“Except that we’ll all be about fifteen years older.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Eliar.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t feel alone.”
“Will you please stop browsing, Leitha?” Dweia said later that morning.
“I can’t control it,” Leitha confessed, sighing. “I wish I could. As soon as I look at someone or hear someone talking, this whatever it is seems to home in. Then somebody else says something, and it goes after him. I don’t want to do it, but it acts on its own.”
Dweia opened the Book. “Let’s do something about that right now,” she said. “Your gift—if we want to call it that—is so completely random that it’s totally out of control.” She leafed through several of the early pages in the Book. Then she apparently found the page she wanted. “Here we are,” she said, lifting out the page. “This is how Deiwos dealt with the same problem. His answer’s a little simpler than mine is, so it might be better if you start here. Later on, I’ll show you how I do it.”
“I’ll try anything, Dweia,” Leitha said fervently. “I don’t want this thing in my mind.” She took the crackling parchment sheet from Dweia and looked at it. “I thought I’d be able to read this,” she said, frowning. “But the letters aren’t the same. I can’t make it out at all.”
“It’s a very archaic form, Leitha,” Dweia told her. “There’s a faster way. Just lay the sheet down on the Book and then put the palm of your hand down on it.”
“You want me to read with my hand?” Leitha asked incredulously.
“Unless you’d rather use your foot. Just try it, Leitha.”
The pale blond girl dubiously set the page down on the white-covered Book and placed the palm of her hand on it. Her blue eyes widened as total comprehension filled them. “It can’t be that simple,” she objected.
“Why not try it and find out?” Dweia suggested.
Leitha sat back and closed her eyes. Her expression became almost inhumanly serene. Then her eyes opened very wide as she drew in a sharp breath.
Then she suddenly screamed.
“You went too far, Leitha,” Dweia told her, “and just a little too fast.”
“Everything’s so empty!” Leitha said in a shuddering voice. “There’s nothing there anymore!”
“You just went too high, dear. You want to go above it, but not quite that far above. You’ll get better at it with practice. All you’re really doing is aiming your gift. You want to point it slightly over the heads of everybody around you. You’ll still hear that slight murmur that you’ve been listening to all your life, but you won’t hear the actual thoughts. When you want to hear them, just point your gift straight at the one you want to hear.”
Leitha shuddered. “What was that awful emptiness?” she demanded.
“The sound of nothing, Leitha. You were pointing it at the ceiling, you know.”
“Did that make any sense to anybody else?” Eliar asked, his expression baffled.
“Leitha’s got an extra set of ears, that’s all,” Gher replied. “She can hear what we’re thinking—even when she doesn’t want to. Emmy just taught her how to point her ears someplace else. Anybody can see that.”
Leitha gave the boy a startled look. “How could you possibly have known that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Gher confessed. “It just seemed to make sense, that’s all. Of course, I’ve been dodging you ever since we first met.”
“Dodging?”
“I could feel what you were doing, ma’am, so I’d just step out of your way and let you zing right past me.”
Dweia was staring at the boy in absolute astonishment.
“Well, well, well,” Althalus murmured.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dweia demanded.
“Nothing, dear,” Althalus replied innocently. “Nothing at all.”
“Isn’t it just about time for us to—” Eliar started.
Andine gave him a piece of fruit, and he stopped talking.
“Just keep the rest of them entertained, dear heart,” Dweia told Althalus. “I’ll be taking them aside one by one to explain certain things to them.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“It’s faster that way, Althalus. They’ll open their hearts to me if we’re alone. Doing that in front of others is a little embarrassing. Everyone has flaws they’d prefer not to expose to the whole community.”
“I take it that you don’t agree with the notion of open confession.”
“It’s one of man’s sillier ideas. Announcing one’s sins in public is a form of exhibitionism. It serves no purpose, and it wastes time.”
“I thought we had all the time in the world.”
“Not that much, we don’t.”
“What are they talking about, Master Althalus?” Gher asked, looking at Dweia and Bheid, who were sitting together at the table with the Book open before them.
“I’d sort of imagine that Dweia’s clearing Bheid’s mind of a number of misconceptions. Bheid was trained for the priesthood and for astrology. There’s a lot of nonsense in his mind that Dweia’s getting rid of.”
“Does anybody really believe in that astrology business?” Gher asked.
Althalus shrugged. “People want to know what’s going to happen next. They think astrology tells them. It’s wrong most of the time, but people keep on believing anyway.”
“Isn’t that sort of stupid?”
“Moderately stupid, yes, but most people need to believe in something. There are a few who don’t, but they’re a bit unusual.”
“I’ve never believed very much, myself. The sun’s probably going to come up tomorrow, and spring usually comes after winter, but just about everything else happens by accident.”
“That comes fairly close, I’d say. I used to believe in luck, but Dweia’s sort of cured me of that.”
Gher suddenly chuckled. “Andine just did it again,” he said “Eliar doesn’t even realize she’s feeding him, does he?”
“Probably not,” Althalus agreed. “Eliar’s a nice, uncomplicated boy. As long as she keeps the food coming, he doesn’t ask any questions—or even pay much attention to what she’s doing.”
“What I don’t understand is why she does it. Back when I first joined you folks, she didn’t like him at all. Now she hovers over him all the time.”
“She’s mothering him, Gher. Women do that a lot, I’ve noticed. She hated him at first, but that’s changing.”
“I’m glad she’s picking on him now, instead of me,” Gher said. “I was starting to get real tired of all those haircuts.”
After several days, Dweia left Bheid alone with the Book and turned her attention to Andine. Many of those discussions were quite audible. The Arya of Asthos was a beautiful young lady with dark hair and huge dark eyes, but her emotions leaned in the direction of explosive. The Knife had instructed her to “obey,” and that didn’t suit her at all.
Althalus had unobtrusively moved his chair to a place near the door, and he spent most of his time watching the others, being careful not to be too obvious about it.
“What are you doing, Althalus?” Dweia asked him late one afternoon when they were alone in the tower.
“Watching, Em. Watching and learning. Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
“What have you learned so far?”
“We’ve picked up a very strange collection of people, little kitten, and they aren’t altogether what they seem to be at first glance. Except for Gher, most of them aren’t very happy about what they’re supposed to be doing. Andine absolutely hates the word ‘obey,’ and Eliar’s very uncomfortable with ‘lead,’ since he knows he’s not ready to command an army yet.”
“That isn’t what ‘lead’ means in this situation, pet, but we’ll be getting to that in a bit. What have you learned about the others?”
“I think you might have been a little abrupt with Bheid. Once you threw out astrology, you set him adrift.
He doesn’t know what to believe anymore—and he’s right on the verge of believing in nothing. He’s positive that ‘illuminate’ means that he’s supposed to preach, and a sermon about nothing might be a little hard to compose.”
“He doesn’t quite understand yet, Althalus,” she replied. “When the time comes, he will. What about Leitha?”
“That’s the one who worries me. She puts on a bright face, and she makes clever remarks, but she read something on the Knife that she probably wasn’t supposed to. The others aren’t entirely certain about what the Knife told them to do; Leitha knows. She knows exactly what she has to do, and who she has to do it to. She’s not happy about it, Em. Life hasn’t been good to her so far, and she’s almost certain that it’s going to get worse.”
“She’s much stronger than she appears, Althalus. She’ll need some help at some point, so stay close to her. Be ready to give her that help.”
“That’s awfully cryptic, Em,” he accused.
“You were told to ‘seek,’ Althalus. I’m sure you’ll find a way to help her—if you seek hard enough.”
Dweia and Gher were sitting near the east window, deep in conversation. Eliar was telling Andine war stories by the south window, and she was obviously feigning a look of vapid admiration and handing him occasional tidbits of food. Leitha had joined Bheid at the marble table, and they were both deeply engrossed in the Book. This left Althalus more or less to his own devices. He stood at the north window looking out at the mountains of ice out beyond the End of the World. Despite everything Emmy had told him, Althalus still thought of that chasm to the north as the end of everything. He was more comfortable with that, since it seemed to give the world a definite boundary. He didn’t much care for the implications of the word “infinity.”
“You still think of me as a witch, don’t you, Bheid?” Althalus heard Leitha ask their young priest.
“Of course not,” Bheid replied. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I know that you don’t like me.”
“That’s ridiculous, Leitha. I like you very much. You’re one of my true companions.”
“You make me sound like a piece of furniture,” she accused.
“I don’t exactly see where this is going,” he confessed.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact that I’m a woman.”
“I’m aware of it, Leitha. It’s not all that important to what we’re supposed to do, but I am aware of it.”
“You don’t think about it, though.” She sighed. “Ever since the end of my childhood, the men in our village all looked at me in a certain way, and they all had certain kinds of thoughts.”
“The kind that the priest, Ambho, had, you mean?”
“Exactly. Every man in town had certain thoughts about me.”
“You are very beautiful, Leitha.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she mocked.
“Whatever gave you the idea that I don’t like you?”
“You don’t have the same kind of thoughts about me that other men have.”
“Those thoughts are vile, Leitha. It’s the duty of a priest to suppress vile thoughts.”
“Ah, perhaps that’s it. It’s making me very uncomfortable, though, Bheid. You despise those vile thoughts, and when you suppress them, what comes in my direction is hatred. Your hatred is directed at the thoughts, but it seems in my mind to be directed at me.”
“That’s certainly not what I’d intended.”
“I think I may have a solution.”
“I’d be happy to hear it, Leitha.”
“Relax that iron-hard suppression a bit and let a few of those vile thoughts out.”
“What?”
“Not too vile, of course. That would disturb the both of us. A few itty-bitty vile thoughts wouldn’t hurt anything.” She smiled winsomely and held up her thumb and forefinger as if measuring something very small. “If you were to keep them only about so big, they wouldn’t violate your vow, but they’d be naughty enough to let me know that you’re aware of the fact that I’m a woman. I think ‘modestly vile’ is what you should aim at. It wouldn’t contaminate you, and it’d make me ever so much more comfortable.”
Bheid stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled gently. “Of course, Leitha,” he promised. “I think I can manage ‘modestly vile,’ if it’ll make you feel better. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”
Her answering smile was radiant.
Keep your nose out of it, Althalus, Dweia’s purring voice told him.
Whatever you say, dear.
“The onset of the glaciers has produced a drought that’s causing great turmoil in the lands to the south,” Dweia was telling them a few days later. “Wealth and power and mighty cities are meaningless if there’s nothing to eat. That’s the key to Ghend’s plan, of course. Chaos is his ally, and the glaciers create chaos.”
“I think you told me once that this has happened before,” Althalus said.
“Yes. This is about the fourth glacial age in the past several million years. Occasionally they’ve been the result of changes in weather patterns or the movement of ocean currents. Daeva caused this one, though. It’s a crucial part of Ghend’s plan to so completely disrupt the various empires to the south that the people will turn to anybody who can offer stability. Civilization’s right on the brink of collapse, and a general revolution’s looming on the horizon.”
“My people would never rebel against me!” Andine exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t be all that certain, dear,” Dweia disagreed. “Ghend has people stirring up the citizens of Osthos right now, and your war with the Kanthons just made it easier for them.”
“We didn’t start that war!”
“I know. Althalus and I met Eliar’s sergeant—Khalor—on our way from Arum to Osthos, and he kept referring to the Aryo of Kanthon as a half-wit. I think that if we wanted to delve into the matter, we’d find that one of Ghend’s henchmen was behind a number of the Aryo’s military decisions.”
“Sergeant Khalor was a little unhappy about that war,” Eliar remembered. “He had all sorts of interesting names for the Chief of the Kanthons.”
Andine’s huge eyes narrowed speculatively. “That sort of means that it was Ghend who murdered my father, doesn’t it?”
“He was the one who was ultimately responsible, yes,” Dweia replied.
“Eliar?” Andine said then in her most appealing and winsome manner.
“Yes, Andine?”
“Would you like to come to work for me?”
“I didn’t quite follow that.”
“I need a good professional soldier right now. I pay very well—both in money and other benefits.” She laid a lingering hand on his bare knee.
“I’d have to talk with my Chief, Andine, but I’m sure we could work something out. What exactly is it that you’d like to have me do?”
“I’d be ever so grateful if you’d track this Ghend person down and butcher him for me—and I want to be there to watch while you do it. I want blood, Eliar—lots and lots of blood. And I’d really like to hear some very loud screams. How much do you think that might cost me?”
“I wouldn’t think of charging you for that, Andine,” he assured her. “We’re friends now, and it wouldn’t be at all polite for me to take money from you for a simple little favor like that, would it?”
Andine gave a little squeal of delight, threw her arms about Eliar’s neck, and kissed him fervently. “Isn’t he just the nicest boy you’ve ever seen?” she demanded of the rest of them.
Dweia looked pensive the following morning. She sat at the marble table in the tower room with her hand lying on the Book and her green eyes lost in thought.
Althalus and the others filed in as usual and quietly took their seats.
“I want you all to pay very close attention,” Dweia told them. “You all know about ‘using’ the Book, and about how Eliar ‘uses’ the Knife. Now it’s time
for you to learn how to ‘use’ the House.” She rose and looked at them. “This may be difficult for you, and some of the things I’m going to tell you will be very hard for you to accept, but you’ll have to trust me. I’ve suggested a number of times that the House isn’t really here, but that’s not entirely accurate. The House is here, but it’s everywhere else as well.”
“Do you mean that it moves around?” Gher asked incredulously.
“Not exactly,” she replied. “It doesn’t have to move, Gher. It’s everywhere—all at the same time. You’ve all noticed how big the House is, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes,” Althalus said. “When I first came here to steal the Book, I was sure it’d take weeks to search every room.”
“Actually, it would have taken you centuries, Althalus, and even then you’d have only scratched the surface. For right now, let’s just say that the House is the world, but that’s an oversimplification. It’s quite a bit bigger than that. When I say that the House is everywhere, I really mean everywhere. When Deiwos first made it, this room was all there was, and he went out from here to make everywhere else, and he made a door to each of those places. That’s why the House kept growing, and that’s why the doors—not the rooms—are important. Let me give you an example. If Andine wanted to stop by her throne room to speak with her High Chamberlain, Lord Dhakan, she could saddle her horse, ride on down through Kagwher, slip past Kanthon, and eventually reach Osthos. There’s another way, though. She could go down the hallway that leads to the south, open a certain door right here in this House, and step through that door into her throne room.”
“It can’t be that simple!” Bheid exclaimed.
“No, actually it isn’t. Not only does she have to go through the right door, but she also must believe that it’s the right door. The key to the door is belief.”
“And if she doesn’t believe?” Gher asked.
“She walks into an empty room,” Dweia said, shrugging. “When I said that belief is the key, I meant exactly that.”
The Redemption of Althalus Page 27
