked around himself sadly, just as Hess had earlier in the Temple, and said, “The other members of our Order don’t want to admit the possibility, even to themselves. Hess says it’s the same in the Temple... And of course the people are just as blind. No-one wants to think that maybe the One has turned his face from us... if I was twenty years younger, I’d go to the Forbidden Mountains myself and find out what the hell’s going on!” he added fiercely.
“Be calm, Brother Tadeus, I think maybe my friends are planning on doing just that...” said Cris. And maybe I might just go with them, he thought to himself, to his own considerable surprise.
**********
3. “…and those pretty daggers as well.”
They were all subdued as they left the Great Square of the Gods. They parted company soon after, for Cris had business to attend to - traps to set and traps to empty, things to do
, and some hard thinking to be done before he’d meet up with the twins again later.
Rose and Rowan walked back to the Duck and Whistle Inn. The busy life of the city swirled around them - shopkeepers were moving the last of their wares back inside and seeing to the closing of their shutters; trollwives were heading back to their homes with meat and vegetables for their evening meal in woven bags slung over their broad shoulders; gnome families scurried about, in a hurry as gnomes always are, their tiny children leaping and gambolling like baby lambs; a kindly baker handed out unsold loaves to several ragged women; and a group of inky-fingered apprentices wandered past, arguing loudly about nothing. The market square was all but deserted, with only a few late stallholders still trying to sell their rather wilted produce to anyone who would buy. Rose managed to avoid a big man with a handful of cabbages as tired as himself, and finally they were nearly back at the Inn. It was much quieter here and night was falling quickly.
Rowan suddenly tensed beside Rose. He looked around quickly and pushed her behind him, their backs to a high blank wall.
“Rowan! What the hell do you think you’re…?” she protested.
“Hush, Rose. Don’t say a word, and don’t draw your knife. It’ll only give them silly ideas,” Rowan said softly.
She was about to give him a piece of her mind at such treatment when a group of scruffy young men stepped out of an alley to their left and ranged themselves in a semicircle in front of them. There were perhaps seven or eight of them, all big heavy lads of about eighteen or so; a couple were nearly as tall as Rowan and all were much heftier than him. Rose stared in amazement and horror at the glitter of knives surrounding them.
“What do you lot think you’re doing?” Rowan asked quietly. He glanced around quickly to see just how many of these louts there were as Rose moved a little closer to him.
“Doin’? Why, we’re just goin’ to relieve you and your pretty lady of a little… surplus,” a tall fellow sneered. He was burly and broad-shouldered, his curly black hair hanging over his collar. He was quite good-looking, and he knew it. “Outlanders like them won’t miss it, will they, Ronnie?” he said as he turned to the lout beside him with a leer. This one had greasy brown hair and a heavy crop of pimples.
“Nah, Donnie… they won’t miss it at all… and there ain’t nothin’ they can do about it, neither,” he laughed nastily.
“Well, I don’t know about that…” Rowan replied reasonably as he put an arm around Rose. She looked up at him wide-eyed, relieved that his daggers were still sheathed at his hip, his clan knife in his left boot as always, and he’d left his sabre at the inn. She knew that he hated using the sabre now, but she also knew that he wouldn’t hesitate if he felt it was necessary, and he was a very, very good swordsman. Much too good for these silly fools, much too good for them with just a simple dagger or with no weapon at all.
“Let me see now... I could give you a bloody nose, or…” he waved a hand at the others, “I could break a few arms or legs, or…” he looked straight into the eyes of the lad called Donnie, who seemed to be the leader of the gang, “I could kill you … but… oh, I don’t know, I don’t think I will… ‘Tis too nice a night to spoil it, and truly, I can’t be bothered. Just a minute, let me get it for you, I’m not having you lot manhandling Rose.”
He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and she reached for the pouch hanging at her belt, untied it and put it in his hand, still saying nothing. He tossed it up and down a couple of times, sighed, put his own pouch with it and handed them both over to Donnie.
“That’s the way, hero,” the lad sneered. “Rings, too, lovely lady… and gent. Oh, and those pretty daggers as well.”
Rowan became very still; he looked Donnie up and down for a moment, and glanced around the circle of lads again. He made his decision and slipped the gold and silver ring from his little finger.
“It’ll be all right, Rose,” he murmured to her, “Just let them have them for now…”
She looked at him uncertainly, but slipped several rings off her fingers, hesitating at the plain gold band around her thumb, and then put them all in Rowan’s hand. He passed the lot to Donnie.
“And the daggers, now,” the gang leader demanded arrogantly. “And don’t bother trying anything clever.”
Rowan watched Donnie’s face as he carefully drew one of the g’Hakken daggers from its sheath. The blade’s lethal beauty was breathtaking and the lad’s eyes widened with desire. Rowan heard gasps of amazement and saw all of the lads tense in front of him as he casually balanced it on its tip on one finger. They were all fascinated by the lovely thing and every one of them coveted it, just as he’d known they would.
“’Tis beautiful, Donnie, isn’t it?” he said conversationally, “Have a good look at it, because if you’re not extremely careful it will be the last thing you will ever see. Now, there are a few possibilities here… I might give you these knives, and you would all fight amongst yourselves over them because there are only two, and that would get very messy, I’m sure. Or, better than that, I could throw them as far as I can onto that roof up there, but that could still end up being messy if I hit any alley cats that might be up there minding their own business, and I truly don’t want to do that. No, better still I will give you my true word – and I don’t do that lightly, believe me – but I will give you my true word that I won’t touch these daggers while we’re standing here…” he looked calm and composed but his eyes were suddenly frighteningly cold, “But if that doesn’t suit you, Donnie, then I will kill you with this one and any of your friends that are still here with the other one, because the truth is you simply can’t have them and you’re not leaving me much alternative. Which eye would you prefer it in?”
Donnie and the lads gaped at him. They weren’t used to their victims standing up to them, particularly not when they’d so meekly handed over their purses and jewellery a few moments ago. And certainly not with such sudden devastating menace. There were eight lads, with their knives already drawn, but there was something about the calm certainty in this outlander’s soft voice, and the odd bleakness in his eyes that frightened them all.
Rose stared at him in sudden shock too. She’d never seen him like this and she couldn’t understand his sudden terrifying stance over the g’Hakken blades when he’d handed over Zara’s ring so easily.
Donnie looked around quickly. How the hell had it come to this? The lads were ready to bolt at any moment and he felt like doing the same. But if he did, he’d never be their leader again. He looked again at the lovely dagger balanced on the outlander’s rock-steady hand and then stared at the man’s handsome face with horror. No! No knives, no matter how beautiful nor how valuable, were worth being… he gulped. Pulling himself together with a mighty effort, he spoke up, trying to hide the quivering of his voice.
“You’d give your true word on it?”
Rowan nodded.
“Aye, Donnie. You have my True Word that I won’t touch the daggers again, not until you and we are safely away. In fact, I will never draw them against you, not unless you try to hurt Rose. And I’d advise you very, very strongly never to do that.” He pressed the point of the blade into the finger it was balanced on, so sharp that he didn’t feel it, but blood welled up swiftly. He drew the forester runes for truth and his own name in blood on the palm of his right hand. “There. I’ve never broken my word and I’m not about to start now. You’ve already got everything else of value that we have, you don’t even realise the value of some of it to us. Let that be enough.” He carefully resheathed the g’Hakken blade and put both hands where the lads could see them.
Donnie sneered as best he could under the circumstances as he tossed the handful of rings into Rose’s pouch. “Bloody useless outlanders, gutless, the lot of you… we have enough knives of our own, and better than those gaudy things. But we can still spend your silver as well as anyone else’s, ain’t that right lads?” He looked around the circle of his cronies.
Ronnie
and the others laughed and swore and jeered obscenely at the two in front of them. They were feeling much better now that the quiet, suddenly terrifying stranger had given his word and put the dagger away. None of them doubted his word for a moment, and the swift bloody runes on his palm had shocked them, but even if he’d lied, well, there were eight of them and their knives were already in their hands; to be effectively unarmed as the outlander was, was to be defenceless against them. Everyone needed a weapon in their hand, after all. Their confidence rose a bit more.
“Well, is that it lads? Nothing more you want of us?” Rowan asked pleasantly.
“What the…? Nah, nah, we ain’t finished with you yet, not with the lady anyway… Rose, was it? Yah, Rose… pretty name… pretty name for a pretty lady,” Donnie leered at her.
“No, lads, you’ve had your fun, you’ve got our… surplus… and that’s the end of it. I told you, Rose is not part of the deal,” Rowan said, firmly reining in his sometimes fiery temper. He didn’t suffer fools gladly at the best of times, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust himself not to do some serious damage to these oafs if he didn’t leave right now. He’d have no need of his daggers to cause complete mayhem among these silly lads and nor would he need the hunting knife they hadn’t seen nestling in his boot. He walked straight at them, his arm around Rose.
The lads had stepped back a bit as Rowan’s initial quiet list of options grew and further again at Rowan’s sudden threat; the twins slipped through the gaps in the line before anyone thought to stop them. Donnie came to his senses a little more quickly than the others and started after Rowan and Rose, hurling abuse and waving his knife.
“Don’t do it, boy,” said Rowan over his shoulder, “There’s no need for you to get hurt now.” He lengthened his stride and simply walked away, Rose safely at his side as Donnie dithered behind them.
“Ain’t we goin’ after them, Donnie?” another spotty-faced fellow piped up, as the twins disappeared around the next corner. The lads were feeling much braver now, convinced the stranger had merely been bluffing them, and annoyed that they’d been silly enough to fall for it. There was a ragged chorus of agreement from them, but suddenly Donnie wasn’t quite so sure. There’d been something very, very worrying about this outlander, with his intense stillness and his complete lack of concern even when they’d initially surrounded him. He hadn’t even seemed surprised to see them, though they’d been completely silent.
