by Martin Frowd
“Haste is the enemy of diligence, Wanderer Ryvyth,” said Zorgh, frowning at the younger Druid. Ryvyth, clearly recognising the direct quote from the Book of Thirteen Stars, the Druid Order’s most sacred text, swallowed whatever he had been about to say and was silent. “You have, of course, kept records of your investigations thus far?” Zorgh demanded. The younger Druid nodded. “You will give them to me now. They can assist my inquisition here, and free you to assist Wanderer Rhobyth in scouring the hills for the fugitives, as I ordered.”
Zorgh noted that his emphasis on the last three words was not lost on the other Druid, who flinched for a moment before reaching into a pocket of his robe and extracting a yellow recording crystal the size of his palm, which he handed over with perhaps a trace of sullenness clouding his respect. Disobey me again, boy – especially in front of a non-Druid! – and I’ll have you sent to the Fleshtearers after all. Zorgh was seething, though his face showed no hint of it. But he said no such thing aloud, if only because the mere existence of the Fleshtearers, and their eternal mission, was a secret from those not of the Order.
Instead, he took the crystal from Ryvyth and jerked his head toward the yurt flap. The other Druid looked about to protest again, but thought better of it, rose and exited the yurt, leaving Zorgh with the clan chief.
“My yurt is of course at your disposal, Master,” said Chief Zovyth, “if you wish to conduct your inquisition here. Duskwalker clan shall not fail you.”
You have already failed quite thoroughly, Zorgh did not say aloud. He gazed into the crystal, and letters, numbers and symbols began to appear within it, the elegant and efficient notation of the Druid Order. The Druid Master gripped the crystal and focused his trained will in a specific way and was rewarded by a beam of yellow light shining from the crystal to fall upon one stretched hide wall of the yurt. Where the light touched the hide, the same letters, numbers and symbols that danced and shimmered within the crystal’s depths were projected onto the hide in a larger size, more conducive to reading. Zorgh was unconcerned that Zovyth was still on his knees in the yurt, for the shimmering characters that formed Ryvyth’s collected reports were impenetrable to the old chief. Literacy was an art reserved to the Druid Order alone.
“I will start with those who knew the executed heretics, and the boy, most closely,” Zorgh declared, glancing through Ryvyth’s notations, which at least, he grudgingly admitted, appeared to be succinct and well organised. “Druid Ryvyth indicates in his notes, Chief Zovyth, that your woman Zarna is one such?”
“Indeed, Master, shall I send her in to you at once?”
Zorgh nodded, and the aged chief slowly got up from his kneeling position on the rug, his stiff bones outmatched only by the stiff pride that would not let him show weakness before a Druid, and left Zorgh alone for a moment in the yurt.
FOURTEEN: INQUISITION
“You sent for me, Master?” the young woman murmured as she slipped quietly into the yurt and stood, hands by her sides, eyes respectfully downcast to the hide floor.
“Yes. You knew the heretics, I understand. You were close?”
“I thought so, Master,” the woman said softly, eyes still trained on the floor. “Sheynsa and I – there were but four years between us, Master, and we were close, like sisters. I…looked up to her, always. We all did, all we who were girls together, Master, but Sheynsa and I, we had a special bond. Near-sisters. All the men watched her, and wanted her, Master – it was her eyes –” she stopped.
“Yes? Tell me of her eyes,” Zorgh demanded.
“Th-they were blue, Master. Like the Skyjewel is blue, when it rides the night skies. None of us had ever seen the like before – no-one else in the clan has ever had eyes that colour, Master.
“When Zaryth chose her to be his woman – he was already chief hunter, Master, the youngest our clan had ever seen, and so handsome too! – and she was still new in her womanhood, we were both so excited, I just as much as her. When she grew big with child, not long after, she promised me that we would always be close. Always.”
“And did she keep to her word?” Zorgh glanced at the shimmering Druidic notation projected on the side of the yurt, comparing the young woman’s answers with Ryvyth’s notes about her.
“Yes, Master,” Zarna responded in the same low tones. “From the very start, before even Zarynn was weaned, she would seek me out, include me, we would spend time together, even though she was a woman now and I still a girl, not yet reached the holy thirteenth year. When she went back to the yurts of the leatherworkers, after the weaning time, I was always the first one she asked to watch him through the day, until she returned with the setting sun. When I reached the holy thirteen in turn, and Zoran chose me, she helped me, prepared me, to become his woman. And still I would watch Zarynn for her, while she was at the leatherworking.”
“And yet you suspected nothing? In all the years you watched the boy, and by your own admission remained close to his mother, you saw no trace of heresy, nor of his unholy magic? Answer honestly, woman. Your life and soul depend on it.”
“Nothing, Master. Not a trace. I have – thought much about it, these last three days, since – since it all happened, Master. Icemoon rise and freeze me if I speak one word of a lie.”
“And what have you concluded?” Zorgh was impressed despite himself at the young woman’s composure in the face of his threat. Many other folk of the People, men as well as women, would have quailed and trembled before him, but not this one. Confidence, because she knows she is innocent and trusts the fairness of a Druid’s judgement? Or arrogance, because she knows she is guilty, of omission if not commission, but believes she will somehow escape righteous retribution where the other heretics did not?
“Always Sheynsa brought him to me to watch, Master. Always. Never did I watch him in their yurt, always in mine – first, the yurt of my father, and later, the yurt of Zoran, after I became his woman. Never did I think much of it before, for there were many other times that I was guest in their yurt, when they were there. And sometimes, I watched him and other younglings together. Sometimes many at once, and the yurt of Zaryth would have been too small. But now I wonder, perhaps they did not want me there unwatched – perhaps they were worried that I would find something that I should not, and raise alarm? When Druid Ryvyth caught them at their forbidden worship, he found – that is, so I heard from my Zoran-”, her voice caught for a moment as she spoke the name of the chief’s dead son, her soul-burned man. Zorgh waited for her to regain her composure, wiping away tears, and continue. “Forgive me, Master. I heard my Zoran say, that Druid Ryvyth had found them with forbidden items. I do not know what those were, only that Druid Ryvyth caught them with them. Perhaps they were worried that I would have found them, if I had been left in charge in their yurt.”
“Perhaps, indeed,” Zorgh agreed. Logical reasoning, from a female? Remarkable. He compared her account again with the notes of Ryvyth’s earlier investigations and found no discrepancy between the two. “Anything else? Think most carefully, woman. Anything that might help us understand how to catch other heretics sooner could save many lives.”
“I – I – do not know if it will help, Master-”
“I will be the judge of that. What is it?”
“Zaryth was the chief hunter. He could go out beyond the camp at any time. Deep into the wild, or to the ranges of other clans, to meet other men, as a woman may not. Perhaps – perhaps he was the heretic first, and turned my friend to wickedness?”
“Your thought is a sound one,” Zorgh nodded. It is almost a pity this one was born female. Almost. She demonstrates remarkable insight for her kind. If only her man had not died, she might at least have had a hand in shaping the next chief but one, once she had borne him. But now? Chief’s woman, yes, but the woman of his old age. She will still be young when she mounts his funeral pyre, and it is unlikely that any son she bears will inherit, unless something befalls the rest of this Zovyth’s existing brood. “Perhaps you are right.
Certainly, he could go places where she could not, where no woman could. He was older than your friend, yes?”
“Five summers lay between them, Master. He was already chief hunter with seventeen – one less than I have now! – and eighteen when he chose Sheynsa. Nineteen when Zarynn was birthed. The older hunters, they respected his skill and his leadership, Master, even though he was so young. No-one had ever heard of a chief hunter so young, not in this clan or any other, when Chief Zovyth elevated Zaryth. Old Chief Hunter Zalyth had been chief hunter for many years, since before I was birthed, but he was already near his thirtieth summer when he was elevated, and a very old man, near his fiftieth, when the Dark King called him to the afterlife. When he died, and Chief Zovyth declared Zaryth would follow him, the hunters all acclaimed him. They could not have guessed that he could be a heretic. None of us could.”
Zorgh nodded, reaching into a pocket of his robe and extracting a thin green thorn which he used as a stylus, utilising it to inscribe a few additional notations upon the yellow crystal, as the young woman’s testimony moved into areas that Ryvyth had evidently not covered. The surface of the crystal remained unmarked, but his notes appeared deep within it, and were projected on the yurt wall, beneath those that Ryvyth had already prepared.
“And the other leatherworkers? Would they say much the same of this Sheynsa as you say the hunters would say of Zaryth?” Zorgh inquired.
“I – yes, of course, Master. I – I cannot think it would be otherwise. They fooled everyone,” her composure cracked again and Zorgh waited, projecting more patience than he truly felt, as she sobbed.
“What of the boy, this Zarynn? Did no-one ever have reason to suspect that he was Gifted? That he had magics?”
“No, Master, never.” Zarna shook her head. “Until the night Druid Ryvyth caught Zaryth and Sheynsa in their wicked worship and – you must already know what took place then, Master-”
“Tell me in your own words.”
“Your will, Master.” She shuddered for a moment. “It was night, and all were in their yurts, but for the sentries, and Druid Ryvyth who had chosen to walk the camp. He had arrived only that morning, with the rising of the sun, and we had held a feast in his honour. The feast was over, and all had gone to their yurts to sleep. Of a sudden, there was shouting of men, screams and loud commotion in the camp. Zoran grabbed up his spear and ran from our yurt, to see what was occurring. He told me to stay inside,” she bit her lip, “but I heard the screams and I knew Sheynsa’s voice, so I ran out too, even though he had told me not to. I did not know what was transpiring outside, Master – I thought perhaps it was a raid by another tribe of the People. We are not close to any of the borders here, but we Duskwalkers are a small clan, and sometimes raiders will go deep for easier pickings. But when I ran outside, Zoran caught me, and shielded me with his own body,” she paused, sniffling and wiping away tears, “so I could not see what was happening, though I tried. When he let me go, it was all over. Zaryth, Sheynsa, and nearly a dozen hunters lay dead and burned black outside Zaryth and Sheynsa’s yurt, and there was blood everywhere. Little Zarynn was lying on the ground and not moving. They said – Zoran said – Druid Ryvyth had caught my friend, and her man – our chief hunter – at forbidden worship, that the Druid had called on the other hunters to seize them, but Zaryth had fought so hard that they could not take him alive, and Sheynsa had picked up one of the men’s spears and fought with it! – like a man! – so they had no choice but to slay her too. Then Zarynn, little Zarynn, had screamed at the hunters, and terrible grey fires had come from his hands and burned them all alive, and burned the – the – bodies,” her voice wavered again, “until they were black, and he had fallen into a faint and lay still.
“I did not want to believe it, Master, forgive me, I know that a woman must heed her man, but I could not grasp that my friend and her man could be evil, or that little Zarynn could work wicked magic and kill men. Not Zarynn, not our little moonbeam! But all said it was so, Master. So, the men dragged him off, and set a guard over him. And the next day, at the noon sun, we gathered at the stoning ground, by Druid Ryvyth’s word, for Zarynn to be stoned,” her voice shook. “Then came the outlander – should I continue, Master?”
“Proceed,” Zorgh affirmed.
“Then came the outlander, robed almost like a Druid, Master, but in black not brown – and he had boots on his feet,” she observed, “and he spoke the Tongue of the People strangely. His words were all true words, but he sounded them oddly. He worked magic that broke the stones into fragments. He pointed at Zanavan – Zanavan was a hunter, one of Zoran’s friends, Master – and Zanavan died on the spot. Zoran and the others tried to rush him, but he broke men’s bones with words. It was terrible, Master. There were wounded hunters everywhere, bleeding and broken.
“I tried to beg the outlander to leave us alone, Master. He said, if I rightly understood his strange words, that he had come all the way across the sea to find little Zarynn and take him away – though he did not know his name, Master. Forgive me, Master, I should have left it to Druid Ryvyth, or Chief Zovyth, to speak to the outlander, but I was afraid there would be more bloodshed and more lives lost. So, I tried to talk him down, but my Zoran interrupted. He was angry with me, Master, but I know it was because he was worried for me. But when he disciplined me, Master, Zarynn screamed at him, and he burned up! Burned black. Just like the men who killed Zaryth and Sheynsa. I did not want to believe it when they told me Zarynn had killed all those hunters, Master. Not our little moonbeam. But when I saw it with my own eyes – when he struck down my Zoran with his magics -”, she shuddered again, “I knew the little boy I had known was gone. And then the outlander called up a prison of bones out of the earth, to entrap us all, and took him, and was gone in truth.
“We were lucky that Druid Ryvyth was still with us, Master, and all the men are grateful for his healing powers. If not for him, many would have died three days ago, or would have died since when their wounds attracted the hungry spirits of rot and sickness.”
“A comprehensive account,” Zorgh nodded, making more notes on his crystal with his stylus. “Wait. That nickname you called the boy. Moonbeam?”
“Our little moonbeam? It was just a love-name, Master. Because of the moons, when he was born.”
“What of the moons, when he was born? Tell me,” demanded Zorgh. The Druid Master gripped his stylus carefully, listening intently for the answer.
“He was born at midnight, Master, with four moons aligned full in the sky, and another passing behind them. I had but ten summers then – I did not know the names of all the moons yet, but I remember that night well, Master. I was helping with the birthing, and I remember looking out of the yurt to see four full moons, all lined up – one behind another. I had never seen anything like it before, nor have I since.”
“An eclipse of four moons? Fascinating. And have you since learned the names of the moons you saw that night, woman?”
“Oh yes, Master. The sight has never left my memory, and my father told me the names later. Firemoon, Huntmoon, Tidemoon, and the Great Red Eye were all lined up that night, when little Zarynn was born, and the Dragonmoon was passing behind the Tidemoon. We made a little story of it later, Sheynsa and I, for Zarynn when he was old enough to understand it – a big red eye shooting fire at a hunter, as a dragon dived into the sea. Oh, but forgive me, Master,” she winced, “you will not want to hear of such childish things.”
Zorgh involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the declaration. Although he was of the Watch, not the Sighted, he suspected a four-moon eclipse was a rare occurrence indeed, and he made careful note on his crystal of the moons Zarna had named, in order to brief Archdruid Zarth on his return to the Keep. Perhaps Archdruid Zarth could bring the famously wise Archdruid Ranvyth of the Raven, who oversaw the Sighted, into his confidence. If he was not already. Zorgh suspected there was little indeed that the Raven Archdruid did not know, even if he did not always choose to take an interest.
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br /> “Does it suit you, to be Chief Zovyth’s woman?” Zorgh was not quite sure how or why the words escaped his lips. As if she had a real choice in the matter! Zorgh could not remember any previous time when he had ever asked a female her opinion, if indeed she had one to offer. Like his fellow Druids, if he thought of females at all, it was generally in the abstract rather than the individual, and then only as a regrettably necessary part of the breeding process to perpetuate the Twelve Tribes of the People, and thus the Druid Order.
“Does it-”, Zarna began to answer, and stopped, considering. Clearly, she was just as perplexed by his question as he was. Likely no man had ever asked her opinion either, let alone a Druid. “I do not want to die, Master,” she finally said quietly. An ambiguous answer. It could be taken to mean that yes, she would rather be Zovyth’s woman than be burned on Zoran’s pyre, if none had bothered to tell her that no such pyre would be set, as her slain man no longer had a soul to set free. Or it could be taken to mean no, because she had wit enough to see that grizzled old Zovyth would not last many more years and as his woman she was condemned to share his pyre, no matter how young and fit she might yet be when that day came, unless his successor claimed her. But now that the chief had chosen her as his own there was no other option for her.
“We are finished,” Zorgh declared after an awkward moment of silence. “You may go, woman. Send in the next of the leatherworkers.”
“Your will, Master,” Zarna said, and backed out of the yurt, never having lifted her gaze from the floor throughout the interrogation.