by Neil McGarry
At last, Burrell and his companion opened Beggar's Gate and stood aside while the beggars filed silently past. Duchess slipped through behind them. She wanted to take a look at the Eusbius estate, and the walk would also keep her busy until Lysander awoke and she could tell him about Hector's test.
Had Duchess been heading to any of the districts near the bottom of the great hill – Shallows, Deeps, or Wharves – she wouldn't need to bother with a gate; the walls separating those areas had long since fallen to ruin. Only the walls that bounded the high districts – Garden, Scholars, Market, Trades and Temple – were maintained, and the gates were guarded night and day. Folk from the low districts could move freely in Trades and Market, but were generally admitted to the other districts only during the day, and even then under suspicion.
The Godswalk was the center of Temple, a broad, whitewashed street that encircled a large, well tended green lawn. This grassy enclosure was cluttered with a thousand statues, shrines and engraved obelisks to a thousand gods both known and nameless. All of them were overshadowed, however, by the three large temples on the outside of the circle devoted to the state-recognized religions of the empire. Each boasted a marble statue that proclaimed its allegiance. There was Anassa, goddess of wisdom and knowledge, who wore an ornate mask and carried a multifaceted shard in the delicate hands she raised above her head. Farther along the walk stood Mayu, goddess of death, birth, justice and all growing things, cloaked and hooded, with a belt of knives and other tools. The third was Ventaris, god of the sun, the stars, and all things that gave light and order, with an outstretched hand and a wheel at his feet. Supplicants swarmed the steps of each temple: some begged Anassa for a prophecy, some pleaded with Mayu for the life (or death) of a loved one (or enemy), and others cried for a blessing from Ventaris, calling him Law Bringer and Father of All.
Guards in religious livery were posted at each temple, but the Godswalk itself was patrolled by blackarms. Those in Temple were called the Saints, led by Sheriff Takkis, a man of unimpeachable character. The men who served him were reputed to be equally scrupulous. She decided it was best to stay on their good side; if she made trouble here, there would be no talking or bribing her way out of it.
The beggars took position along the inner curb of the walk as custom dictated, crying for alms, each trying to outdo the others with tales of woe. Their efforts did not go unrewarded; in Rodaas, giving alms on the Godswalk was a sign of piety and civic-mindedness. Even at this early hour the whitewashed stone way was crowded: nobles, priests, scholars and messengers all moved about on business, dispensing a coin here or stopping to converse there. Duchess had to step aside to avoid a wagon that forced its way through the crowd to Anassa's temple. The wagon was guarded by a contingent of Whites, an ancient order of warriors who served the imperial family. The crowd watched intently as a group of robed and masked facets, the priestesses of Anassa, emerged from a side entrance. Each carried a bundle of ornate scrolls tied with silver ribbons. Each facet was identical in height and build, and some said, in visage, although their features were hidden by ivory white masks that revealed only a single eye. They moved in an eerie silence, their steps perfectly matched, as they boarded the wagon. According to rumor, the scrolls they carried contained secrets and prophecies they shared with those fortunate or wealthy enough to catch their attention. "In Rodaas, no one ever confuses 'prophecy' with 'charity,'" Minette had once told her with a rich laugh. Judging from the markings on the wagon and the presence of the Whites, the scrolls were on their way to the imperial palace.
Duchess knew little of Empress Violana, who dwelt at the top of the great hill. Her Highness was advised by a council made up of delegates from the higher districts; the Shallows, Wharves, and naturally the Deeps had no representation. The talk in the alehouses was that the council, and not the empress, truly ruled the realm, especially since the deaths of Violana's sons in the War of the Quills. She seemed to recall reading something in her father's library that Violana was a vigorous, decisive ruler but those days, along with that library, her home and her family, were long gone.
Duchess had not often been in Temple District, so she gawked at the bustle like a country noble. She was so distracted that she nearly bumped into a large, round and smiling man – a keeper, she judged from his dark robes and hood – looking like anything but a devotee of the goddess of death. Duchess had heard that the keepers spent most of their time tending the gardens of Mayu, although she was never quite clear why a death cult spent so much time cultivating growing things. According to rumor, the keepers could make herbal remedies, potions and concoctions of all kinds, and some said that their poisons had taken the lives of the Lady Isabel Davari's first two husbands. When she asked Noam if Mayu's followers really made poisons he told her all that mattered was that keepers were bad drinking companions. This one seemed jovial enough, giving Duchess a lecherous wink. He then bowed mockingly to a nearby trio, each wearing a pendant in the shape of a spoked wheel, the symbol of Ventaris. The radiants turned away haughtily and the keeper laughed as only a fat man could. Duchess wasn't privy to the workings of temple intrigues, but everyone in the city knew that while Ventaris was in ascendance, the keepers worked daily to undermine his priesthood. What the facets thought of all this was anyone's guess.
She made her way through the crowds surrounding the walk and headed towards its grassy center, where the lesser gods were honored. There, she accepted a small cake from an acolyte of Naru, the Lord of Feasts, whose followers handed out small gifts of food to the poor, the imprisoned, and others in need. With the florin in her pocket she was hardly in need, but life in the Shallows had taught her never to turn down free food. Besides, tradition dictated that the gift be eaten in the presence of the giver. The man, his eyes and lips dusted with black soot in the shape of diamonds and surprisingly thin for a follower of the Feaster, grinned as Duchess bit into the soft pastry.
She passed a low wooden altar tended by a withered woman, rocking and whispering in a strange tongue, whose dark brown face and darker eyes were stamped with features that were clearly Domae. She paused; like servants and beggars, Domae were usually considered beneath notice. Being invisible in that way had its advantages; such folk often overheard gossip that others missed. She decided it was worth a few moments, but as she crouched before the altar, her motion became a stumble and she had to catch herself before she fell over.
The altar was carved with many strange symbols, but it was the largest and most prominent that had drawn her eye: a rough circle, broken only by a wide triangle, pointed along its arc. Crudely drawn as it was, she knew that symbol.
A snake, devouring its own tail.
Duchess' stumble had caught the old woman's attention, and she opened two dark black eyes like tiny chips of flint set amongst the wrinkles of her face. Those eyes focused intensely on her, and whip-fast she seized Duchess' hand in one of her own. Old though she was, the woman possessed a wiry strength, and Duchess, still shaken, did not resist as the woman dragged her finger about the circle, beginning and ending at the shape at its top. Three times she traced the symbol." Doh. Mah. Nee."
"Domani." Duchess replied, uncertain what else to say.
The woman released her and closed her eyes, clutching her hands to her chest in sudden ecstasy. "Domani. Paradise. Godshome here upon the earth, here amongst their people."
"Their people? You mean the Domae?" She pointed to the circle. "And what is this?"
The woman smiled mirthlessly. "The mark of He Who Devours, and is reborn, and thus eternal, as Domani is eternal; as we once were and are no longer, but shall be again." Her eyes fixed once more on Duchess' own and she found herself unable to look away from those two dark pools. "But why do you ask such things? Why would a blind, ignorant Rodaasi," the word was poison in her mouth, "care for such things? You are not of the people."
"I...there was a symbol..." Duchess floundered, uncertain. She'd shown that coin only to Lysander and then Hector, and each time in
private. She didn't fancy pulling it out here, on the Godswalk.
There was no need; fingers picked roughly at her own, moving along her arms to her face. Duchess felt unable to resist as the woman took her head between wrinkled hands. "Not of the people," she repeated, "but fate-touched nonetheless. I did not think I would live to see the day when one of your ilk would be so blessed." There was uncertainty, fear, and a strange longing in her voice. "But his mark is upon you, I see that as clearly as your ignorance. And you have seen him." Before Duchess could ask who the woman meant, the Domae reached out and pushed with tented fingers on Duchess' chest, and in that instant Duchess was back in her dreams, the gray shape pressing the breath out of her. She jerked back, alarmed, and the woman laughed derisively. "Quick, child! What have you seen?"
Duchess felt as if her stomach had turned to ice, but somehow she found her voice. "I saw..." What? Smoke? Fog? "A shadow. A shape." She shuddered, speaking truths she hadn't dared speak to another living soul. "I've dreamt of a figure in gray tatters."
The woman nodded grimly. "As he dreams of you. His time draws closer, child, and soon this city will shake." She leaned in close, and her breath was warm and dry as dust. "You and yours pretend to a legacy not your own: children playing with toys not of your making, ants crawling upon a great feast laid by others," she declared, gesturing with sticklike arms bedecked with bracelets, beads and baubles. "Nothing you have is yours. All you own has been built by your betters, who came before you."
"The Domae," Duchess replied blankly. This was nonsense. This was ridiculous. This was...
"The god-chosen!" the woman cried aloud. "We went forth into the wilderness, and everything that made us great fell to your kind! You call this the Godswalk, yet once the gods did truly walk the streets of Domani. And they are not mocked." Duchess was about to shove her away when the woman began to cry, tears leaking out of her shining eyes to trickle along the lines carven into her brown face. "You are pale shades, stalking ruins not your own. And we are shades as well," the Domae whispered. "Faint reflections of the glories we once knew. Paradise lost to us, our perfection guttered like a candle, lost to pride and sin and punishment." She clenched her fists. "You and yours now stand where me and mine once did, and one day soon, you shall suffer the same fate." Suddenly tender, she reached a dark and wizened hand to Duchess' face, gently touching first her forehead, then the top of each cheek in turn.
And with that she returned to her altar and her prayers and her rocking, as if Duchess had never existed.
Duchess stood and moved away, feeling weak. Her chest burned where the old woman's fingers had touched her, and she rubbed her tunic with a trembling hand. The symbol from the mark...if the woman were to be believed it was older than Rodaas itself, reaching back to the time before the Domae had fled the great hill. Then what did that say of P? She felt a chill as she fingered the mark through the thin cloth of her breeches.
Then she shook her head, feeling scared and angry all at once. Her father would be ashamed. On the Godswalk, prophets and seers were common as rats in the Shallows, and just as unwelcome. They fed on uncertainty, telling the hopeless what they wanted to hear, and she, like a fool, had listened.
She wrapped her arms about her chest and squeezed her eyes shut until tears welled up. The old woman had touched Duchess' doubts as sharply as she'd pressed upon her chest, and had woven in enough mad philosophy to make the whole tall tale seem like certainty. Ancient symbol or no, the coin in her pocket was just a coin, a mark like any other. As to the dream, well, everyone had nightmares. She was sure she wasn't the first to imagine that she could not breathe. Most likely that gray figure came from some story she'd read in one of her father's books, or some bedtime tale Gelda had told. She opened her eyes and rubbed away the tears before they could fall. She had enough problems without worrying about Domae superstitions. Her father had had no time for such, and neither did she.
Tenth bell rang out from above, and a small crowd emerged from the temple of Ventaris, increasing the commotion on the Walk. She watched, grateful for the distraction, as the cult followers finished their mysteries and dispersed. Of the three state-sanctioned faiths, Ventaris seemed the most open to the public, although of course that might be only for show. Only a few passed through the arches of the Gardens of Mayu, and as far as Duchess could tell none were allowed into the inner sanctum of Anassa. It seemed her followers must cry their need from outside.
It was time to turn back to business. Duchess mingled with the beggars, smiling at those she recognized, dispensing half-pennies to those she didn't, but none of her inquiries yielded more than blank stares or what she could just as easily have picked up at any wine shop in the Shallows, or working in the market. Well, there were a few wild stories. One man with a rotten nose told her he'd seen a giant lizard emerge from a sewer tunnel near the harbor, and a woman with matted gray hair and a lazy eye warned her that the Harsh Mistress, an ale house in the Wharves, mixed blood with its beer. "Bet you wondered why it tastes so good, eh Penelope?" The woman seemed undeterred by Duchess' insistence that she was not Penelope, and that she had never drunk at the Mistress.
Perhaps she'd been mistaken to seek information from the beggars. Lysander would surely know something about Baron Eusbius, and if not him then Minette. She'd just made up her mind to head back to the Shallows when she felt a tug at her sleeve. She looked down into the upturned, dirt-streaked face of a little girl. She recognized the latest of the Old Mater's children, holding a cloth doll. Duchess smiled at her. "And what can I do for you, little miss?"
The girl beckoned her closer, and Duchess, intrigued, leaned down, one hand on her purse; the girl seemed innocent enough, but Duchess had lived in the Shallows too long to trust even the most appealing of beggar-children. The girl drew near and whispered into her ear a single word: "Euthbiuth." It took Duchess a moment to realize what the child had meant. "Eusbius?" The girl nodded. "You know where I can find Eusbius?" Another nod, and then the child switched the doll to her left hand and extended her right, palm up. A child after her own heart, Duchess reflected as she dug into her purse. Money first. She placed a penny on the opened palm, but the girl merely continued looking at her.
Duchess frowned. "You really know something?" The girl shook her hand impatiently. Reluctantly, Duchess pulled a second penny from her purse. "One more, but that's it. And don't even think about trying to run off with it. I've caught cats quicker than you." The girl made no reply, but she slipped the coins into a pocket of her threadbare dress, took Duchess by the hand and led her across the lawn, her bare feet whispering through the grass. Duchess allowed herself to be led, wondering what on earth the child had to show her. It was possible she was a shill for robbers hidden in an alley, but this was the best chance she'd seen thus far, and she'd hate to be out her pennies for nothing. She'd make sure not to let the girl lead her anywhere she could be cornered.
The girl reached the Walk and dragged her through the beggar's circle, and Duchess clutched the girl's hand all the more tightly, in case she tried to slip away through the crowd. Instead, the girl took her to the outermost part of the Walk just within sight of the temple of Anassa but well outside the throng of petitioners. The girl pulled Duchess down and pointed with her doll at a man who stood at the edge of the throng. He was tall, with a short mustache, a full beard and a dour look. His clothes were clean and neatly tailored, but hardly noble; in fact, he looked no better than a highly placed servant. He paced back and forth, casting an occasional glance at Anassa's temple.
Duchess frowned at the girl. "That's Eusbius?" She wasn't happy to have wasted time and money on this little endeavor, but the girl returned an annoyed expression and pointed again. Duchess looked at the man once more, and although this time she thought that perhaps he looked a bit familiar, he was certainly no baron. He was obviously impatient, though, but she couldn't imagine what he was waiting for.
As if in answer, the crowd around them suddenly hushed as two figures exited
the temple. One was a facet, much like every other facet Duchess had ever seen, masked and silent. The second was a woman with sharp, fine features and graying hair combed out in beautiful waves. She wore a gown of wine-colored velvet, embroidered at the hem and sleeves with gold thread, and she carried herself in an unmistakably aristocratic manner. She said something Duchess could not hear from this distance and the facet nodded twice and lifted a languid hand. The noblewoman closed her eyes as the facet gently touched one eyelid and then the other. The crowds watched, rapt, and Duchess knew she was witnessing something out of the ordinary. Outsiders of any rank were seldom allowed in Anassa's temple, and it was even more rare for a facet to directly bless one of the goddess' followers.
The woman pulled back and smiled, and even from where she stood, Duchess could see it was not a happy expression. There was misery and triumph on that face in equal measure. With no further word, the lady descended the steps as if she were the only person on the Walk. The facet reentered the temple as the crowds closed once more, crying and shouting anew.
She passed the man without comment, but he turned to follow, saying, "Lady Agalia." She took no notice, striding briskly along and he hurried after, calling more stridently, "Baroness, if you would..." She continued as if she had not heard and he called out a third time, "Lady Eusbius, will you please wait for me?" Duchess sucked in a breath and moved to put the waif between herself and the lady and her servant. She could not be seen here, not if she were to have any chance at all of completing Hector's little task. The pair seemed to take no notice of them, and Duchess watched as the woman turned an icy gaze upon the man.
"Ahmed, my husband asked you to accompany me to my devotions, and you have done so." The way she sneered husband made clear precisely what she thought of the man she'd married. "I do not recall being told to walk gently for your sake." Without further comment Agalia made her way along the Godswalk and Ahmed fell in silently behind her. Duchess sighed with relief, and the girl shrugged off her grip and gave her a little kick. Duchess laughed, dropped a third penny in the girl's hand, and followed the pair southward through the district.
