by James Gurley
Tad was surprised to see the Saddir girl on deck near the stern. She sat on a bench and stared at the water rolling by the boat. This time she wore a long white gown tied at the waist with a broad red swath of silk. Her white hair was unbound, a billowing cloud draped over her alabaster shoulders. Like all Saddir, her high cheekbones and narrow nose made her appear gaunt, but even beneath the long, thin gown he could see well-muscled legs and arms. Hanat had often worn short pants during the Caravan journey. Saddir musculature and anatomy was very nearly identical to Terran except for a longer femur bone in the leg and an additional bundle of muscles running along the side from the hip to just beneath the ribcage. Tad decided to take a chance and speak with her.
At first, she did not see or hear him approach, so he coughed politely, “Ahem.”
She startled, looking as if she might leap up and run away, but she quickly smiled and relaxed. “Oh, hello.”
“My name is Tad de Silva,” he began.
“Mine is Lousa. Ket is my father.” She paused. “Our companion is Daret.”
Did she frown slightly when she mentioned Daret, he wondered. “Lousa? I’ve heard that name before.”
“Oh, it is a common in …” she caught herself. “The island I come from,” she finished.
He wondered if she was about to say something else. Tad tried to recall some of the Saddir history he had read in the Library at the Watcher’s Tower in Delphi. “Wasn’t Lousa one of your queens?”
A look of surprise cross her face, and then smiled. “Yes she was. There were several Lousas during a time when Queens ruled the Saddir. How did you know?”
“Oh, just curiosity about the Saddir. I read it somewhere.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Curiosity?”
“I knew a Saddir named Hanat, a friend. I wanted to know more about his history. Several of the Saddir began to call me Tushima. I suppose it was their little joke.” He laughed.
She stared at Tad with her mouth open before recovering her dignity. “Tushima? A Terran? No, they would not make light of this honorific. If they deemed you worthy of Tushimara, then you accomplished a selfless act worthy enough to impress them. My father was right about you, Tad de Silva.” Realizing that she had revealed more than she should, she turned away and began to look at the river. “The river is beautiful, is it not? So calm and restful, unlike the sea. Our trip to Mors Point was horrible. Five days of storm kept us in our cabins. Only the day before we reached Mors Point did the skies clear and the sea calm.”
“You don’t like staying in your cabin?” he ventured.
“No, but father says we should not …” She stopped before completing her thought. “I prefer the sun.”
Tad looked at the two suns, now almost side-by-side in the morning sky. “So do I.”
“Cleodora looks so different here. It is difficult to get used to.”
This puzzled Tad. “Oh, I would have thought Corycia and Cleodora would appear much the same even in the Outer Islands, though Melaina might be more visible in the southern hemisphere.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “That is what I mean. The two suns look brighter and closer here in the north.”
A man’s voice called sternly from behind him. “Lousa. Please come below.”
He turned and saw Ket standing there looking at him disapprovingly. Tad turned back to Lousa and saw a look of regret in her face. “Yes, father,” she answered. She left without making eye contact with him, but Ket’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary after Lousa had descended the stairs.
After they had left, Tad decided something was going on among his three Saddir companions. They claimed to be prospectors, but expected to find palladium in the Waste though they had never been there. If they’re from the Outer Islands in spite of their regional tattoos, then I’m King of Delphi. Lousa had revealed more than she realized, but it was just enough to tantalize him. The others spoke little, perhaps fearing to reveal too much. Clearly, Ket had heard of Hanat. How was this possible if Ket had never been to Delphi or Churum?
The delicate problem of facing Ket or speaking with Lousa solved itself by the trio’s remaining in their cabins while Tad slept beneath the awning on the stern. He passed the time playing chess with Captain Winset, compared his knot tying skills with Zak’s and lazed away the hours in thought or napping. The scenery grew old quickly. Almost hourly, the land grew harsher, drier and more barren.
Mid afternoon of their second day on the river, the land on each bank began to climb toward low foothills. In places, the river had cut through chalky bluffs the color of fresh butter that towered over the river and seemed to lean precariously over the water. Birds roosted on ledges and in small crannies in the bluff. Several streams, muddy with silt, emptied into the White, staining it a coffee color that quickly dissipated. Tad learned from the captain that the White River had received its name from its discoverer, Thaddeus White, and not because of its color, which was decidedly not white.
Forests of Terran oak and pine and native species, such as black-leaved pani and lace-fan trees began to creep down toward the shoreline from the low mountains, but these ended abruptly as they neared Fridan. The river continued past Fridan for several more leagues, but quickly became shallower and impossible for the riverboat to navigate safely. Smaller, single-sailed skiffs with shallow drafts managed to carry small amounts of freight upstream to logging camps. Rafts of cut logs guided by men with long poles floated downriver to the docks at Fridan. On his return trips, the captain usually pushed a barge loaded with lumber and dropped the barge on the northern banks of the White above the delta where heavy wagons continued the journey that the barge could not make.
The city was, in fact, two towns. North Fridan on the northern bank had two long streets of houses, apartments, shops, theaters, inns and restaurants—a normal thriving city. Its sister city, Fridan on The Bluff south of the river, consisted of ramshackle shacks, two lumber yards, a small foundry for the iron ore mined nearby, a tannery and slaughterhouse supplied by herds of cattle grazing in the nearby fields that had once been forests, and, oddly enough, a walled monastery atop one hill slightly apart from the city.
The monastery, the Convent of the Good Saint, dedicated itself to Saint Pieter, credited with the idea of the Sanctuaries, which allowed a large portion of the population of Charybdis to survive the Veil Years. Why they had chosen Fridan for their Convent, a backwater city in a tortured land that had not been fortunate enough to deem a Sanctuary necessary, was a mystery to all but the score or so Brethren of St. Pieter who dwelt there, assiduously keeping apart from the other citizens.
“There she is,” the captain announced as they approached the city, “Fridan, cesspit of the world.” He laughed and blew his steam whistle several times. Children flocked along the northern bank and followed the boat until it turned toward the dock on the south side of the river. “I dock here where the freight is,” he said. “River taxis will take you across the river to North Fridan if you want. The accommodations there are better.”
“How long will you remain in Fridan?”
“Until I get a load of freight and any passengers that might wish to return, usually a day or two.” He looked at Tad sadly and shook his hand. “Good luck, lad. Use my name if you have to. I’m pretty well thought of here about.” He laughed and added, “For the most part.”
Tad took Captain Winset’s hand and clasped it in both of his. “Thank you, Captain, for both the ride and for your friendship.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if I’ll be back this way, but if so …”
“Look me up,” the captain finished for him.
Tad went below the deck and gathered his small bag of belongings. He wanted to knock on Lousa’s door and tell her good bye, but realized that they were disembarking in Fridan as well. He might get another opportunity to see her. The river taxis were small rowboats that cost three copper crowns for a one-way ride. On the river, the foul stench of the slaughterhouse mingled with the astringent s
mell from the foundry and caustic odor of the tannery. Luckily for North Fridan, the prevailing wind blew from the north, confining the unpleasant odors to the south side of the river.
Once he reached the northern bank, the air was sweeter. He chose an inn two streets from the river because of the grove of cottonwood trees surrounding it, hiding it from the city like a fence. The matron of the house was a tall, spindly woman named Cleona Wisk. Her husband, Otis, worked in the sawmill, while their middle-aged son, Kurn, tended the small tavern on the ground floor and ran the restaurant.
He took a room on the second floor facing the denuded slopes behind the town. The room was larger and more luxurious than most he had been in since leaving the Black Tower, with a double bed with a duck down mattress, a wooden writing desk and chair, a lamp, a dresser and mirror, two comfortable upholstered chairs, and a small, attached bath. Several paintings hung from the walls, giving the room a homey, lived-in look that quickly put him at ease. Unfortunately, he would be staying in Fridan only long enough to learn more about the Waste and to purchase a pony and supplies. He wanted no repeat of Mors Point.
26
The MONASTERY OF
ST. PIETER
BY NIGHTFALL, TAD GREW RESTLESS WITH STITTING ALONE IN his room. He walked the streets of the town, noting that once again, mostly Terrans lived there. A solitary Saddir shopkeeper standing behind the counter looked out of place among the Terrans. A small group of Quarn drove by in their sungliders, eliciting a few surprised looks from pedestrians. Tad wondered how the Quarn managed to keep the solar powered machines operating in a land where electricity was too often deadly. Much of their technology was secret, perhaps another reason they kept to themselves. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of his three riverboat companions, but to no avail. He was surprised to see Zak leaving a store carrying a bundle.
“Zak. What are you doing here?”
“Captain’s laundry,” he said with a grin, holding up the package.
“Where are our Saddir guests?”
Zak scratched his head. “Strangest thing. They went directly to the Monastery. Why would they go there, you wonder?”
Tad wondered also. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find out.”
Zak laughed. “The captain said that if I told you where they went, you would say that.”
Tad laughed too. “The captain knows me too well. Do you know the town?”
The boy wrinkled his nose. “A little.”
“Where is the best place to eat?”
He turned and pointed to a large white building on the corner. Fridan House is the best, but it’s expensive.” He looked down the street and pointed to a smaller building at the edge of town. It was dark with stained wooden shingles and bore a large sign over the door. “Gillen’s Tavern is pretty good and a lot cheaper. Captain says the ale is better, too.” He thought a minute. “Of course there’s Rosa’s place across the river. It doesn’t have a name. The food stinks and the ale is watered, but the barmaids are prettier.” He smiled. “The captain told me.”
“Gillen’s Tavern it is then. Thanks for the advice.”
Zak waved his hand. “No problem. Captain says I give good advice.” He turned and hurried down the street bearing the captain’s laundry.
Tad wondered why the Saddir would visit the Monastery if they were prospectors. Few Saddir, as did few individuals of many other races, bothered with organized religion, especially one based on Terran Catholicism five centuries dead. From the texts in the Library, he had learned that Catholic priests had followed man into space in an attempt to convert the ‘heathen’ races, finding most reluctant to accept the concept of a risen savior. Gradually, under the reluctant auspices of the reluctant Pope, Catholicism had expanded to cover many Protestant tenets.
Since their arrival on Charybdis almost a thousand years earlier, most Terrans had lost their faith in an all-seeing, all-powerful, loving God of creation, replacing Him with a watered-down version and settling for an all-observing One True God whose priests were more often theosophists than theologians, equally discussing Haffan Ta, or the Gecks’ warrior culture as God. He had read that just prior to the Veil Fall, many believers had heralded the Veil’s arrival as the Second Coming, some even helping it along by going on rampages of destruction. Thousands died in mass suicides. Even after burrowing out of their underground Sanctuaries a score of years later, many still thought of the Veil as an act of God, cleansing the galaxies of sin like Noah’s Flood. If the survivors were the Chosen Ones, it had not taken men long to once again find sin, he thought bitterly. Encouraged by both aunt and uncle, he had grown up believing in the One True God, but after only a little more than half a year immersed in Delphi’s Veil intrigues, he was convinced of one thing: If God existed, He (Or She he mused) had turned a blind eye to the people of Charybdis. Only the monks of the Monastery held fast to the original Catholic faith.
Gillen’s Tavern was a lively place filled with loggers, foundry workers, butchers and townspeople, many still wearing the aprons or soiled clothing of their trades. A few well-dressed individuals, men and women wearing colorful suits or dresses like many he had seen in Delphi, mingled comfortably with the more drably attired guests. As Zak had predicted, the food was decent, served in large portions, and the house wine was surprisingly light and crisp. He had discovered a taste for wine since his arrival in Delphi. In Casson, his aunt and uncle—mostly his uncle—had allowed him a small glass of hard cider on special occasions. He knew from bitter experience that his body had no tolerance for liquor, but wine made him feel more adult. A duo playing piano and lute and singing with passable voices ran through a selection of bawdy tunes, much to the delight of the patrons at the long, polished oak bar. No one paid him the slightest attention, which was just as he wanted it.
After dining and a walk to settle his dinner, as Corycia followed Cleodora below the horizon, Tad sat on a wooden bench on a public walkway above the river. A brisk breeze kept the insect pests to a minimum, and the darkening sky was clear and bright. With his naked eye, he could not see the Veil returning, but he knew it was there, moving fast. Sea Hawk claimed to have seen the stars disappearing, but Tad was not familiar enough with the stars of the eastern hemisphere to discern this. He tried to dismiss such thoughts and wondered about the Saddir. If they were not as they seemed, how did their visit tie into the Monastery and the monks living there? He regretted that he had not opened and inspected one of the crates when he had the opportunity, but his mind did not work that way. He was new to the idea of spying. He wished he had one of Simios’s telepathic devices, but of course, he had no way to introduce it into the Monastery without entering himself. From what he had learned, the monks were intolerant of visitors; this was another reason why the Saddir’s visit did not ring true.
Returning to his rooms, Tad was surprised to hear a knock at his door a short time later. It was Cleona Wisk, the matron of the house, with a note in her hand.
“A message for you,” she said as she handed him the note. She stared at him with a mixture of distrust and awe. “It is from the Monastery.”
Tad glanced at the letterhead and saw the Brotherhood of St. Pieter seal. He read the short note quickly, and then re-read it.
“It’s an invitation to the Monastery,” he told Mrs. Wisk.
“But they never…” She did not finish, only shook her head slowly and walked away.
One problem solved. He had his way into the Monastery. The question was why. He suspected that it involved his three Saddir fellow travelers. As a precaution, he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants and slipped his knife into his boot. If there was trouble, he did not want to have to depend on his unstable powers.
On the way to the Monastery, he stopped to speak with Captain Winset. When he showed the captain his invitation, the captain made a pained expression.
“I smell trouble, lad. The monks never let anyone inside their walls. What food they cannot grow in their gardens and must purchase from outside is
left at the door until the deliveryman has departed. No one is even certain that they are Terran. Most have been there almost as long as Fridan has been here. If they have women, no one has seen them.”
“I am going armed,” Tad explained.
“Good! Don’t hesitate to defend yourself. If they seek to harm you, they are not godly. Shoot first and run. I’ll carry you back downriver.”
The captain’s attitude alarmed Tad. “You think there might be trouble?”
He looked sheepish. “I, er, had the opportunity to inspect some of the cargo. One crate belonged to our Saddir friends.” When he saw Tad’s smile, he added, “Just to make sure it was all shipshape, mind you. Anyway, what I found did not look like prospecting equipment to me.”
“What was it?”
The captain shrugged. “Electronic equipment of some kind.”
Tad was puzzled. “Electronic equipment? But there is no electricity here.”
The captain shrugged again. “Maybe they have a generator like I do.”
“Do they know you looked inside?”
“No, I resealed the crate without touching anything. No one saw.”
Tad was relieved. “Good. It’s a strange relief to know that they are indeed hiding something and that I’m not just overly suspicious.”
“You’ll be careful,” the captain warned.
“I will,” Tad promised.
He walked past the mill and tannery, both closed for the night, to reach the Monastery. If he needed help, there would be none closer than the river. The Monastery was a compound of several buildings surrounded by a high stone wall. Metal gates in the front wall were the only entrance. He rang the bell and waited. A man dressed in a hooded black robe opened a wooden door inside the gate and looked at him wordlessly. He could not see the man’s face clearly. The darkness and the shadow of the hood disguised most of his features, but he did notice the man’s square jaw dotted with a stubble of growth and his large, rough hands.