by D. P. Prior
Aristodeus rubbed his brow and sighed. “No one is going to be killed. At least not here. Not today. But,” he said to the councilors, “if you take no action, right here, right now, the worlds will be unmade, and if there is anyone left to tell the tale, which I sincerely doubt, your names will be cursed unto all eternity for doing nothing.”
“That, sir, is heresy, and you know it,” Moary said. “It was acting that nearly brought us to the brink of doom before. That is why we can do nothing. Every step we take into the affairs of the world may be a snare of the Demiurgos.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Aristodeus. “So you don’t even ask someone to pass the mustard in case it’s a trap. I knew dwarves were thick-skulled, but this is getting ridiculous. I’d tear my hair out, if I had any. I thought Lucius was getting through to you, but you went and had him killed.”
“It was his action that led to the finding of the black axe,” Grago said.
“Yes, well,” Aristodeus said. “I didn’t foresee that.”
“And what else haven’t you foreseen?” Shader said. “You claim you knew nothing about Dave, too, and yet you continue to interfere and manipulate. This is just a game to you, isn’t it? A game you’re not even certain of winning.”
Aristodeus’s eyes hardened. “It is no game, Shader. And if it were, the stakes are higher for me than for anyone else alive.”
“Because you’re so bloody important?” Rhiannon said. “Remind me to genuflect next time I see you.”
Nameless lurched into motion, and when he did, every dwarf in the ravine seemed to flinch. “Way I see it, Baldy here gave my brother the taste for action. Lucius found mention of the black axe in the Annals—”
“I had no idea about that,” Aristodeus said. “It shouldn’t have been there.”
“Which is why we have the code of non-action,” Moary said. “Even our histories cannot be trusted. I mean, well, what if the Demiurgos planted reference to the axe, hoping that someone would be foolish enough to go looking for it?”
“Lucius was no fool,” Nameless said. “His sin was to hope. To hope that the axe was a link to a glorious past, something we could take pride in. Surely it’s better to fall trying than never to try at all.”
“Tell that to the families of those you slaughtered, Butcher,” Grago said. “I think we can all see where this is leading.”
“I haven’t finished!” Nameless said.
Grago paled and stood rigid, mouth agape.
“Lucius only sought the black axe, but you—” Nameless took in the councilors. “—actually did something. You sent assassins and had him fed to the seethers. He didn’t get to act. You got there first. If you hadn’t killed my brother, I’d never have completed his work for him. There’s no telling how different things would have worked out then. For all his faults, Lucius was no warrior, so I doubt he’d have made much of a butcher. My point is, you were prepared to act then, but what are you prepared to do now?”
Thumil’s face lit up, and he spread his hands. “He’s right. If we do nothing, then we are complicit in the end of all things.”
“How do you know?” an extremely fat councilor said.
Moary scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, what if…”
“Oh, we need to start acting all right,” Grago said, “but in accord with our own reasoning. Our own agenda. I’ve been saying this for years, and yet it’s fallen on deaf ears. Certainty of purpose, a clear vision of who we are and what we want is—”
“Save it, Grago,” Cordana said. “We are not replacing the Demiurgos’s will with yours.”
“You have no right,” Grago said. “Just because you are the wife of a councilor—”
Aristodeus took his pipe back out and rapped the bowl against the stone of the archway until he had everyone’s attention. “None of us has the luxury to indulge your circular arguments. Whether you accept it or not, Sektis Gandaw has in his possession the Statue of Eingana. Even as we speak, he is commencing the Unweaving.”
All eyes looked to the sky. Besides a few soaring buzzards, there was nothing but an expanse of cobalt-blue and the glaring orbs of Aethir’s suns.
“Well, that’s all very well for you to say, but what if… What I mean is, what evidence do you have?” Moary asked.
“There was a brownish smog above the Perfect Peak,” Shader said. “That’s all we’ve seen.”
Hushed conversations echoed around the walls of the ravine.
“Then why are we still here?” Grago asked. “What’s taking so long?”
“It is not a fast process,” Aristodeus said, “unpicking every thread of Creation. And besides, I am reliably informed Gandaw’s plans have been set back.”
“Set back how?” Grago demanded.
Aristodeus held up a hand to silence him. “Be that as it may, we do not have unlimited time. A few days, a week at most, and then a great big nothing. When the lights come back on, assuming they do, Gandaw will be at the center of his own creation, and I doubt very much any of us will be perfect enough to feature in it.”
“So what are we expected to do?” Moary said. “Trust you again, even after Lucius? Even after you told us the Ravine Butcher could only be awakened by your voice, and yet here he stands?”
“Do nothing,” Shader said, sensing his chance.
“What?” Aristodeus said.
It seemed an obvious ploy. The dwarves were afraid to act, and yet here they were preventing anyone from leaving.
“Stand aside,” Shader said. “Keep out of our way. Is it not action to prevent our going?”
The white-robes turned to each other, clearly confounded.
“We only need to enter the mines,” Shader said, “so that we can travel to the roots of Gandaw’s mountain. All action will be ours, not yours.”
Aristodeus was grinning from ear to ear. He gave Shader a knowing wink.
Grago took a stranglehold on his beard and shook his head. “Clever. Very clever. But, is it not the case that willful non-action is itself still an action, albeit a negative one? No, my brother councilors, we cannot let them go, for in doing so, we may still be found culpable.”
“That’s illogical, incoherent, and idiotic, Grago,” Aristodeus said, “and you know it.”
“You’re wasting your breath, laddie,” Nameless said.
“I agree with Councilor Grago,” the fat dwarf said. “But it’s more than a case of—what was it you said, Grago?—‘willful non-action’. If we allow these people to enter the mines, we are, in effect, opening the mines to them. We need no more complicated argument. We are prohibited, by our own laws, from granting outsiders admittance, are we not?”
“Balderdash!” Aristodeus fumed.
Thumil shrugged. “An excellent point, Councilor Bley, which leaves us with only one solution.”
Expectant eyes were upon him, and Thumil seemed to grow in stature, as if he were a professor lecturing a class of awed undergraduates. The funny thing was, they seemed to swallow it.
“If we prevent them from leaving, we are guilty of the act of preventing.”
Begrudging nods of agreement.
“If we admit them to the mines, we are guilty of the act of admittance.”
More vigorous nodding this time.
“So, what are you going to do if we ignore you and enter the mines anyway?” Shadrak said, a wicked smirk on his face.
“Then you would be forcing us to act in preservation of the law,” Thumil said. “And if we are forced, we cannot be held culpable. Marshal Vayn.”
“Councilor?” A hardened old red-cloak stepped forward and saluted.
“Take a legion and see no one enters the scarolite mines.”
Shader shook his head as the marshal barked a few commands and a ripple of troop movement ran across the walkways. “And I thought you were—”
Thumil held up a finger. “You are free to go, so long as you steer clear of the mines.”
“Are you an imbecile, Thumil?” Aristode
us said. “Don’t you care about the Unweaving?”
“Shog him,” Shadrak said. “Let’s go it alone, if these scuts are too stupid to do anything.”
“How?” Shader said. “You saw those things around Gandaw’s mountain. How are we going to get inside?”
Shadrak shut his eyes, as if thinking. When he opened them, he shrugged. “Shogged if I know. Raise an army?”
“Twat,” Rhiannon said.
Aristodeus growled something.
“Could always try New Jerusalem,” Nameless said. “The senate’s got a fair few legions.”
“Actually,” Aristodeus said, instantly brightening, “that’s not such a bad idea. Do you have influence with the senate?”
Nameless shook his helmed head. “Never even been there, but you hear things. My pa used to say there were always folk from New Jerusalem showing up at the mines, wanting to buy scarolite on the sly.”
“And did they?” Grago asked.
“Not for me to say. Point is, they have an army that would dwarf ours, excuse the pun. Sounds like the best bet we’ve got, if you ask me.”
Shader turned to Aristodeus. “It’s quicker if you go ahead. Magic yourself there, or whatever you do.”
Aristodeus shook his head. “Can’t do that. I need to prepare for other contingencies, and besides, the senate and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
“What contingencies?” Rhiannon said. “Way I see it, we’re running out of options.”
“There are always options, my dear,” Aristodeus said. “And believe me, this business goes deeper—much deeper—than our current threat from Mr. Gandaw. We must stay one step ahead of the enemy at all times.”
“You’re sure about the mines?” Shader said to Thumil.
“I’m sorry, Shader. We are dwarves. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Shader sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, but he nodded all the same. “All right,” he said, “how far to New Jerusalem?”
“Couple of days, at a guess,” Nameless said.
Thumil grunted in agreement.
“Two days?” Shader said. “We’ll need food. Water.”
He might as well have appealed to the rock walls of the ravine for all the acknowledgment he got from the dwarves.
Aristodeus rolled his eyes as if this were just one more problem he had to sort out, but before he could say anything, Shadrak whipped out his pistol, spun it on his finger, and re-holstered it.
“Leave it to me. Bagged us that turkey, didn’t I?”
It wasn’t encouraging. Besides that, and the goat, they hadn’t exactly seen much else out there to eat.
Nameless must have sensed his uncertainty, and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll flush out some squirrels for you, laddie, and the little fellow can shoot them. Boil them up over a campfire, and you’ll not tell them from chicken. Well, you will, but you can always pretend.”
Shader caught Rhiannon’s eye. “Best get a move on, then.”
She held his gaze for a long while before she spoke. “I’m not coming.”
“What?”
“Not if he’s going with you.” She glared at Shadrak. “Not after what he did to that poor sod in the cell. He’s a shogging psycho, Deacon, and don’t forget what he did to you in the templum.”
“We all go,” Shader said. “There’s too much at stake.” He’d seen enough of what Shadrak could do to know that things might very well hinge on him. It was the assassin who’d got them out after he and Rhiannon had messed up. You didn’t have to approve of Shadrak to know how useful he could be in a tight scrape.
“Him or me,” Rhiannon said. “Your choice.”
Fire rose to Shader’s cheeks, and his temples began to throb. What was it about Rhiannon? Why did she have to be so bloody difficult?
“Why don’t you come with me?” Aristodeus said.
“You?” Rhiannon said.
“If our nameless friend here is traveling to New Jerusalem, he’s going to have to be fed. I could use some help gathering my apparatus and taking them on ahead to the city.”
“I am not—”
Aristodeus waved away her response before she gave it birth. “And there are matters I would discuss with you—these contingencies I mentioned before. Would you at least allow me the chance?”
Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed to slits. She snaked a look at Shader, all venom, as if he’d done something she’d never forgive. As if he were Gaston Rayn, or worse.
“Fine,” she said. “Anything’s got to be better than this.”
Aristodeus held out his arm, and she took it. “When you get to New Jerusalem,” he said to Nameless, “go to the Academy. Ask for Master Arecagen.”
“Arecagen?”
Aristodeus grimaced, as if he could no longer take the frustration of making himself understood. “Just ask for him. I’ll meet you there and make sure you don’t starve. Mark my words,” he said loud enough for the councilors to hear. “The day is coming when you will thank me for preserving this kinsman of yours. He’s special, this one, and if I can only set him on the right track, he could yet prove our greatest weapon.”
“Never been called a weapon before,” Nameless said. “Except maybe once, but she was a feral lassie from the wharfs. All hips and melons. You know the sort I mean?”
Before anyone could respond, green light swirled about Aristodeus and Rhiannon, and they vanished. One minute they were there, the next they were gone.
As quickly as that, Shader had lost her again, only this time he wasn’t quite so sure how he felt. Jealous, maybe, but if he were, it was barely noticeable. Angry, resentful, disappointed? An overwhelming confusion of emotions fought for his attention, leaving him blank and bewildered. Truth be told, he was probably relieved, he thought, but that wasn’t right, wasn’t what Nous expected. But there lay the second problem. He was suddenly aware he didn’t care all that much for what Nous wanted anymore.
All along the walkway they’d approached from, the red-cloaks were falling back.
Thumil gestured toward the top of the ravine. “Go. Now. Before they come up with another objection.”
Shader offered his hand and then remembered something Thumil had said back in the cell. “Those books you mentioned, the scriptures.”
Thumil slapped himself on the forehead. “I’m sorry, with all that’s happened it completely slipped my mind.” He cast a look behind at the stony faces of the councilors. Some of them were muttering among themselves, and there was a palpable tension seeping into the soldiers. “You should leave. Maybe when all this is over, maybe there’ll be a few changes here, and if there are, you would be most welcome. I’m literally dying to have someone to discuss my reading with. Religion isn’t something we dwarves like to talk about, not since Maldark.”
Cordana pressed up close to Thumil and took his hand. “You said you’d ask, remember?”
“Ah, yes, my dear, of course.” He coughed and gave Shader a sheepish look. “My wife does not share my spiritual views…”
Cordana wrinkled her nose at him but then softened it with a smile.
“But she does… I mean, she…” He suddenly looked flustered, waving his hand around as if trying to pluck the words from the air.
Cordana touched her belly and sighed. “We are trying for a baby, but the doctors say I’m barren. Either that, or Thumil’s too old.”
Thumil nudged her with his elbow. “Most likely it’s my illness.” He indicated the bald patches on his scalp and beard.
“Anyway,” Cordana continued, “we were hoping you’d give us your blessing, what with you being a holy man and all.”
The idea cut Shader like a blade. Him, holy? After all he’d done, all he’d failed to do? He didn’t even know if you could call him Nousian anymore, not after the things he’d discovered about the Liber. All his training, all his prayer, and he was as uncertain of his faith as… as… He caught sight of Nameless watching him through the slit of the great helm. He chewed his lip and nod
ded. “Of course. But Nous… I mean—”
Thumil patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen enough of the way you carry yourself, and enough of that book of yours to know we’re praying to the same god. Just because the words have been twisted, doesn’t mean your prayers aren’t heard. Have faith, son. Surrender yourself to this Nous of yours, and let him carry you through the trials that lie before you.”
Shader didn’t know about that. Didn’t know if he could, but he made a mental note to pray on it. He took the Liber from his pocket and thumbed through it until he found the appropriate passage.
“Benedicta tu, Nous, qui conlocat sterilem in domo matrem filiorum laetantem…” The words never seemed to leave his skull; his voice sounded muffled and dead to him, but he could see from Thumil and Cordana’s faces they were listening with rapt attention, clutching each other’s hands tightly.
When he finished, he closed the Liber, feeling numb. The couple smiled their thanks and embraced each other. At least it appeared to have done them some good, but as far as Shader could tell, it was all smoke and mirrors. His faith wasn’t just wavering. Right then, it was dead and buried. But he had nowhere else to go. It was all he’d ever known, all his mother had taught him. Strangely, Aristodeus had always encouraged it, too. The philosopher had always had such strong ties with Aeterna, even to the Ipsissimus himself, and yet, judging by comments he made, the faith was nothing more to him than an child’s plaything, or a means to an end.
“Nameless, laddie?” Nameless was saying to Shadrak. “I think I like it. You have a way with oxymorons.”
“Eh?” Shadrak said. “What’s that, a stupid cow? Think she just left with ol’ baldy.”
Shader chuckled. It was a chink in the dark clouds smothering his spirit, but at least it was something. A pang of guilt sent his hand to his forehead. What was he doing? It was pure reflex after years of habitual practice, but ridiculous as it seemed, worrying about the displeasure of a deity he barely believed in, he still made the sign. This time, when he laughed, there was real mirth in it, as if something within had been set free. What it was, though, Shader couldn’t yet say.
“You should do it more often, laddie,” Nameless said.