Canto of Sand, Opus Three The pinky finger of the black kid-skin gloves slid across the window sill and came away lightened with a fine layer of grit. "You should dust," the glove's owner announced to the room without turning. The rooms other two occupants did not respond. One stood tall and silent by the room's single door. Like his broader companion at the window, he was dressing in the immaculate, metallic black of the long extinct Avaerandian court, and both hid their faces behind veils of dark cloth. The chamber's final occupant labored at a cluttered table in the room's center, draped in the robes of a Mirrish mage, supplemented in places by swatches of Sinari cloth. In each of the room's corners, candelabra stands supported the dozens of candles that were the room's only light source. A white flicker illuminated the room followed by the boom of thunder. "There is a storm upon the desert," the man at the window noted. "With rain," added the tall man at the door. "It is a rare thing." "A thing of wondrous beauty," concluded the thicker man. Thunder rumbled again and the sky broke open to release sheets of rain. "Close the window," said the man at the table. When he was ignored, he repeated his words again, louder. "Close the window!" "No." "It's not a fit night out for man or beast," observed the tall man. "And yet, both are." "Will you two be quiet?" roared the man at the table. "You prattle on like children while I'm trying to work!" "Poor Tarfn. Does it pain you so that we witness a miracle?" "It makes no sense," grumbled the rebel mage, rubbing his temples. "These cuneiforms from the cylinder . . . They're nursery rhymes!" "Why is that a problem?" Tarfn gasped in frustration. "Why? This is a bloody artifact of imperial Mir! Gods are obsessed with its acquisition! The Sinari besieged Myr-Kun just so we could recover this and what do I find? Nursery rhymes!" "On the rubbings from the cylinder?" asked the man at the window, suddenly interested. "Yes!" "Not on the tablet or mirror itself?" "No, I haven't gotten that far yet." "Oh. Tell me when you have." The translator lowered his head into his hands and sighed. "Nursery rhymes," he muttered in disbelief, his voice lost in the din of the rain. *** Granthtan dropped an armload of journals onto the table and poured himself a cup of water. He had no desire to know the details of the conversation he had arrived too late to witness. The Warlord and the Archmage sat in icy silence across the table from each other. Nioratosa sulked at the opposite end of the table. "Where should I start?" the Chief Archivist asked. "At the beginning," quipped Ria and, when no other instructions were forthcoming, he began. "Imperial Mir was founded by Dioya the First in 2750 B.E. He did so under the blessing of the goddess Miracradsa and was the first to wear the Crown and Scepter of rulership blessed by her. Shortly thereafter, obeahism was declared an arcane form unworthy of continued study. Technically, that's the beginning. "The situation with the Eerith begins later, around 500 B.E. when Mir goes to war with the northern empire of Rian a'Avaerand. The historical details are very sketchy from that time. We know that both sides were using increasingly dangerous and reckless arcane powers and relics. We also know that they fought with the blessings of their respective gods. It's been speculated that by the end, avatars of these gods were directly leading the forces. "In 427, Mir invaded the Avaerandian islands and unleashed unprecedented magics. Again, specifics are absent or conflicting, but we do know that the end result was that the island chain, along with the combatants, ceased to exist: maybe sunken, maybe blown into a different dimension, maybe a lot of things. Most likely explanation is that they were literally blasted out of existence and destroyed utterly. The war is over and, other than a lot of widows and orphans, Mir is pretty well off. "However, part of Avaerand appears to have survived the destruction in the form of Annaeyana. We currently know it as a great floating city but, at the time it was discovered, it seems to have been a desolate piece of rock. My own theory is that Annaeyana is a portion of one of the islands which was thrown clear of the cataclysm. Mir pounces on the new territory and, over the following centuries, turned it into a gigantic city-fortress hybrid that was used to spearhead the expansion of the empire. "The added bonus to Annaeyana, from a Mirrish perspective, was that it was inhabited. Today we call the spirit-creatures occupying the city the Eerith, but as I have told some of you earlier, that word is not used to describe them until relatively recent history. For reasons unknown, these arcane workhorses served the Mirrish empire as slaves. "Now, in 90 (still B.E.), the Archmage Agatius was exiled to southern Videssia. This doesn't seem to be related except for the Onagir. The first thing Agatius did once he resecured a position of power was begin the genocide of the Onagir, an ongoing effort that ended only a year ago when the Eerith, again for no known reason, suddenly showed up and started defending them." Nioratosa interrupted. "We've all studied the histories. What do we gain by going over this all again?" Before Granthtan could answer, Ria turned a withering gaze on the young mage. He fell silent and Ria nodded to the archivist to continue. "Up until 70, everything is fairly clear. Even the questions of what destroyed Avaerand and why the Eerith chose to become slaves are largely scholastic and of little bearing on the average citizen of the empire. Obviously, the fall of Annaeyana changes that. "In 72, Archmage Lorgrenese, with Annaeyana, led the core of the imperial army against the city of Bega. It was logical that he would seize the port in order to insure the northern supply lines of the imperial troops in the desert. Interestingly, at least to me, in his own journals, the Archmage does not speak of military concerns. In some of the last entries before he left the Mirrish capitol, he discusses Bega only as 'a favor for my brother.' I should point out, Lorgrenese had no brother. "It has been speculated that his forces were attacked by the dark god Alatta, Avaerand's god. That the god had been lying dormant until the proximity of Annaeyana to the northern coast somehow awoke a kind of final vengeance. In light of recent events, it's more likely that the Sinari's legend of the schizoid god Sin-Alb attacking the city is closer to the truth. It is that legend that says Sin-Alb attacked the Mirrish forces and, realizing his defeat, Lorgrenese imprisoned the god within the city before he died. "Whatever the truth, we know that the Mirrish army was broken and Annaeyana was sealed in some form of arcane shell or prison. Those who survived or were absent from the battlefield retreated to Myr-Kun. As the empire collapsed in the wake of the defeat, they remained there. Presumably, everyone within Annaeyana proper was slain. We know that some Eerith escaped the destruction and that it is their belief that the remainder of their people survive within the prison, possibly sleeping or in some similar passive state. Obviously, the Sinari believe that Sin-Alb also survives imprisoned within the city. "I mention the founders of Myr-Kun specifically because their own histories show that they carried from the battlefield an artifact supposedly entrusted to them by the Archmage on the eve of the battle. That artifact was what we now call the Golden Mirror and, like the other relics of imperial Mir, its location was lost. In this case, I suspect the Mirror was deliberately hidden." Granthtan stopped to drink from his cup of water. "And we need the Mirror to access the Cedonian Oracle," added Eubatrosa. Granthtan shrugged. "If you say so. I haven't been part of that discussion. The texts don't say what the Mirror does, exactly. I do know that if it fails, the Oracle is probably silenced forever. Although we didn't know who was behind the attack at the time, it's fairly clear now that Tarfn was behind the slaughter of the priesthood that tended the Oracle. That, combined with the Sinari assault on Myr-Kun seems to suggest a connection." "So you think they invaded Myr-Kun to get the Mirror?" asked Eubatrosa. "Couldn't say. Let me finish on the history. The recent part of things: Sin-Alb, or whatever is in Annaeyana, is awake, don't know why, could be because we kept trying to dispel the shield, could be something else. Tarfn was probably working for him-it-for decades before the Oracle forced his hand. The Oracle prophesies for the first time in centuries. Tarfn has all the priests killed to silence it. Sin-Alb's seeresses stir up the faithful behind their imprisoned god, and Tarfn kills the old Archmage Netra, leaving Mir in too much confusion to realize what was happening until the floating city is on the move and we face a jyhad." "And that brings us up to the present?" Ria asked patiently. "Except for one thing: I'm not convinced that the Oracle's prophecy is completed yet." "One friend turns on another--Tarfn kills Netra the Third. A great city at the edge of a desert is besieged from above and from the ground--Myr-Kun and the Sinari and Sin-Alb in Annaeyana. A dark and ancient power awakens and the fate of the world teeters on the edge of a sword--Sin-Alb and the Sinari. That which was great shall be cast down or rise again--Imperial Mir. Seems pretty straightforward to me," replied Eubatrosa. "I hope so. I really do. I've just seen too much happen in the last decade to take anything at face value, especially a prophecy of the Oracle." "So where does that leave us now?" the Warlord asked. Eubatrosa answered. "We have to kill a god." "That sounds easy enough. With what?" "I don't know yet. First, we get the Oracle back and hope that it can tell us. That means finding the Mirror. Second, we need to break open the spell around Annaeyana." "And set Sin-Alb free?" Niotrosa said in disbelief. "He can already act through it. It's not his prison anymore; it's his shield. Open it up and we can get at him. On top of that, we need the Eerith, remember? Part of that deal was to free their people trapped in the city." "And for that we need?" "Crown and Scepter," Ria answered. "Together they represent the full authority of the goddess Miracradsa. No mortal working can withstand that." "Assuming that the prison was really Lorgrenese's work," observed Granthtan. Eubatrosa nodded. "An assumption we'll have to make. An assumption, by the way, that the Eerith seem to share. I have the Crown. Niotrosa leads the search for the Scepter. Ria, you'll have to convince the bordering nations to help us and, if you can't stop the Sinari, at least slow them down. Dioya . . . Where is Dioya? I haven't seen him in almost a week." "Travelling," mumbled Ria and she exchanged a nervous glance with Granthtan. "He'd better be back soon. He knows the north the best. He and Gran . . ." "I'm going back to the Onagir," the librarian announced. Eubartosa sighed. "We'll discuss it later. Come up to my quarters after dinner tonight. Anything else?" "Nothing that can't wait," replied Granthtan. With that, the meeting was dismissed. *** She was awake the moment he touched her shoulder. Rahi looked up at Valor's blue-flame eyes and lowered the tip of her spear from his throat. "I have to go," he whispered as she sat upright on her cot. "I'll get Hope. Sara and Useful can take care of things without us here." Valor shook his head. "Alone." "Unacceptable," she replied and nudged Hope awake with the butt of her weapon. "I have to travel quickly. I can't take you." As Hope rose silently, Rahi stood her ground. "Nonsense. I'm not sure if even you realize it yet, Valor, but you are a god. Not a myth like Albous, not a dangerous fragment of a god like Sin-Alb, not even a distant 'I'm beyond your comprehension so worship me and hope for the occasional avatar' like Miracradsa --you are a true god. And I am your High Priestess. Where you go, I go, and for you, there is no impossible." "You assume." "I know." He smiled in spite of himself. "And with belief, all things are possible. You win. Gather your things." "We are ready now." It was her turn to smile. "Hope and I have always been ready to leave since we arrived. For the others, this was a destination. For us, it is a way station." Hope stood silently beside her, clutching a pair of packs and bedrolls. "You are wise beyond me," Valor teased. "That's what High Priestesses are for." Valor let his mortal form dissolve into a golden light. The globe expanded to include his companions and then faded to darkness, leaving an empty room behind. *** Eubatrosa leaned forward and extended his hands toward the fireplace. "I can't seem to get warm these days. The whole world's gone cold," he said to Granthtan as the librarian entered his chambers. The Chief Archivist crossed the room slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, and took the chair across from the Archmage. "It comes with getting older. Living by the sea doesn't help either." The Archmage nodded. "Can't be helped. So, what's all this about the Onagir that you're so obsessed with? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the only one in this room getting older." Granthtan chuckled softly. "And an old man with a cane is not exactly the optimal choice for an anthropologist. This is a job better suited to Asadu but . . . We work with what we've got." "Sad but true. Tell me what you're after." "I have a theory. It's only that, at the moment; but there's a lot of evidence to support it. I think I know what the Eerith are and where they came from." "You have my attention." "I don't think the Eerith know how to tell us what they are, so I think they are showing us. Let me start there. I started investigating all of this when Kernin saved me from an assassin." "I remember. Dioya thinks that the Eerith staged the entire thing to get your attention." "I agree. I'm an archivist, true, but my specialty is history. They sent me after the journals of Lorgrenese, who turned out to be a specialist in linguistics. His consort was an Onagir, and he talks about discussing things with and doing favors for his brother. Nothing in any of the histories indicates that Lorgrenese ever had a brother. What is indicated is that he had an extremely close relationship to the Eerith. I'm convinced that it's a reference to Valor's first incarnation. "As soon as I finish reading Lorgrenese's journals, the Eerith grab me and spend a year taking care of me while I sit in the southern forests watching Onagir rituals. Watching and only watching; they absolutely would not let me get close enough to speak to them. One year to the day, and then they take me back to the same exact place they took me from: Lorngrenese's vault. "In that year, I saw two things. I think I actually saw a lot more, but right now, two things strike me as immediately significant. First off, the Onagir are definitely obeah." "Impossible," interjected Eubatrosa. "All the teachings of Mir are to the contrary." "So? In 1808 B.E. a commissioned study of obeah concluded, quote: 'The practice of obeah is innocuous and inefficient. Inasmuch as it is neither a threat to the empire nor an efficient form of arcane investigation, it is our opinion that, in the eyes of Mir, obeah is invalid and infeasible.' Unquote. I studied those texts so much after I returned that I have that section memorized. After that, obeah was dismissed--but never disproved. Respectfully, Archmage, there's a difference between 'invalid and infeasible' and 'impossible.' Obeah is definitely possible and practiced. It's the effectiveness that is in question." "Hedge wizards, then. How effective is it?" "That's the second thing. It's mostly minor curatives, crop blessings, typical folk magic but, I've seen at least one of their workers call forth an Eerith-- sort of." "What do you mean?" "Obeah is predicated on trans-deific spiritualism. Each thing, tree, rock, river, whatever, has its own spirit. Each specific spirit is part of a larger spirit, like each river is part of a greater system-spirit of waters. Taken to its logical conclusion, all of creation is one spirit. The various techniques of obeah relate to methods of calling on these spirits and convincing them to do the summoner's bidding." "Why do you call it 'trans-deific'? Most spiritualist belief systems are either non-deific or pantheistic." "Right: Either they worship everything or nothing. Obeah is neither. It's largely unconcerned with deities. If anything, it worships creation itself. Let me give you an example. We worship Miracradsa, the goddess of magic. In the eyes of Obeah, she's a big spirit. It's the same as if we worshipped the spirit of the waters. We've singled out a specific aspect of creation, personified it, and decided to worship that symbol." "But that not true. Miracradsa is a high god, not a big spirit." "So say you and I, but the workers of Obeah would differ with you. Actually, they probably wouldn't; from what I've seen, they are a non-confrontational bunch. But you tell me, where in their reasoning are they wrong? Miracradsa is the personification of magic, in our eyes. If she is a high god, by definition, doesn't she exceed our capacity for comprehension? If so, we, necessarily, have to simplify what we know of her into a symbolic personification." "I respect your scholarly interest, but I've no wish to share your blasphemy." Granthtan shrugged. "One man's blasphemy is another man's search for intellectual honesty. Either way, the fact remains that, on a functional level, obeah works. I've seen the Onagir call the spirits once from a tree and twice from a river. As far as I can tell, these spirits are Eerith, but with one key difference. When the rituals are over, the spirits go home, back into whatever they were summoned from. The Eerith, obviously, don't. "I went back to the records from the end of the Avaerandian wars. They don't talk about the Eerith. They talk about ghosts of the dead, and will-of-the-wisps, and daemons. In other words, spirits without homes. I think that after the destruction of the Avaerandian islands, the spirits of the land, the dead, all the obeah spirits, they couldn't go back into their 'houses' and what we got were the Eerith. Normally, things aren't destroyed. They die or burn or collapse or degrade--but they don't cease. The spirits, the energies, go on into a different form. As far as I know, Avaerand is the only time something has been truly removed from existence. "Now, I'm guessing that if it has happened, it never happened on this level. Normally, these spirits might eventually disperse or be reabsorbed by their surroundings. This would go a long way towards explaining phenomena like hauntings. "The Avaerandian war was hardly normal, however. And guess who the Council brought in to deal with their infestation of ghosts?" "Onagir?" "Onagir! Technically, they brought in Videssian exorcists. It took a while for me to chase down those records, since Videssia is in civil chaos right now, but I did it. Not surprisingly, these so-called ghost experts couldn't deal with the problem. But they brought their slaves with them, slaves which happened to be captured Onagir. Unlike their masters, some of these Onagir could deal with the Eerith. Once the Videssians discovered this, what ensued amounted to a forced migration of entire tribes of Onagir into Mir, almost ten thousand in total. "Examine the city records of Mirabalpur itself. Those racial ghettos are still in existence today. The descendants of these initial tribes were so completely part of Mir's populace, that, in 58 B.E., Lorgrenese took one as his consort--Lorgrenese, the same man who called an Eerith 'my brother' and went to Bega on that same 'brother's' business!" The Archmage shifted in his chair and reached toward the fire again. "I'm not convinced of all of this, but I think you've got enough there to justify going back. Will the Eerith take you again or do you want to launch a full-scale expedition? Given the political situation in Videssia right now, I'm not sure how safe you'll be." "I think its safe to assume the Eerith will take me. After all, they've led me by the nose this far." "But they brought you back here, too." "I think they understood that I needed to put what I'd seen into perspective. Probably wanted me to pass along the information, too, just as I'm doing. If they don't want to take me back to the Onagir, it will be because they have somewhere else I need to be." "If you need it, get back to me and we'll set up an expedition." "Of course," answered Granthtan. The two men spent several minutes watching the fire burn, letting the concepts settle into their minds. "Did you know that the Onagir use east as the top of their maps? The sun rises in the east so that's the way they face their maps," volunteered Granthtan. "That's interesting," replied the Archmage. They fell silent again until Granthtan could stay silent no longer. "There's more." "I thought there might be." "75 B.E.--first recorded mention of the Sinari religion." "When was Bega, again?" "72." "So the Sinari predate the fall of Annaeyana." "Probably. It's pretty close; the date could be an error." "Hmm. And after Bega?" "Not much change for a few years, and then the Sinari population had a large increase." "How does that compare to the population of the Shanari of the same time?" "Unbeliever population seems to have remained constant. In the decade following Bega, the population of the northern deserts almost doubled, but all of the increase was in the faithful--the Sinari proper instead of the Shanari peoples--seeresses especially. Refugees from Agatius made up most of that. I've got really good records up until late 65 when the riots started." Eubatrosa rubbed his forehead and let out a soft groan. "We created them." "Looks like it." "Dioya always told me that the past was our future. I'm sure he'd appreciate the irony." When Granthtan did not reply, Eubatrosa continued. "How good are your language skills?" "A lot better lately. I've had to do a lot of translating." "What does Dexter Tallus mean?" "Well, dexter and sinister are usually directional references like port and starboard or right and left. Dexter would be right. Talus with one 'l' is chalk. With two 'l's it would be hand, or maybe paw if it were referring to an animal." "Both are pronounced the same?" "Tallus? Yes. Dexter tallus probably means 'right hand'." "What language?" "Most of them. With a few exceptions, most of the languages on Qaiyore originate from the same roots. There are variations, but dexter especially is at least archaic in most common tongues spoken today." "What would it mean to, say, the Onagir?" "The same thing. They are more symbolic in their use of language so context could affect the final translation, especially the connotations, of the exact phrase. Do you have a document you want me to take a look at? It doesn't sound that complex." "No, no need. Do this for me: don't leave until at least next week. The Sinari are sending a messenger and I might need you around." "Of course. I still have plenty of work to do here before I leave anyway. Any idea what they have to say?" "Probably a declaration of war," the Archmage replied. The two men sat in silence watching the fire burn, each afraid to be alone in the dark. *** K'la found herself torn between disgust and amazement. The specifics of plot were disdainful; but the sheer, cunning savagery of the Reverend Mother's design made her proud to be chosen as a part of it. The Sinari had sent three seeresses to Mir. Three where one would have sufficed,--three because not all would return. The other two she cared little for: tools at best. The ewe and the lamb she called them in her mind--the breeder and the sacrifice she had whelped. They had reached the docks of Mirabalpur late in the day and K'la had been concerned to see only guards on the pier. Word of their coming should have preceded them and the lack of dignitaries to receive them concerned her. The guards had been as she had expected in this foreign land of insufficient godlings. Rude and piggish, they had dared so much as to manhandle one of the women. Had not her own protector stepped in, they surely would have carried the holy vessels away to be rapined and left for dead. The boy had come then, more to protect his own man than of any interest for the women. K'la had been glad her veils hid her face. She had almost laughed aloud with joy to see, of all the Mirrish fops, they had sent the boy. Sixteen years prior, the Reverend Mother had initiated a sister considered by most to be wholly unsuited to the rigors of the sect. Of this acolyte, the Mother had asked a unique service, one unsuitable for the others, a service which demonstrated the Mother's vast wisdom in choosing such a flawed vessel as an initiate. And, when a female student of small promise had arrived in Mirabalpur requesting instruction, had they questioned? If only more of the desert people would realize their primitive ignorance and come begging to suckle at the teats of Mirrish knowledge, perhaps someday the desert would become civilized. It was a source of amazement that more of the savages did not recognize the inherent superiority of Mir and come to beg their indulgence. No, they had never questioned. When that young student had turned her smile toward the Archmage's son, did he practice the vaunted restraint of Mir? Did this Niotrosa stand firm in the supposed high morals of which his father spoke so loudly, or did he take advantage of a blossoming desert flower? Oh, but his conscience was soothed, for the temptress had weakened his will with wine and surely no man could be held accountable for his actions in the face of such incredible subversion. The girl had been in Mirabalpur less than a month before she had returned to the sisterhood triumphant and swelled with child. K'la had watched with satisfaction as Mir's favorite boy swaggered down the pier and lectured her piously on proper conduct and religious propriety. Then he had turned to her companions and found his indiscretion, mother and child, returned from his past. He had lost much of his bluster then, bolstering his flagging manhood by chastening the harbor guard. She would have demanded a greater punishment, but the angels were with them and she knew they would pursue justice on her behalf. They had passed a tense night. There was the small chance that the Archmage would see the threat the child presented and that he might have the strength to order the murder of innocents. K'la need not have worried; he did not. Dawn came at last and with it, the meeting with the Mirrish council. She had followed the forms, demanding the execution of the rogue magi who had attacked the Sinari. K'la knew they would refuse, of course, because the attack had not been rogue magi but, instead, a force lead by Niotrosa himself. Following the refusal, she had delivered the formal declaration of war and held her breath, hoping that Mir would take the bait. It was the Archmage himself who swallowed the hook, boldly demanding that Niotrosa's daughter remain in Mir. Oh the drama that ensued--K'la's righteous indignation, the terrible truth presented to the child, her father waiting with open arms to reclaim his lost child, the tearful reunion--it was touching, compelling, so real. After the hours spent rehearsing their parts, all three of the seeresses were utterly convincing. The lamb would remain with the father she had never met, but she would tearfully part from mother and Sinari sister, in the process, passing to K'la the lock of hair surreptitiously clipped from Niotrosa's black locks during their embrace. The barbarian Sinari were dismissed and the prodigal child returned to the fold. At the end, K'la was left to marvel once again at the Reverend Mother's wisdom. Every gamble had been successful and every prediction of Mirrish weakness proved true. If these gullible children were, in truth, the chosen of Miracradsa, then the godling suffered from an incredible lack of judgment. Or perhaps, K'la mused, the godling had chosen them for their malleability and her amusement rather than any merits they might possess. K'la had consoled her sister at the docks, her heart softened by the others grief. Despite the necessities, she was sympathetic to the pain of the mother leaving the child in foreign hands. K'la was sorry, too, that the ewe must leave alone. K'la's own work here was not yet finished. The ewe's sorrow had left her shaken and K'la had stood watching the ship until it passed over the horizon. As the sun began to set, the seeress set aside her contemplations and turned away from the docks, back to the city of Milabalpur, one final task to complete. *** The Warlord grabbed Dioya by the elbow and steered him out of the hallway into an empty office. "Why didn't you warn me?" she demanded. Dioya's face shimmered and dissolved into the more familiar features of the Eerith Reese. Though regrettable, the masquerade had been necessary to hide the absence of the senior mage. "Warn you of what?" the Eerith replied. "The child! Do you realize the significance of this?" Reese nodded. "Probably better than you do. Consider, Niotrosa has publicly acknowledged the child as his own. The child is also a member of the Sinari sisterhood. Debatably, he may have just accepted the entire Sinari priesthood as extended family." Ria cursed and then, deeming it insufficient, cursed again, louder. "This is bad." "Indeed. But a warning would not have helped you or changed the situation so I did not feel obligated to render one." "You should have told me anyway. Any word on Dioya?" "He remains unseen. It is possible, Warlord, that he is dead. Speaking of which, you'll want to appoint new guards to the docks." "What is that supposed to mean?" "I mean that the current guards are dead." It seemed to be a good day to curse and Ria felt the urge to practice. "Did you." The Eerith pressed a finger against his lips and Ria fell silent at the gesture. "If you ask me that, I will answer," he stated ominously. A general does not survive long without learning to choose her battles. Ria turned and stalked from the room. *** The seeress wandered the streets of Milabalpur until she began to tire. She was lost but in no real danger. The angels were with her and the boy would be along to find her soon enough. K'la walked to the stoop of a building and sat, listening to the sounds of the city. "You will leave this island, old woman." K'la did not look up at his approach. His words were no more of a surprise to her than his arrival. She stood before speaking. "Of course, if I refuse, you will surely summon a horde of sorcerers to deal with me by force." "If I must." "Yes, I suppose that one pampered boy is far from enough to thwart the will of Sin-Alb." "It is Miracradsa's will that is performed on this island and not the will of Sin-Alb," Nioratosa declared piously. "Of course. It is understandable that the religious purity of Mir cannot be expected to withstand the corrupting influence of a single worshipper of a differing god. Truth is fragile and must be jealously guarded against the competition of thought." Nioratosa grabbed her by the arm. "That's enough from you." "Peace, boy. I remained behind for personal reasons, not religious. Guide me to the site I seek and I'll go when I'm done." "Why should I indulge you?" K'la shrugged. "Do this for me and I will tell you things of value to you. I wish to see the courts of Mir, the place of your laws and so-called justice, that I may judge it for myself." He was reluctant, but agreed and began to lead her through the maze of streets. "The building is closed for the night. You can stand on the street and gawk at it like the tourist you are." "Tell me, boy: why do you worship this Miracradsa?" "She is a high god and worthy of worship due to her very nature. She is the source of our power. She is our protector and has given Mir the artifacts of its power." "I understand. The love of Mir may be purchased with trinkets. That is the core of our difference. Your god purchases your love with gifts and favors. Mine demands service and sacrifice. Truly I wonder, who worships whom in Mir?" "We're here. Look and be gone." K'la took her time studying the building, its columns and statues standing shaded in the darkness of the night. "What are the laws ensconced here based upon?" "They are the laws of Mir." "Nice; very circular. You know, 'heathen' may be a relative term but 'wrong' isn't. There are absolutes in this world and they are as implacable as the sea. You may scream there is no good and evil and protest your right to special privilege until you grow hoarse from your own hubris, but the truth will grind you under like the stones of a mill. "The sins of the fathers are visited upon their sons," K'la continued. "What is sown will be reaped. These are facts, remember them. I promised to tell you something of value and I pay my debts. Look, listen: "See your statues? All your gods and symbols lined up in a row? Look closely. There, the scales, here and here, the sword. These are the symbols of justice. What holds these things? What is the instrument of their delivery?" "The gods," Niotrosa replied. "No--the right hand of the gods. And note what they do not carry. There is no balm of healing, no cup of mercy, not here, not for justice. Here is only unflinching balance of fact and the unrelenting sword of punishment. Justice knows no mercy and it is no respecter of persons. Actions are judged--not motives, not intents--only actions. Justice is more terrible than any god or monster: it is objective. These are your glimpses of the truth. See now with open eyes and behold your gods in their entirety, unblended. No god only gives and asks nothing in return. No evil goes unpunished. Know fear and tremble." "I've had enough of you, old woman." He spat out the words and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She could feel the shifting in the air as he drew power to himself. "Forgive him," she said aloud to the angels and dug her fingers sharply into his arm. "This transgression, I permit." The sky folded and they stood on the distant shore of the sea, far from Milabalpur. The boy jerked his arm away and cursed. "You crazy witch, you've clawed my arm." "Forgive me," K'la replied softly. "I was afraid, so great were your magics." Niotrosa sneered at her. "Come back to Mir again and I'll do worse than strand you here." He rubbed the welts rising on his forearm and uttered an incantation beneath his breath. The boy's body faded and he was gone. K'la waited by the waters. The black shawl that lay invisible against the darkness of her robes flowed away from her body in a black mist then knit together to stand before her--an angel clothed in black. It extended a hand. She scraped the boy's blood and flesh from beneath her fingernails and wiped them onto the angel's glove. She reached within the folds of her robes and withdrew the lock of hair the lamb had purloined. This too she rendered to the dark creature. "You've done well, very well," it told her gently. "I've tasted his workings and you've given me his fetish." The angel's visage changed to become that of Niotrosa. "With this, even his own family will be unable to discern him from me. "Yes, you've done very well indeed. Someone will be along to guide you home," it concluded and turned to mist, burning away like the fog at dawn. M. Keaton ---------------------------------------------------------------- To unsubscribe, send mail to celandra-off@phoenyx.net.
