“Oh! Excuse me, Professor Teofil. Excuse me indeed. The sunshine drew me into its warmth, and I succumbed.”
“Well, now’s the time to awaken, O guardian of knowledge. I wish to use the Archives.” Teo grinned to show he wasn’t offended by the man’s dereliction of duty.
The archivist withdrew a ring of keys from his belt and opened the squeaky door, then followed Teo inside. The anteroom had a low ceiling and was full of cobwebs. Seven oaken doors, each securely locked, led into the heart of the mountain. A wall sconce held a burning candle, which the man used to light a glass-enclosed lantern.
“Can’t have open flames around the parchments, eh, professor? Now I’m of the mind you will be wanting the natural history section again. If I recall, that’s where you left off your research last time.” He began to jingle for the right key.
“I was thinking of using the Theosophical Room.”
The archivist’s jingling ceased, and he glanced at Teo with a strange eye. “That one’s for the priests. What do you want with it?”
“My research needs take me there.”
The man looked embarrassed. “Actually, sir, I have direct orders not to open that room to you.”
“All the Archives are open to me. I’m a professor here.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but these orders came from very high up. They were, uh, they were specifically about you.” The man fidgeted with his keys.
“And who gave you these orders contrary to the principles of our university?”
“I don’t know his name. He was a tall, thin Elzebulian. Had wild eyebrows.”
Teo could see he was stymied. He decided to try a different approach. “Alright then,” he said. “I can look into it on another occasion, when things have been sorted out. In the meantime, I’ll take my entrance to the Natural History Room.”
“Very good, sir.” The archivist opened the door and exited the anteroom.
Teo allowed the door to the Natural History Room to swing shut behind him. It groaned on its unoiled hinges until the latch clicked into place. The air was musty and close, suffused with the leathery smell of parchment. Teo drew it deep into his nostrils. It was a good smell—the aroma of knowledge.
In the bobbing yellow light of the lantern, Teo followed the narrow hallway past the many side rooms, each full of book cupboards. He entered the index room at the end of the hall. Long ago, diligent Chiveisian monks had created indices for the holdings in the archival collections. Some indices were well-worn favorites used by many scholars over the years. Others received little use, for they were cumbersome and not well arranged. Teo knew the better indices wouldn’t contain what he sought. Even the rarely used ones wouldn’t have it. He needed an index virtually no one would have used—an index of works written in the Fluid Tongue of the Ancients.
The Chiveisi understood that their speech was derived from a tongue spoken by the ancient peoples of these lands. That language had been guttural sounding, but other Ancients had spoken a language that was much more mellifluous. A handful of elite scholars could still read the lost Fluid Tongue. As a boy in the orphanage, the warders had noticed that young Teofil had a knack for language acquisition, so they sent him to Lekovil for specialized training. The fit was natural, and Teo made the Fluid Tongue of the Ancients his field of expertise.
“You are one of the few Chiveisi who can keep this forgotten tongue alive,” Maurice often told him. “The gods have given you this gift for a reason.” Teo continued to keep his language skills fresh—not for the sake of the gods, but because he wanted his mentor to be proud of him.
Teo spent the next half hour examining the various indices in the cramped chamber but didn’t find what he needed. Sitting on a bench, he pressed his fingers to his forehead. A dead-end already? Think, Teo! The concentrated scent of the lamp’s poppy-seed oil in such close quarters began to make him dizzy. The walls seemed to lean in on him.
An idea flashed into his mind. Perhaps a set of books somewhere else in the archives might have its own index! He went from room to room, scanning the walls. After an hour of frustration, Teo finally found what he sought: the final volume in a set of books on plant physiology was an index. The set had been printed before the Destruction, nearly four centuries ago, in the Ancients’ Fluid Tongue. Teo pulled the delicate folio from the shelf. The volume was covered in dust. Clearly it had not been used in anyone’s recent memory.
Now came the biggest question. Would the index have anything to say about religion? Teo knew all religious content had been purged from the archival collections by the guardian priests. Such knowledge was the private domain of the clergy. Yet he hoped something might have slipped through their censorship net. If so, it would undoubtedly be found in a book of the Fluid Tongue. Only something this obscure would have evaded the clerics’ grasp.
Teo checked all the index words that might provide a clue: god, heavens, priest, vow, prayer, and so on. None of the words appeared in the index. He was about to give up when one more term came to mind. He turned to it and with a sharp intake of breath found it scrawled on the yellow page: écriture sacrée. His heartbeat quickened.
Finding the proper volume, Teo turned the brittle pages. The passage described a plant the Ancients had called “hyssop.” He didn’t know the plant, but he scanned the page and found the precise quote to which the index had pointed. Silently, he translated the text from the Fluid Tongue into his own:
About this plant, the Sacred Writing says,
“See! I have been born in sin,
and in transgression my mother has conceived me.
But you wish that truth might be deep in my heart.
Therefore make wisdom penetrate to the inside of me.
Purify me with hyssop, and I will be pure.
Wash me, and I will be more white than the snow.”
That was all. The rest had to do with botanical details.
As Teo regarded the words, questions swirled in his mind. How could a newborn baby be a sinner? Before he could even begin to think through the implications of this, he heard the main door to the antechamber open as the archivist admitted another guest. Teo ripped the page from the book and stuffed the sheet into the linen shirt under his jerkin. He replaced the volume on the shelf.
Keys rattled in the lock, and the door to the Natural History Room opened as the new researcher entered. Slipping past him with a nod of greeting, Teo eased into the illumination of the brilliant sunshine. Having been in the cave for so long, the sky was too bright to gaze upon directly, and he was only able to look down at the shadows beneath his feet. Teo hurried across the stone pavement to the refuge of his mentor’s room.
“Master Maurice,” he called, “we have to talk. It’s urgent!”
“Give me a moment, dear Teo. My old body moves nowhere near the speed it used to!”
“Ah, but your mind moves doubly fast,” Teo said as the door opened and Maurice welcomed him in.
“Juniper tea?”
“Sure, if you have it. But my thoughts are racing, so let me ask you some questions while you prepare it.” Teo ignored the settee where he usually sat, preferring to remain on his feet. “Master, what do you know about the religion of the Ancients?”
Maurice paused before the potbellied stove, then resumed feeding sticks into the flames and closed the little door. Still he did not answer but filled the kettle with water from a pitcher and set it on the stove to boil. Finally he turned and looked Teo in the eye.
“Why do you ask such a question?”
“I know it sounds foolish. As a matter of fact, I rebuked a student just yesterday for asking it.”
“Don’t rebuke your students for seeking understanding, Teo. They’re a divine gift to you, to prod your mind. You owe them insight and gentleness in return.”
“Then today I need that from you! I want to hear what you know about ancient philosophies.”
“You have yet to answer my original question.”
“Huh?” Teo rea
lized he was too agitated to recall what it was. Slow down, he warned himself.
“I asked you, ‘Why do you wish to know about the religion of the Ancients?’”
Teo took a deep breath. “Well, it seems I may have uncovered a piece of their Sacred Writing.” He removed the torn page of the botanical book from his shirt, explaining to Maurice how he had come by it. Then he translated the text for his master, who could not read the Fluid Tongue. “Do you know what it means?” Teo asked when he had finished the translation. “The script speaks of sin and transgression. I know the terms, of course. But I don’t know the Ancients’ views of them.”
“How come you’re so interested in the Ancients all of a sudden? Haven’t our priests explained things sufficiently? According to their lore, sin is the mark of the common masses. It characterizes those misguided souls who can’t control themselves. But for the elite, the word doesn’t apply at all. This you already know, Teo.”
“Yes, and I agree with it entirely. Obviously I’m not a man of transgression, and neither are you.”
“We’re not?”
“Of course not! Through wisdom and skill, we’ve transcended all sin. But what if the Ancients knew of a way to assist those who are still mired in wickedness? I’d want to know about that.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, I just want to understand it. I’m curious. You know that about me. In fact, you’re the one who taught me to ask questions.”
“Indeed I did.” Maurice stroked his goatee. “And why else do you want to explore ancient religion?”
“I also think we could help the sinners in Chiveis find a good moral code. The people of this land are excellent folk, Master Maurice, but they need shepherds to take care of them. That’s who I am—a shepherd. I provide protection for the sheep on our borders, and I feed their minds with intellectual discoveries. There aren’t many people who can do the job, but those of us who can have a responsibility to carry it out.”
“At any cost, Teo? Perhaps the powerful don’t want ancient religion to be discovered.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t go around worrying about them. You have to do what you think is right and let the chips fall where they may.”
Maurice frowned at this, but the kettle whistled, and he turned to tend it. The old professor prepared the tea while Teo waited silently. As he handed over the steaming cup, Maurice’s voice carried the weight of a man who perceives momentous events are at hand. Teo had never seen his mentor so grave.
“You don’t know the door upon whose threshold you stand, dear Teo, son of my heart. I fear if you walk through that door, great danger will come to you. A new spirit is stirring in Chiveis. This I feel, and I can see it happening, though I don’t understand it fully. I want to embrace the fresh wind that is blowing, but I fear to do so, lest I should falter.”
“Whatever it may be, I’m ready to face it.”
Maurice’s eyes flared. “Are you indeed? Impetuous one! Are you prepared for everything to change forever?”
“If that’s necessary, Master, so be it.” Teo waited a long moment for a reply.
“Well then,” Maurice answered, his kindly tone having returned, “all we can do is walk through the door. You must speak to a monk of Astrebril by the name of Lewth. He resides at the very nexus of these affairs, at the temple of the High Priestess. He is a trustworthy friend and shares my views on these matters. Tell him—”
Maurice the Wise paused, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath, then slipped a signet ring from his finger and handed it to Teo.
“Tell him you’ve been sent from me.”
The half-naked body of the King of Chiveis lay sweaty and disgusting beside the High Priestess. She glanced at him in the moonlight, his eyes closed in defeat. His discomfort and shame made her smile.
“I’m sorry,” King Piair groaned in a pitiful whisper. “This . . . uh, this has never happened to me before.”
“Your power is waning, Sire. I can see it ebbing from you. All the more reason to seek the invigoration of Astrebril.”
“I know,” the king whispered again, nodding. “I know.”
The High Priestess laughed to herself. She recalled when she had first started coming to Piair’s bed fifteen years ago as a nubile young priestess rising through the ranks in the Order of Astrebril. The king’s beard had been darker then, and his muscle tone had been more firm. Now his wrinkled body sagged, and his whiskers were mostly gray. But how the people of Chiveis adore him! she thought. They hang on his every word, bow to him in the streets, obey his royal commands. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. If they could only see him in the dark of night: King Piair, the sovereign of the realm, reduced to a lusty old he-goat. Unable to control his desire, yet unable to release it.
Men are so weak! Who put them in charge? Reflexively, the High Priestess clenched her fists, and the stinging cut in her palm reminded her of the reason she was here. The horror of her vision came flooding back, prompting her to renew her most sacred vow: The god of the cross will never come to Chiveis! She shuddered at the thought and rose abruptly from the bed. It was time to act boldly against the Enemy.
The High Priestess put on her inner garment and gauzy outer robe. She thought she could feel the king’s eyes watching her in the moonlight, but when she looked over her shoulder, his eyes were still closed, his expression troubled.
“I have an important matter to address with you,” she said.
The king opened his eyes and stared out the window at the moon. “What is it?”
“I have received a revelation that a dangerous new religion may soon emerge in Chiveis.” She paused, then took the plunge. “I want you to issue a ban against all nontraditional religions and popular gods.”
“What?” Piair sat up in bed and looked at the High Priestess.
So the old man still has a little spirit worthy of a king? Ha! It won’t be enough. She met his gaze. “You heard what I said. Astrebril is jealous for the devotion of the people. As king, you are obligated to preserve the true faith. Issue a ban against the superstitions of the masses. Only the Beautiful One and his divine triad deserve to be worshiped in our realm.”
The king shook his head. “That idea is both illegal and unworthy, Priestess. The people of Chiveis have the freedom to follow the gods of their own choosing or no gods at all.” His tone was firm.
The High Priestess slowly licked her lips. She caught the king eyeing her as she did, and she allowed his gaze to roam over her, knowing it would help her cause. Finally she spoke. “The people should bow to none but the four traditional gods of Chiveis. I warn you, Sire, Astrebril is disturbed at this encroachment from a new god. He will not be pleased with those who fail to side with him. Astrebril’s fire from heaven may visit us again.”
The king dropped his gaze and began to fiddle with the bedsheets as he considered his response. “Even so,” he said at length, “I cannot issue a decree such as you request.”
The High Priestess spun away and crossed to the other side of the room where she tugged her boots up over her slender calves. Turning back to King Piair, she regarded him for a long moment as she absently stroked the iron collar around her neck.
“Is this the end you imagine for yourself, Sire?” She put an edge into her voice.
The king didn’t look up from the linen sheets he was rubbing between his fingers.
“Do you intend to spend your last years fading like a sunset? Will you stand by and do nothing until your manhood has all but deserted you?”
The king stood up from the bed and walked toward her. “You can’t fight time, Priestess. Decay is inevitable.”
“Is it?”
The High Priestess approached Piair until she stood very close. She traced a black fingernail along the king’s bare shoulder.
“What are you saying?” he asked. “Can Astrebril stop the flow of time?”
The High Priestess caught a slight tremble in the king’s voice. “No.
But Astrebril has power you cannot imagine. And I can give it to you.”
“If you were to pray to Astrebril, would he . . .” Piair paused.
“Would he what?” the High Priestess probed.
“Would he restore my virility?”
She caught the king’s eyes and stared into them. “Perhaps. But you would have to give him something in return. I’m sure he would be pleased by the ban I just suggested.”
“I might reconsider the matter, if the god showed me his favor.”
The High Priestess smiled coyly. “I knew you were wise, Piair.” She turned toward the door, then stopped to look back as she exited. The king stood in the middle of the room, his body droopy and pale in the moonlight. She chuckled as she closed the door behind her.
Men! They’re are all the same. Kings or paupers—it doesn’t matter. The male ego is like potter’s clay in the hands of a skillful woman. A sense of satisfaction filled the High Priestess’s soul. She knew she would get her religious ban. Not as soon as she would like, but she would get it in time. The vanity of men made it all but certain.
When Teo awoke in the predawn darkness, the embers in the brazier had grown cold, and so had the cottage at Vingin. He lingered under the woolen blankets until his willpower finally overcame his lethargy. Throwing off his covers, he rose and went outside to saddle his horse under stars that had begun to fade in the night. Only the morning star glinted brightly in the blue-black sky.
Riding away from his lonely theater, Teo guided his horse up a seldom-used trail. It was the end of the week, so the students wouldn’t be in session today. No one would observe his coming or going. Rising gradually through pasturelands and forests, the trail hugged the flank of the ridge above Vingin. At this early hour, the herders still slept in their warm cots, having no errand to draw them out like the guardsman who passed them unseen in the twilight.
Teo’s horse followed the curve around the end of the ridge, where the trail met the tree line. Above this elevation, only grass grew, rippling like the waves of a vast sea. The dawn had broken into the ragged sky, staining the meadows red in its waxing light. As he rounded the ridge’s end, Teo entered the sacred precinct of the High Priestess’s temple. The alpine tundra here was open, providing expansive vistas to the distant horizons. But what truly awakened awe in Teo’s heart was something much closer: the three great peaks of Chiveis had come into full view.
The Sword Page 8
