by R. J. Larson
A violent wind blasted downward from Parne’s walls, encircling the public square, startling some of the women to shrieks. Within a breath, the angry current whipped the rotted sash from Ela’s hands and sent it skyward, toward the temple.
Ela watched until it vanished behind the temple’s ornate walls.
And until she realized Prill was crying. The woman dabbed at her dark eyes. “That’s how the Infinite sees Parne’s soul? Oh, Ela! What can we do?” She covered her face with her hands.
“We pray.” Ela hugged the sobbing matron. “And I need to go home.”
To wait for her enemies.
Before Mother noticed, Ela hurried outside in the evening light to prevent the unwelcomed visitors from entering the house.
Their features set in unforgiving lines, the delegation of priests glowered at Ela. The eldest priest enunciated each syllable. “We want that rotten fabric off our temple’s banner pole!”
“Why?” Ela demanded. “That rotten, moldy priestly linen allows Parne to see its soul as the Infinite does! Parne’s decisions—its faithlessness!—has caused its destruction. Just as priestly hoarding of gold and rare ores brings Parne’s enemies to its gate!”
A younger priest stepped forward, his marvelously groomed and oiled beard twitching with agitation. “You’re refusing? That fabric is an insult to us and to the temple!”
“Why don’t you discuss your concerns with the Infinite?” Ela snapped. “He would love to hear from you for once!”
Before she could blink, the young priest struck her, his fist a hammer-blow that sent her crashing against the front wall of the Roehs’ home. Metallic bitterness seeped through her mouth. Blood from her lower lip. As Ela straightened, the eldest priest also hit Ela, his elaborate gold cuff gouging her left cheek as he slammed her against the wall once more. A woman—Mother—screamed from the doorway. “Ela!”
The younger priest beat Ela until the sky dimmed to gray. A deep humming filled her ears—cut through by his sudden bellow. “Augh!”
A woman’s scream revived Ela. “Unhand my daughter! Stop!”
From a distance, a man yelled, “Disperse, all of you!”
The priests scattered like an ostentation of startled peacocks. Mother was beside Ela now, holding her, crying, shaking her. “Why didn’t you tell me! Ela! Next time, you warn me!”
Ela lowered her face into her hands, staving off a wave of faintness. The humming and grayness eased. From within the house, Jess began to squall. And Tzana’s thin voice piped up, “Mother? Mother?”
Father was holding Ela now, but he shouted over her head, “Jon, stop! Let them go.” To Ela, he said, “Can you walk? Let’s get you inside.”
She stood, stumbled over something, and nearly fell. Mother’s big wooden laundry stick rolled away from her toes. Ela crooked a smile at Mother. “You were going to beat them.”
“Well . . .” Kalme hesitated. “I . . . I hit one of them.”
Despite her bruises and the renewed taste of blood, Ela laughed and mumbled, “Mother, you would’ve been a wonderful prophet.”
“No I wouldn’t! I wanted to kill them all!” Kalme’s fingernails dug into Ela’s arm, making her gasp. “Oh. Sorry!” Kalme relaxed her grip and urged Ela toward a mat.
The instant Ela sat down, Tzana was in her lap, touching Ela’s cheek, peering into her eyes, then checking her lip. “Does it hurt too much? Can I help you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Kalme hurriedly scooped up the wailing Jess, then snatched up a clean towel and crossed the room to the family’s big golden-clay water jug. Father half knelt beside Ela.
Jon, standing guard at the door, stepped aside, allowing Beka to enter, her arms full of parcels. While Jon shut the door, Beka dumped the parcels on the floor and knelt. “Oh, Ela, what an awful cut! Your poor face! Who were all those men?”
“Priests.” Ela accepted the damp towel from Mother and rested it against her lip. A sharp sting of pain made her flinch before the water’s coolness soaked into the wound.
She looked from Beka to Jon, then to Father. “You were in the marketplace again?”
Father glanced up at Mother, then at Tzana, as if deciding whether or not to speak. He squared his shoulders. “I’m trying to gauge Parne’s food supplies.”
Mother sat down, with Jess tucked beneath her mantle, nursing. Dark eyes wary, Kalme asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”
Dan sighed. “If Parne is besieged by Belaal within a week, as Ela says, then we’re all in danger. Parne will be out of food as the siege begins, unless our traders arrive from Istgard and Siphra.”
Ela braced herself, catching renewed glimpses of the beleaguered, sodden traders. “They won’t.” She licked her swelling lip again. “The rains that are bypassing Parne are delaying the traders.”
“What will we do?” Kalme hugged Jess’s bundled form closer.
Shifting the cloth from her lip to her bruised left cheek, Ela said, “We must urge everyone to not fight Belaal—or anyone.”
Dan grunted. “They won’t listen to us. We’re in disgrace and untrustworthy.”
Sounding a bit shamed, Beka said, “Jon and I think that perhaps we should stop buying supplies from the marketplace. We’re taking food from Parne.”
“You’re obeying the Infinite,” Ela soothed. “Both of you. And your attendants. You mustn’t feel guilty.”
“We’ll protect anyone who comes with us,” Jon promised. He looked at Kalme now. And Tzana, who was leaning against Ela in silent sympathy. “Perhaps you should accompany us to Istgard.”
Kalme stiffened, clutching Jess beneath her mantle. “I’m not leaving unless my entire family does.”
“I can’t leave,” Ela said. “But, Mother, Father, think of Jess and Tzana. You should go.”
Father shook his head. “No. Those renegade priests will kill you, Ela, if you stay.”
“If I’m meant to die, Father, we won’t be able to prevent it.”
Dan shot her a look of fierce disagreement. Ela shut her eyes, sending up a silent prayer for her family’s safety. For the safety of Parne’s remaining faithful ones. Tranquility answered, reassuring her, though she couldn’t offer the answers her family and friends wanted. “All we can do is pray and know that He is here.”
Quiet tapping sounded on the doorpost. Jon readied his sword, then nudged open the door, revealing a young couple, both draped in subdued mantles. The man’s thin face was bruised, and the young woman’s eyes were reddened and swollen from crying.
Ela had seen the young man only once, but she remembered him. Ishvah Nesac. Parne’s new chief priest, whose heart ever longed for the Infinite. At their Creator’s command, she’d declared Ishvah as Zade Chacen’s successor. Now, obviously, Ishvah and his wife were suffering for their love of the Infinite. Aching, Ela murmured, “Jon, you can trust them.”
Dan Roeh stood. “Come in. Both of you, please.”
Balancing herself with the mantle-swathed Jess, Kalme stood beside her husband. “We’re honored. Please sit down. Can you eat with us?”
While Ela pondered a way to stretch about five portions of bread and lentils to feed eight, Ishvah Nesac worked up a wry smile. When he spoke, his voice was bleak. “Honored? Thank you, but I don’t deserve such kindness.”
Tears slid down his wife’s soft face. As she lifted her mantle to dab at her eyes, Ela realized the Nesacs were expecting a child. Soon. Oh, Infinite, not during a siege! Her heart skittered, caught mid-beat by a rush of compassion from their Creator.
Strengthened, Ela snuggled Tzana into her arms and hefted herself to her feet. “Chief Priest Nesac, you’re mourning the Infinite’s promise—that He would honor you as His chief priest. Why would you think He has forgotten you?”
Parne’s chief priest fought for composure. When his wife reached for his hand to console him, he kissed her braid-crowned head. They exchanged looks. Nesac said, “Prophet, it seems you’ve heard something from the Infinite. Tell me. Tell us. W
e’re feeling rather lost right now.”
Dan Roeh interposed, his voice low. “Forgive me, everyone, but you’re in my home, and I believe you’ve been invited to sit.” He motioned to the mats.
“We ought to leave soon,” Jon told Beka. “The destroyers were probably in fits when Ela was beaten.”
“Surely they’ve settled down now that she’s safe,” Beka pleaded. “And I’ve brought enough food for the evening meal. We can eat while we wait to see if those brutes return.”
One corner of Nesac’s mouth twisted, revealing bitterness as he surveyed Ela. “Let me guess who beat you, Prophet. A few of my priests?”
“They beat you too,” Ela realized aloud, studying his bruises.
“For daring to correct them,” Nesac agreed. “They’ve gold on their garments, but none in their souls. Only a few remain faithful to the Infinite—may He bless them!”
Cuddling Tzana again, Ela smiled at the Nesacs. “The Infinite sees your souls and, though you believe you’ve failed, He treasures you both. Ishvah Nesac, whatever those renegade priests have sworn, you remain His chief priest.”
Nesac shook his head. “I don’t understand why He should notice me at all. But for as long as He wishes, I’m the Infinite’s servant. Despite the beatings.” He patted his wife’s hand, seeming to relax a bit.
Kalme gave the now-drowsing Jess to Nesac’s wife, then hurried to remove platters, bowls, and cups from a storage shelf. Beka opened her parcels, revealing flatbreads, olives, dried fruit, and smoked, lightly charred meats. Jon beamed at her. “You’re brilliant.”
Beka fluttered her long eyelashes. “Dearest, I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Everyone laughed. Nesac offered prayers and blessings to the Infinite, and they ate.
Within a few bites, however, Tzana dozed off, a limp weight in Ela’s lap. She’d been sleeping more since their return to Parne, as if still recovering from their journey. Ela tucked her little sister close by on the mat and covered her with the new blue mantle, which Tzana loved.
At the meal’s end, Jon and Beka prepared to leave for the night. Nesac and his wife stood. The young priest asked Jon, “May we walk with you? Our home is along the way.”
“Of course,” Jon said. But Ela noticed him double-check his sword, as if prepared to use it. Was Jon sure they’d be attacked on the way? She longed for some hint.
As he bid Ela good-bye, Nesac lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t go outside if you can help it, Prophet. If you must, then be cautious and remain with others. The rebel priests are planning to kill you.”
17
Kien glanced over his shoulder at the men who’d been trailing him for the past five days. Stone-faced, they stared. He smiled and waved. Eventually, they might tell him who they were. Whenever he’d tried to approach them, they’d backed off. Not that it mattered.
Tomorrow the Infinite would destroy Adar-iyr.
Or would He? Was Adar-iyr’s state of mourning and repentance sincere?
Kien looked up at the brooding gray-black sky. Infinite? Now what?
Go to the king.
A final farewell? Kien turned down the next street and stepped onto a main thoroughfare. His two dour-faced shadows followed—his only shadows on this dark day. Kien toyed with the idea of darting through a few alleys to torment the pair. No, it was best to not provoke the Infinite. He’d promised to be a good herald of doom and follow orders.
As he neared the palace, Kien noticed his stalkers closing in. And brightening, as if pleased by his choice of destination. He felt a prickle of unease. Was he being set up to become a corpse?
No. The Infinite answered Kien’s fear. You will not die. Instead, you may now speak freely. You must tell Ninus I have heard his prayers and the prayers of his people. They are forgiven, and I have relented. Adar-iyr will be spared.
Relief nearly halted Kien in his tracks. Yet he couldn’t imagine the ineloquent King Ninus mustering a coherent prayer.
He strode through the palace’s massive crimson and black gatehouse tunnel, which was crested with a mournful banner of sackcloth. By now Kien’s followers were almost on his heels like proper shadows. In the garish courtyard, one of the palace guards nodded to Kien’s followers, asking, “No trouble keeping him alive?”
“Nah,” one of the shadows answered, surprisingly amiable. “He’s a chary mark. But dull.”
Due to his twelve-word vocabulary, of course. In his own defense, Kien sighed and feigned absolute boredom with his shadows. The palace guard snickered.
So Ninus had sent these men to protect him, not to beat him, or imprison him. Unusual concept for royalty, if Kien judged by his own experience in the former kingdom of Istgard.
The palace resounded with Kien’s footsteps—and those of his shadow guards—but almost no one else’s. No half-naked, drunken, murder-minded courtiers lurked about today. He enjoyed imagining them all in their respective cloud-darkened homes, swathed in itch-inducing sackcloth.
A familiar guard stepped in front of him and bowed his head. “Sir. Come this way.”
Kien grinned. “Teos!”
The chief guard scratched at his haircloth-draped arm. “You remember me?”
“Could I forget Adar-iyr’s most civilized citizen? By the way, I’m commanded to speak to the king. Will you send word to him that I’m here?”
“’Course.” He motioned toward Kien’s face. “Ha! You’re done molting. Now you seem only sunburned, though there’s no sunlight.”
“Thank you. That’s reassuring.”
“And,” Teos added, raising a perturbed eyebrow, “with all the extra skin gone, it’s plain you’re younger than we’d thought.” Before Kien could respond, the chief guard marched off.
He reappeared swiftly, almost running. “Hurry, Tracelander, the king’s waiting!”
Kien rushed after the guard, suddenly aware of his own disheveled appearance and pungent air. Living in Adar-iyr’s streets had certainly imbued him with their stench. Ah, well. He’d keep his distance from the king, then return to the beach this evening for another bath and a shave. This nest of a beard surely made him look like a wild man.
The haircloth-clad King Ninus paced in his lamplit audience chamber, agitated as a flea. No slouching in his chair today. And he was thinner. More alert. Because of the haircloth and fasting, Kien suspected. The instant Ninus saw Kien, he signaled to his clerk, who hopped up from his clerkly cushion.
As tense, jittery, and sackcloth-irritated as the king, the clerk asked, “What news, sir? Have you some word from the Infinite?”
Kien allowed them a smile. “The Infinite has heard your prayers, O King, and the prayers of your people. Your Creator has forgiven you and relented. Adar-iyr will be spared.”
Sunlight flashed through the windows, as if signaling divine agreement, startling them all with its brilliance. Ninus exhaled loudly, flung his hands in the air, uttered a celebratory syllable, then dropped to the floor and rested his royal forehead on the ornate sunlit tiles.
Caught off-guard by a mirroring rush of gratitude for his Creator’s mercy to offenders—himself included—Kien knelt as well, offering the Infinite praise in the dazzling morning light.
The royal clerk walked with Kien through the sunlit gardens toward the palace kitchens. “We are profoundly thankful that you have come to Adar-iyr. For weeks beforehand, the king was troubled by such dreams of disaster that he was quite terrified and unable to sleep.” He paused and smiled—a remarkably toothy, boyish grin for a clerk. “Last night, however, he slept so soundly that we dared to hope for blessings from the Infinite.”
“It was no coincidence,” Kien realized aloud, stunned.
Infinite, You planned for my mission here while I was still at home in East Guard?
A jab of humor edged the Infinite’s response. Do you think your choices in ToronSea surprised Me?
Obviously not. Kien had to force himself to pay attention to the clerk, who was, of course, nowhere near as inte
resting as their Creator. The man was actually babbling. “You must allow us to reward you. Stay in Adar-iyr! What do you want? Gold? Manors? A title? The king is prepared to grant you anything you wish as payment for your services.”
“No.” Kien shook his head. “No-no. I’m not staying, and I won’t accept payment for serving the Infinite.”
The clerk faltered a bit and went gloomy, as if dismayed. “What will you do? Can you tell us your plans?”
Infinite?
Munra, Siphra.
Siphra. Kien caught his breath. Ela! He could speak to Akabe about Parne. Couldn’t he?
Yes.
Stuttering with relief, Kien said, “S-Siphra. I’m going to Munra, Siphra.”
Administrative once more, the clerk nodded. “I’ll make arrangements at once. But first, sir . . .” His nostrils flared. “Might I recommend food and a bath? And—at the king’s request—permission to replace your, er, befouled garments?”
Kien laughed, stepping out of the clerk’s scent range. “Yes. Thank you.”
Ela. Soon, if the Infinite willed it, he would see Ela.
Kneeling on the protective floor tiles, Ela waved the stiff woven-grass fan, urging the Roehs’ small domed oven’s flames to burn more vigorously. As she worked, she prayed.
Infinite? What is about to happen? She could almost feel heaviness in the air. Unvoiced threats sent prickles of apprehension along her scalp and down her spine.
Behind her, the mats crackled in a footstep tempo. Ela jumped, then sagged, sighing. Mother knelt and pressed one slender finger to her lips, signaling that she’d settled Jess and Tzana for their afternoon naps. Kalme reached for her mending but nodded toward a small trough of dough and to the oven’s raised baking tiles. Reminding Ela to prepare the bread.
Ela nodded. She slapped flat rounds of bread onto the baking tiles and waited. Praying. And fretting. Really, her imagination was running rampant again. She ought to be grateful for this afternoon’s peace. As she shifted the final round of bread from the tiles to a basket, a flare of light appeared in her hand, solidifying into the branch. Ela gasped, nearly dropping her precious insignia.
