by Chris Reher
“One of your own!” the brute crowed. “Wasn’t wearing no blue, but the woman put up a good fight for him, till we got her tied down. He lost his hat in all that and I saw his hair. His was marked like yours, the way you have of shaving the Chenoweth sign into it. He had that. Besides, don’t no one act around common folk like the emissaries, pardon me for saying so. Boss gave him some crystal for the girl, and then he left.”
The chief emissary was stunned. It was not unheard of for magic users to be traded like some prized talisman or performing act. But this was no common Descendant! He ground his teeth, enraged to have come so close to his quarry only to lose her to the greed of one of his own people! “Wait outside,” he managed, scarcely above a whisper. The mercenary withdrew, walking backward until he bumped into the door, which opened only after some panicked fumbling to allow his escape.
Tsingao sat in silence without moving, without thinking. He watched a bud forming on a branch of the potted plant and listened to the snuffling sound made by some creature outside the window. In due course his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, his shoulders dropped, his jaw unclenched. “Gynn,” he said at last.
A latticed door to his left opened and a blue-robed man entered, his steps hesitant. Another emissary followed, no less cautiously.
Tsingao watched them approach. “You heard?”
Nods from both men. Another long silence.
At last: “Take that thug and make him point out the one who sold the girl to the trader. I want him before me before the day is out.”
“Yes, Emissary.”
“Kill the mercenary when you’re sure you’ve got the right man. We don’t need more talk about this spreading about.”
“Yes, Emissary.”
The chief emissary rose. “We must pray.”
“Certainly, Emissary,” Gynn said, gesturing to his companion to take a place at the prayer bench, surprised when Tsingao strode to the door. Exchanging a confused shrug, both emissaries hurried after their leader.
Tsingao moved purposefully through the lobby and back onto the covered walkway bordering the tended grounds of the enclave. Unmindful of rain and soaked groundcover, he left the passage and walked among grasses, herbs and shrubs, following no path but the one in his mind. The hems of all three priests’ robes were damp to the knees before Tsingao stopped in a small grove. It was an ordinary tangle of brambles, a small corner of the grounds used for growing berries. A few blocks of stone and ancient carvings lay scattered about, perhaps the remnants of some sort of outbuilding, their original purpose long forgotten.
“Sire, it’s nearly nightfall. Perhaps the sanctuary would be a better—”
“This sanctuary,” Tsingao said, “is where we shall pray.” He regarded the other two with obvious contempt. “You hide beyond stone walls, keeping your hides dry, hoping to hear the voices of Chenoweth. When have they last spoken to you?” He did not wait for a reply but turned away to close his eyes, his mind calling to his gods; deities whose presence seemed to seep from the ground to surround him with their grace and benevolence.
Shamed, his companions did likewise, sending forth an invitation to Chenoweth, offering their lives and services to their gods. Time passed in which their meditation deepened. Gynn was sublimely aware of all that surrounded him, no longer annoyed by his damp feet and chafing robe. He seemed to become part of this verdant corner of the gardens, of the ceaseless drip of water on glossy greenery, the rich smell of earth and vegetation alternately perfumed and spicy, and the very humidity that lay upon his skin, his hair, his clothes. A strange peace enveloped him, somehow making him part of this grove, and he wondered why he did not spend all of his time here, just standing, just listening. He glanced at his fellow emissaries to see that they, too, reveled in their trance, eyes half closed, immersed in the moment. Tsingao spoke.
“I hear you, Chenoweth,” he said. “Thali moon listens.”
Gynn was intensely aware of Tsingao, uncomfortably close, almost as if he were touching the emissary. Although as firmly rooted in this garden as if they themselves were plants living within it, all of them seemed transported into some other place and he could see what Tsingao saw and what Tsingao saw was Chenoweth. He sighed in wonder and exaltation. What use were their precisely recited prayers, sacrifices and rituals, when they only needed to stand knee-deep in brambles and damp clover to feel the presence of their gods?
Dimly, almost imperceptibly, something swam into focus somewhere between his mind and what his eyes would let him see. It was a male shape, rotund, aged, clothed in loosely flowing trousers and knee-length cloak of some insubstantial material. Enthralled, Gynn stood in slack-jawed wonder, striving to understand the vision hovering before them. Had this corner of the grounds not offered such absolute reassurance, he might well have fled. Some thoughts reached him, not in the form of words, nor images, but simply as ideas forming in his mind as if they were his own. The apparition’s attention was only on Tsingao, a question placed before them.
The god’s displeasure over the woman’s disappearance was palpable. The image blurred and faded and they saw him turn away as if conferring with someone nearby. A long time passed during which a thousand questions formed in Gynn’s mind, revised a thousand times, and then discarded. Tsingao, motionless beside him, did not offer any answers, nor was Gynn convinced that he wanted them. His heart was beating too fast, the blood pounded too loudly in his ears. The thought that he might faint came to him, pushed aside by his need to savor this experience.
The god came back into focus. He seemed to know that two others had joined the Descendant and that they would try to keep her from the emissaries. Chenoweth sent an image of them entering some sort of door in the sky. There was a dire warning, imploring them not to let this happen. None here missed the utter loathing harbored by the god for the Homeworld and its inhabitants, conveyed with such emotion that Gynn again felt lightheaded. The final part of the revelation was of a more concrete nature. It showed the hills above the town.
The vision faded, the nebulous image of the deity dissolved, its wordless contact severed. Gynn was once again aware of the lush vegetation surrounding him and was prepared to remain standing here forever, lost in contemplation. But he felt a hand on his wrist, tugging him along, and he reluctantly followed, stepping carefully, slow to allow himself to emerge from the depths of his meditation. He became aware of a cooler breeze, brighter light, more solid ground beneath his feet. His eyes focused on Tsingao.
“Our search continues,” the leader said softly, perhaps as affected by this encounter as his subordinates were. “The Gods show us the way.”
Gynn turned to look back into the mist-obscured grove. What had happened there? He had walked through that bramble many times and had never felt the odd sensation creeping up through the ground. It reminded him of why he had become an emissary in the first place: that strange sense of being called to something distant, of connectedness to this moon, of purpose beyond his understanding. Tsingao had been right. The raptures that had fascinated him in his youth were not to be found within the walls of the enclave. How could he ever have lost sight of this? The peace he had found here was not to be duplicated inside the stone sanctuary with his scrolls and books, the sensation of wellness was not brought about with potions and liquors. The appearance of the god here in this garden almost distracted from the mysteries he yearned to explore here. “I… well, this… I mean…” he frowned, trying to formulate his thoughts into words.
Tsingao seemed disinterested in Gynn’s rediscovery. “We have our answers,” he proclaimed. “That mercenary spoke true. Take his description of those men, those strangers, and comb the city. They can’t be hard to spot. Start with the mansions on the hill, as Chenoweth advised. Use care. I’m certain they are powerful. Mobilize everyone.”
“We’ve already requested assistance,” Gynn said. “When we realized that she escaped, messages were sent out in all directions. Emissaries from as far away as Solyet are arr
iving daily to help us find her.” What did Chenoweth mean? he wanted to ask. What is the meaning of that passage in the sky? Why were they not allowed to enter it? “I need to—”
Tsingao shook his head. “You won’t find her. Find the twins. Find them and you’ve found that woman. They must be killed before they can carry out their plans. Chenoweth has said so.”
Gynn frowned. Had Tsingao seen something in their vision that he did not? He knew of Tsingao’s quest for this elusive magic user; a woman whose powers had grown over the years but who remained invisible to even the most observant emissary. Some had even doubted her existence until one of their men had stumbled upon her in a derelict warehouse. And now even Chenoweth seemed to agree that her capture was of the utmost importance. Gynn didn’t care. Purging the witch would mean an end to their leader’s obsessive search and perhaps a chance to relax their guard for a while. Perhaps if Tsingao found his demons and took them away, life in the enclave would return to its placid routines and he, Gynn, would have a chance to examine the mystery of this grove. Still, he felt an odd sense of gratitude toward his leader. “This vision… Chenoweth… It is true what they say. The Gods speak to you.”
Tsingao’s scornful eyes bored into him. “Chenoweth does not speak to you?” He looked at the other, silently waiting emissary. “Do none of you pray? Do none of you meditate? How, then, do you manage to capture any magic users at all?”
“We pray for wisdom and guidance. The Descendants here in Phrar are discovered in the act of using their evil magic, or are brought before us by those who have witnessed it. Their confessions condemn them.”
“But Chenoweth does not?”
Gynn paled, his mouth suddenly dry. He took a step backward without realizing he had done so. “Forgive my inadequacies. Although my life belongs to the Gods, Chenoweth does not favor me. I must admit that today’s vision has been my first; I’ve never been privileged to stand before the Gods. Before this I believed the claim that you, for all your successes in purging the demons from this world, are able to track them as if by smell or sound.”
“Are you suggesting that some magic guides me?”
Gynn gulped for air, cursing himself for letting today’s miracle loosen his foolish tongue. The chief emissary’s zeal was well-known, his hatred for all magic users equally common knowledge. What had possessed him, Gynn, to speak aloud of matters that were never discussed above a whisper, and then only among the closest of associates who denied the rumors as quickly as they passed them along. He regarded his leader warily, knowing that the tranquil demeanor could erupt into unbridled rage just as quickly as it could lash out with soft-spoken cruelty that cut more deeply than the dagger at his belt. “Certainly not, sire. Only my poor way of expressing my awe at what you have shown us here today.”
Tsingao placed a hand lightly on Gynn’s shoulder. The older man had to fight an impulse to pull away. “You must continue to pray for guidance from Chenoweth,” the chief emissary instructed gently. “You administer Phrar; this town must rely on you to rid them of demons and those who consort with them. Come to this place, meditate, and open your thoughts to Chenoweth. Perhaps they will answer, as they have done today. But understand that the Gods are secretive and will test your faith and your willingness to obey their laws. We, the emissaries of Chenoweth on Thali, have done our work well – rarely do the Gods find the need to intervene. Do not expect them to point out every Descendant hidden in this town. Continue your efforts to root out the magic users through diligence and careful investigation, as you have in the past.” He raised a finger as if to make sure that Gynn was paying attention. “Those methods secured that female demon, did they not? By the time the Gods had told me of her presence here, she was already captured. And she will be re-captured, in good time. Only this time the Gods are part of the chase!”
Gynn nodded eagerly, a new resolve replacing his doubts and his revulsion for their leader. He had witnessed the man’s abilities for himself; Tsingao’s favor among the gods was indisputable. “We shall redouble our efforts, sire,” he said, meaning it. “Have you any instructions?”
“Yes, it’s time to get to work,” Tsingao turned back to the priory. “The Gods are watching and judging! Start with this enclave. Dismiss the slaves. Sell them, I don’t care. Put the boys back to work – they are learning nothing from their books. Send them on pilgrimages to some remote areas to search for demons instead of drinking and whoring their days away. Get rid of any woman here who is not priestess, family, or servant. Perhaps if you spend less time in bed you’ll pay more attention to your work.”
“Yes, Emissary,” Gynn said.
“They may try to leave Phrar by ship,” Tsingao’s thoughts returned to the fugitive Descendants. He fixed his eyes on the fine mansions of distant Topside as though he could spy them from here. “But they can’t get out before high tide tomorrow. You yourself are to visit that gluttonous fop that leads the town council by first light. I want orders for the harbormaster to close the docks, rescind all traveling papers. No one is to leave the bay.”
“Yes, Emissary.”
“Are there any magic users confined here now?”
“One. Taken when we found the woman. He’s restrained.”
Tsingao nodded. “Purge him in the morning. At the harbor temple. Let it serve as warning to those who shelter demons.”
“He was to be sent south, sire,” Gynn objected.
Tsingao slowly turned to face his subordinate, his hooded eyes not even on Gynn’s. The face seemed a lifeless mask, not belonging to any man, but some hideous monster made all the more terrifying because of its flat, ordinary features. Gynn leaped back with a squeal before catching himself, and quickly disguised his fright with a hurried bow. “I’ll have it done, sire.”
Chapter Five
Galen rose early on the next morning, even before the bulk of the Homeworld began to encroach upon the sky. No one else was awake yet; those of Delann's guests who had spent the night were still sleeping off the evening's excesses and the house was quiet. Feeling restless, he decided to walk to the harbor to continue his exploration of Phrar. He stopped for a quick bite in the kitchen and then headed toward the wharves.
There the day had begun even earlier. Many of the boats had already returned with the first catch and the fish traders were busy hawking their wares or loading them onto carts for transport to elsewhere. The streets were wider here, near the harbor, allowing cargo to be transferred from wharf to warehouse on lumbering, wheel-mounted platforms. On market days this arrangement left plenty of room for sales tables and stalls, roving merchants, animal pens, traveling exhibits, and the antics of entertainers. People were everywhere, buying and selling, strolling, thieving or preparing for journeys to other parts of the moon. Galen walked slowly, enjoying the bustle of the market, his senses alert to the riot of color and noise and the smells drifting on the ocean breeze.
When he found a cloth merchant he handed over a few triangular coins in exchange for a broad scarf. Observing the fashions of some other men in the crowd, he wrapped it loosely about his head and neck to cover his hair and leave his features in shadow.
Obscured now, he continued along the boisterous confusion of these streets, choosing his direction at random. Although the market was lined with enticing displays of merchandise, most people here seemed to gather to meet others, trade gossip, or produce a jumbled cacophony of noise, apparently music.
“I have me a thought that the breakfast you’re wanting is exactly what I’ve got on the cooker,” a raised voice drew his attention when he threaded his way past some stalls specializing in foodstuffs. The smell of things roasting and baking and marinating in spicy sauces seemed to have pointed his feet into this direction. He turned to see a woman standing beside a brazier from which a variety of foods were offered for sale. An infant in a brightly colored sling was asleep on her back and a small girl clung to her skirts, wide eyes on the stranger looming over them.
Galen tugged his hood
away from his face and winked down at the child. “From the smell of things I’d say you’re thinking right.” There was something interesting bubbling on the coals but it wasn’t clear if the concave, slowly charring pod that contained it was to be eaten as well or merely served as a cooking utensil. “What’s that?” he pointed at some charred lumps of meat beside the pods.
“Tongue.”
He looked up. “Whose tongue?” He bypassed a selection of roasted insects and took a skewer of tender meat, choosing one bearing the least resemblance to a sea creature. She handed him a bowl of yellow rice to which she added a ladle of sauce. Galen sighed with pleasure. “This is wonderful,” he said and picked up another skewer.
The woman smiled. “Try these. Fresh baked an hour past.”
He accepted a flat sort of biscuit. “You’re not from here,” he said to the woman, idly looking over the merchandise displayed on her cart. Besides her delicious ready-made morsels, she also sold fruit, vegetables, and dried meats. Herbs and various other items that he could not name were hung from the rafters of her stall. He studied a bulbous, purple bit of produce, wondering if it was fruit or vegetable. Or quite possibly sentient.
“Eastwards,” she confirmed. “How came you to guess it?”
Even his limited experience with Thali’s people and geography had allowed him to easily detect her dialect, delivered with an amusing twang. The bright weave of her clothing and a ruddy complexion also hinted at some inland origin. He pointed at one of the baskets. It contained several round balls of cheese; some wrapped in cloth, others in wax. “No one milks the fish around here,” he said.
She laughed, a sound as pleasant as her accent. “From the deer of the Chaliss’ya foothills. Our own, and very fine. Will you take some away with you?” She reached for the basket when her gaze moved beyond him to the street. Stepping back, she lowered her head and reached for her daughter as if to shield her from something.