The High Priest and the Idol

by Jane Fletcher

  The rope creaked at the strain of her weight and a soft breeze sighed under the eaves. The only other sound was the rasp of her knees against the wall. The outside of the basilica had been painted with a rough limewash, plastered thickly enough to blur the grooves between the stones. Tevi was nearly at the window when she heard something else—three short bursts of rustling, like a rat burrowing through rubbish.

  Tevi froze, aware that she would show up against the white wall, even though she was still in deep shadow. Who had Jemeryl spotted? Had the sentinels changed their patrol routes? Which direction were they coming from and would they spot her? Was it better to wait and see, or to run now? Then Tevi heard the footsteps, but they were not those of soldiers on patrol. Someone was stumbling in her direction.

  A few seconds passed and a figure appeared around the side of the basilica. The moonlight was just sufficient to show the red cloak. He was a sentinel, but not one on duty. The man was clearly blind drunk. His steps were making as much progress sideways as forwards. Presumably, he was on his way back to the barracks after a heavy night in a tavern or brothel—possibly both, although from the state he was in, he was most likely incapable of getting his money’s worth in the latter.

  His route would pass directly beneath where Tevi was suspended, but his difficulty getting the ground to stay under his feet was taking all his attention. His eyes were locked on the gravel and the only way he was going to look up was if he fell flat on his back. While this carried a higher likelihood than Tevi would have wished, she knew she was far safer staying where she was.

  The drunken sentinel stumbled beneath her feet. He braced a hand against the wall to steady himself, and then lurched on. Tevi was just relaxing when she felt the rope jolt in her hands. She looked up as a second tremor ran through it. Her first thought was that the grapple was slipping, but then she saw the stone lip of the window shift and crumble. A chunk of masonry the size of her head broke away from the building, bringing the grapple and a shower of loose fragments with it.

  Tevi’s feet hit the cobbles a split second before the cascade of stones. The noise was enough to bring the drunken sentinel to a halt. However, he was not able to turn around quickly. Tevi grabbed the nearest large piece of stone and leapt forward. The sentinel was clearly trying to coordinate his knees for the about-face manœuvre when Tevi smashed the stone down on his head. His helmet would have absorbed most of the damage, but the blow was still hard enough to send him crashing to the ground, where he lay, unmoving.

  At the sound of running feet, Tevi dropped into a defensive pose, ready to deal with more sentinels, but it was only Jemeryl, racing to her side.

  Jemeryl skidded to a stop. “Have you killed him?”

  Tevi shook her head. She could hear the soft groans coming from the man. “He’ll be fine.”

  In confirmation of her words, the moans turned to snores. Even without being hit, he must have been close to passing out from the drink. Tevi caught hold of his ankles and pulled him back the short distance until he was lying directly beneath the cracked windowsill. She arranged the largest fragment of stone close by his head.

  The next patrol to go by would find him. Would they believe it was an accident with falling masonry? The man himself would not be able to give any creditable account of what had happened. But regardless of whether the truth eventually came out, the patrol would waste several minutes questioning him before they raised an alarm. With any luck, it would be enough time for her and Jemeryl to get well clear of the area.

  Tevi took Jemeryl’s hand. “Come on, let’s go. The patrol will be back soon.”

  Jemeryl pointed at the comatose figure. “Will he be all right?”

  “Better than us if we don’t get going.”

  Tevi led the way to the herb garden and from there under the infirmary colonnade and into the main part of town. The streets were quiet and deserted, but they were no place to hang around if you did not want to attract attention. Not until they were back in the Calequiral mansion did Tevi feel safe, and even that was a very relative term.

  *

  Daylight confirmed what Tevi had suspected the night before. She studied the small fragment, white on one side, brown dust on the other, and then passed it to Jemeryl, who was sitting beside her on the roof of the mansion.

  “What’s this?”

  “A bit of the basilica. I picked it up last night.”

  “This isn’t stone. It’s…” Jemeryl scratched at it with her nail. “Mud brick?”

  “Yup. Very ancient mud brick. Newer stuff wouldn’t crumble that way.”

  “The basilica looks like stone.”

  “That’s the plaster coat and limewash. I’d guess it’s been falling apart for some time, but rather than rebuild it properly, someone’s gone for the cheap option of trying to cover things up.”

  “That’s why it broke away?”

  “Yes.”

  “It won’t be worth going back tonight to try another window?”

  “No. But if you don’t mind waiting another couple of decades, I predict the roof will fall in and smash the emanator for us.”

  “That will be too late for the Coven. The world will belong to people like Bykoda.”

  “Ciamon really didn’t think things through.”

  “I know. But we need a new plan.”

  Tevi grinned. “I’ve got one.”

  “What?”

  Tevi reclaimed the fragment of mud brick and held it in her palm. “We didn’t know the walls were so weak, so there’s no way Ciamon would have.”

  “Right.”

  “He wasn’t the most imaginative of people.”

  “He wasn’t stupid.”

  “But he was linearly minded. He only considered the straightforward, head-on approach to problems.”

  “In some things.”

  “We’re talking architecture.”

  “We are?” From her expression, Jemeryl was having trouble seeing where Tevi was going.

  “Ciamon put a spell on the lock. What chance he’d have thought to put a spell on the hinges? Or strengthened the walls?”

  Jemeryl took a few moments to weigh it up. “Not much, I’d have thought. Does that help us?”

  “The lock won’t matter if the doors are no longer standing.”

  “We’ve looked at them. They’re huge and reinforced with iron.”

  “I’m thinking of what they’re mounted on.”

  “All right. The walls will be the weak spot. But even you aren’t strong enough to kick them down.”

  Tevi’s smile broadened. “I think I know how to get some helpers.”

  Chapter Fourteen—False Idols

  Midafternoon in Kradja was blisteringly hot, when even the lizards and sand flies sought shade. Once it would have been a quiet point in the day, a chance to catch up on sleep or sit idly gossiping with friends. Now it added irritability and tiredness to the volatile mixture on the streets. As Jemeryl watched the crowd she saw someone clip someone else’s elbow in passing. A trivial accident, yet clenched fists and spat curses followed. Only wariness averted a fight. For all either antagonist knew, the other might be one of Sefriall’s spies. All around, eyes homed in on the brief conflict, eager for some excitement, only to glaze over again when the two parted with no more than a last muttered exchange of insults.

  The dusty square was full of too many people with too much time on their hands. Three preachers were haranguing the crowds from positions around the square and another two crazed souls were writhing on the ground, spouting garbled prophesies of slaughter. A group of pilgrims stood chanting at one side. The crowds drifted from one to another, boredom battling the taut anticipation of a wild dog pack. What would they do if they scented blood?

  Jemeryl viewed the scene anxiously. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  Tevi grinned. “Just watch me.”

  “Supposing something goes wrong?”

  “The worst that can happen is I’ll get laughed at. And that’s h
appened to me before.”

  Jemeryl tried not to let her fears show as she nodded and stepped back. She trusted Tevi utterly, and yet the mere thought of what was proposed made her guts turn to ice. Failure could be so much more dangerous than Tevi was suggesting. Anyone could see the Kradja mob was violent and unstable. Could Tevi really control it? Playing with fire was a child’s game by comparison.

  Jemeryl found a vantage point halfway up a short flight of steps, with a clear view over the heads. She spotted Tevi striding through the mob, to where one of the preachers had claimed the prime site. The high rectangular block of stone in the middle of the square must be the plinth for a statue. What was not so clear was whether the monument had been removed or if it was yet to arrive.

  Without hesitation, Tevi vaulted onto the block. The resident preacher turned and glared at her, first in manifest surprise and then outrage. The man was tall and powerfully built, and was clearly not expecting to have his position challenged. From where she stood, Jemeryl could see that the threatened confrontation had immediately caught the mob’s attention. People were turning in the direction of the block. A slow drift towards it had begun.

  The preacher said something to Tevi, too indistinct for Jemeryl to make out. However, Tevi’s reply was loud and clear enough to be heard across the square. “Because I’ve got something important to say and you haven’t.”

  The preacher advanced, clearly intending to push Tevi off the plinth. Despite the man’s greater height and weight, the unequal contest was only ever going to have one winner. The crowd cheered as the preacher tumbled over the edge and laughed at the unfortunates who were not able to dodge out of his way in time. Already, Tevi was commanding a bigger audience than anyone else in the square. Even some of the chanters broke off to watch.

  People shuffled in tighter, awaiting her words. Instead Tevi said nothing. Arms crossed, she paced the block, staring down with the stern expression of a judge about to pass sentence. Silence rippled out across the mob, hushing voices and stilling movement. Yet more eyes were now on Tevi.

  Jemeryl divided the crowd out in her mind. Some were intrigued, their curiosity caught by Tevi’s unorthodox beginning. Some were sceptical, expecting yet more of the same. Some were avid. Were they hoping for further violence? The two remaining preachers screamed ever louder in an attempt to retain their audience until they too fell silent. Their faces showed confusion that Tevi’s poise could so totally triumph over their volume. With each second, the sense of anticipation grew. Jemeryl did not need magic to recognise the collective shortening of breath and speeding pulse. All eyes were on Tevi, waiting.

  At last she spoke. “Why are you here?”

  The echoes died away. The crowd shuffled expectantly.

  “Why are you here when our gods are being insulted? You stand in the very shadow of the temple. And not a stone’s throw from here, the idols of the false gods are being protected and honoured. You know their names: Perithalma, Yalaish, Harretha, Nolius…Nolius.” Tevi’s voice rosed to a shout on the repetition. Several people standing closest to her flinched.

  “You remember their idols, how they mocked the temple, claiming a place as if they belonged there. The blessed prophet Ciamon cleared them out, but he didn’t go far enough. That job he left for us. Are you ready? Doesn’t your heart burn to see them gone? Don’t your feet itch to kick down the door they’re hiding behind? Don’t your hands ache to smash them into a thousand fragments?”

  From where she stood, Jemeryl could see how Tevi’s militant words sent a new wave of restlessness sweeping through the crowd. People were looking at their neighbours, judging the mood around them. The questions on their faces were easy to read. If safety lay in numbers, how did the numbers stack for this new preacher? Was it safe to join her crusade?

  “You ask for Toqwani’s blessing. Well, I ask you, what have you done to deserve it? You”—Tevi’s arm shot out, pointing into the crowd—“standing there scratching your arse. Or you, with your finger up your nose. Are you searching for your brains? Why should the gods bless you?”

  Heads craned to spot the unlucky individuals singled out. Jemeryl smiled. It was irrelevant whether or not Tevi had really noticed anyone in the crowd acting in the way she had claimed. People were standing straighter, fidgeting less, so as not to attract her ridicule. She had them jumping to her words.

  Tevi lowered her voice. The crowd became utterly silent to hear her. “You remember the idols, the jewelled eyes, the gold and silver bedecking them. False tribute to false gods. Now they revel in the offerings their demented followers gave them. The honour. The riches. And you stand here, letting them keep the spoils their lies brought them. No wonder Toqwani has withdrawn his blessing. Don’t you want to show him what you think of the false gods? Don’t you want to treat their idols as they deserve?”

  The first shouts of agreement rang out. Fists punched the air. Jemeryl watched the crowd falling for the twin lures of rioting and looting—the perfect cure for boredom.

  “They sit in the old basilica, a convocation of wickedness. And here we are, five hundred strong.” Jemeryl judged that Tevi exaggerated the numbers, but the added confidence could do no harm. “We can break down the doors. We can destroy the false idols. We can show Toqwani that we are worthy of his blessing. Who then will stand against us? We are the army of the true gods.”

  Jemeryl looked on, bemused. It was the sort of performance she had never before witnessed from her lover. Tevi massaged the crowd with her voice, inspiring, taunting, praising, castigating. Sometimes picking out individuals. Sometimes addressing the skies. Sometimes speaking so directly that it was as if she was talking to every single person present, face-to-face. The crowd responded, pressing in ever closer around the plinth. The smiles and cheers grew louder.

  Tevi was taking charge of the mob. But was it really so surprising? Tevi had led Bykoda’s conscripted soldiers into battle against trolls and other monsters. She had been responsible for a mercenary guild house. She had been raised to be a leader of a warrior clan. It stood to reason that along the way she would have learned something about crowd control and motivation. Jemeryl smiled, shaking her head. Why had she ever doubted Tevi?

  Finally, as she had begun, Tevi fell silent and stood, arms folded, watching the crowd. A quizzical smile twisted her lips, her tone conversational. “So. What are you doing, standing here listening to me, when you could be doing something for your gods?” Tevi raised her voice to a shout. “Why are you still here?”

  A roar answered her. The crowd had recognised the signal for the fun to begin. Tevi jumped down from the plinth, vanishing from view, but Jemeryl had no trouble knowing where she was. A tight knot formed around her, a hard core of bodies, pressing through the more loosely packed crowd and drawing it along after. People streamed from the square, shouting and laughing, heading for the basilica.

  Jemeryl was caught up at the rear of the mob. By the time she arrived at the destination, the action was already under way. Tevi and a group of nine others had picked up a stone horse trough to use as a battering ram and were bearing down on the basilica.

  The wooden door boomed under the impact. Timber screeched and plaster cracked. The echoes reverberated from the temple walls with a sound like thunder, incongruous under the cloudless blue sky. Yet the noise was almost lost amid the deafening whoops from the mob. Again, the battering ram pounded into the door.

  Jemeryl wormed her way back to the straggling outskirts of the crowd, from where she could take stock of the area. Sentinels were tumbling from the doorway of their barracks, but their actions spoke mainly of confusion. Most did no more than stare and point, some milled around indecisively, a few ran back in, going to seek either instructions or reinforcements. Jemeryl knew the riot would not be allowed to continue unchecked. Someone would take charge of the sentinels. How long did they have?

  The battering ram boomed again. Jemeryl looked back. Deep cracks were running through the plaster around the door. White fla
kes dropped, revealing the crumbling mud brick beneath. Another strike and the top of the door was wrenched loose from its hinges. It buckled, tilting at a drunken angle. Small stones rained down on those manning the stone trough, but it clearly served only to encourage. The cheers from the watchers reached a new crescendo. Another two thumping impacts and the doors fell in with a crash. The mob surged forward, trampling over the fallen timbers. Jemeryl followed on, one of the last to enter.

  The interior of the basilica was a large open hall under the domed roof, sixty or so feet across. A ring of wooden columns around the edge supported an upper balcony. Worn and chipped clay tiles covered the floor, although not many were visible between the feet of the mob and the assembled ranks of idols.

  The statues covered the entire ground floor. Jemeryl stared at the bewildering menagerie—dog-headed women, winged monkeys, three-headed snakes, pot-bellied men. How many gods had been worshipped at the temple? How many idols were stored in the basilica? And which one was the emanator inside?

  Cheers, crashes, and laughter filled the air. Even as Jemeryl was looking around, she could see the number of idols decreasing. A shout and a thud sounded to her right. Jemeryl jumped back just in time as a toppled statue smashed to the ground beside her. A hundred marble shards exploded across the tiles. Looters descended on the wreckage, scouring for anything of value.

  Jemeryl’s splinted arm clearly counted as enough reason to explain her inaction. None of the mob paid her any attention as she stood, a bystander to the carnage. More crashes. More idols destroyed. Yet still the upper dimensions did not return. Soon the sentinels would arrive to stop the rampage. Would Tevi’s rioters find the correct idol in time? Briefly, Jemeryl closed her eyes but then she opened them and looked up. Light from the windows shone over the balcony, revealing another ring of idols, sitting like an audience facing in, silently watching the performance below.

  Jemeryl gave a wry smile. Yes, that was definitely Ciamon’s style. He had sealed the door by magic, but he would then put the idol as far from the entrance as possible. Never mind that common sense would say if his adversaries were able to overcome his locking spell, forcing them to walk a few more yards was unlikely to prove much of a hindrance.