by Scott Rhine
“All the steam has to push through a tiny opening.”
“What happens when you open the larger hole to pour the hot water?” she asked.
“The steam gets out easier.”
“If you tried to plug the last hole?”
“You might get burned or a weak pot might rupture,” said the b, who had repaired many tin pots in his day.
“He understands the nature of power flow. If you don’t, perhaps you shouldn’t meddle,” remarked the seeress. She made no more comments during the exchange of stories, but built a clearer picture in her own mind of the religious brush fires these men had touched off in a dozen places. Much of what they related seemed impossible, but these men doubted nothing.
Jotham told a longer tale, but left a similar gap. About his escape, he mentioned only that he had helped the emperor’s concubine escape. Sarajah might not have believed the tale, but his eyes had changed color since the Stone Monkeys had captured her. The boy’s story dovetailed the two strands together.
After conferring for a while, they took inventory of the amazing number of god-formed artifacts they had collected. Tashi had his glass armor, the Key of Souls amulet, and the iron-hard myrtle-wood staff. “You look uncomfortable without a sword. We should find you one,” said Jotham.
Tashi shook his head, “I’ll be better off without one for a while, thank you.”
Jotham raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
The sheriff continued. “The boy has the Book of the Bards. The woman has the coin known as the Promise of Calligrose around her neck.”
“And a very special deck of cards,” added Brent.
“From the altar of the School of Bards?” asked Jotham.
Sarajah nodded slowly.
Jotham almost leapt with joy. “I carry the Cape of the Archanon, and half the Book of Dominion. This is astounding. Forces are converging on a grand scale.”
“What about the gloves from Tamarind Pass?” Tashi reminded him.
“Yes, they give the wearer immunity to extremes of temperature. Astonishing!”
“They’re gloves,” remarked Sarajah, unimpressed. “They all do that. That’s why you buy them, unless you’re going to a royal ball.”
The boy glared at her.
Undeterred by sarcasm, Jotham continued, “That hilltop yonder is a focal point for tremendous philosophical energies. I’ve discovered a new and unmapped holy site. Do you know what that means?”
“What?” asked Brent.
You want to destroy it like you did mine? thought Sarajah, remaining silent.
“I have no idea, but it’s exciting!” exclaimed the gray-haired priest.
“You stole something from the archfiend?” asked Owl in awe.
Jotham waved the question away. “It was a gift from a friend. The sheriff met him as well.”
“Have the heavens shifted?” asked Tashi.
“The estate on the hill isn’t a touch point for either the heavens or below. It’s mundane, but also perfectly balanced. It defies my understanding. I’d investigate further, but I’ve been banned from the site,” said Jotham.
“Perhaps after we’re done sharing our adventures, I could go look for you,” suggested Brent.
“Not alone,” cautioned the Tenor.
“I can attend him. Perhaps while we’re gone, the teacher should read . . .” Tashi began before another fit struck him.
“He does this a lot—brain damage,” explained the woman. “Maybe he wouldn’t be the best representative to send.”
“Last time it was caused by the armor and smelling perfume. I’m not sure what triggered it this time,” said Brent.
Jotham rubbed his chin. “I suspect this has to do with his visit to the City of the Gods. They place strictures against revealing too much. My good friend needs to learn to be less blunt and more circumspect.”
“When pigs fly. The Way of Stone is seldom subtle,” Sarajah chuckled.
Jotham examined his options. “Perhaps he’d heal best without this woman’s influence. He does appear to be highly distracted. Her temporary absence may help. Take her with you, Brent. But say nothing of temples or miracles until the architect does.”
“Talk to me, old man, I’m standing right here,” said Sarajah. She attempted to poke the tall priest in the chest with her finger but missed by a wide margin when he dodged.
Brent grabbed her by the other arm and tugged. “Please, he doesn’t like to be touched.”
“Because I’m a girl?” she asked, jerking away.
“By anyone,” whispered Brent.
Sarajah rolled her eyes.
Jotham spoke directly to the boy. “If you can’t control your parolee, we’ll need to take steps to ensure her good behavior.”
“Like what?” she snapped back haughtily.
Brent pointed to her waist pouch. “Give me the cards. You can get them back when we return.”
“If you behave,” stressed Jotham.
She was indignant and huffed, “If I refuse?”
Jotham glanced at the boy. Brent spoke up. “We let Tashi decide when he wakes up. If I remember right, he wanted to tie you to the tree and make you cook dinner. I stopped him last time.”
Sarajah seethed and fumed for several long moments before handing the tarot deck over wordlessly. Then Jotham related the story of his visit to the architect in great detail. When he had finished, Brent chewed on the information.
“But you suspect that there is much more to this man than meets the eye. What?” asked the boy.
Jotham the Tenor held out both hands. “Anger.”
When the woman looked confused, Brent tried to puzzle out the clue with her. “He got angry at Jotham. The whole time I’ve known him, he’s been polite to everyone. The only people to wish him ill were high priests of other religions, yourself included.”
“Close enough,” said the man with the high voice. “In all other things, Simon was balanced and well-reasoned. This one point stood out, overcoming even a gift from the Dawn race.”
“He’s hiding something,” concluded Sarajah.
“He loves secret passages,” recalled Brent.
Jotham gazed into the boy’s eyes, watching wheels turn with pride. Holding his hand so close to Brent’s forehead that the boy could feel the heat, the priest whispered a blessing. “Go.”
When the two had begun ascending the hill, Owl noted, “Sir, what will we be doing on this quest?”
The old priest turned to the scruffy man. “Hopefully, nothing for weeks. While the boy is away, I’ll be reading the Book of Dominion. My friend the sheriff risked much to suggest this, and I don’t take his sacrifice lightly. You and your partner are free to do as you wish while we wait.”
The gravediggers buried their loot and then set about drawing themselves a treasure map.
Even with the book of ancient mysteries opened before him, Jotham’s eyes were drawn to the hill. The boy was becoming a master in his own right. The sheriff no longer bore his marks either. Jotham couldn’t bear children; nonetheless, these two had been his to raise as a father.
With effort, the melancholy tenor forced himself to read. There were secrets that needed to be seen before the world could move out of infancy.
Chapter 22 – Protocol
When Emperor Sandarac first heard the news of his bride-to-
be, and her demands, he railed. The timing was inconvenient. How dare she force him to leave the Holy Mountain? The irritation was followed closely by acute embarrassment. He’d lost the sheriff, the one item she had wanted out of this exchange. Furthermore, he had invited her without sending a proper escort.
Sandarac could be childish in his chambers, but in public he knew how to behave in order to command the respect of his troops and his people. He’d never been afraid to face the difficult or to endure discomfort for the sake of gain. Having walked many miles on his hands through ice and snow, being carried by bearers to the Temple of Sleep would be easy. Giving up the illusion of control was the hard p
art. In the end, Sandarac convinced himself that he could do nothing in his palace today to hasten the search or the battle. By making the trip, however, he would cement his new alliance and stand a very good chance of finding out what had happened to his old friend Zariah.
It was the longest voyage he’d ever taken by palanquin. What began as a restful stroll in the country for his entourage ended in mire and squalor. His bladder ached with every jostle. The stench of the Dreaming City turned his stomach. Between his nervousness and the environment, Sandarac ate and drank nothing that morning. He arrived shortly after Lady Kragen’s rally.
Worshippers in the streets were flush with excitement. All greeted him with reverence and deference instead of the usual stupor. That attitude, at least, was an improvement for the heartland of the cult.
The Imperial Minister of Protocol erected a huge tent in the empty field just outside town and laid out a grand feast. Members of each royal house filed in on opposing sides of the tent, arranged according to rank and station. At the outset of this first meeting, only the masters of the ceremony were able to communicate. They spoke in obtuse references and implication, taking care neither to commit nor to offend. Next, the heralds haggled over details of lineage and currently held titles. Then the happy couple could be introduced to the assembly, but not each other. They were carried in silk-covered palanquins from a door at the perimeter of the tent and into an empty spot in the center. The two traveling boxes lay side by side, touching, but neither dignitary was revealed. From time to time, a lackey would whisper to one through the veil, but the couple couldn’t be seen.
Normally the mothers of the couple would fight over the exact details of the extended marriage ceremony. But given the devastation of the Scattering, neither had a mother to enter the arena of battle. Lacking adequate precedent, the sides decided to mimic the wedding of the last Myron, with a few minor exceptions made necessary by geography and war. Four hours later, the chief stewards had an agreement on paper, awaiting only signatures from the heads of their houses: in this case, the couple. Then family welcome-gifts were exchanged. The more formal exchanges between functionaries and generals would take place later.
At last, everyone but the couple left the tent. Emperor Sandarac drew aside the curtains between them. Lady Humi prepared tea for him in the ancient ceremony. He knew her at once to be a woman of exotic beauty. After twenty bits of courtly conversation, he recognized her as intelligent and calculating. She wasn’t a figurehead, but clearly the will that moved the body of House Kragen. Here Sandarac took his first calculated risk and abandoned pretense. Licking his lips, he barged in. “Great Lady, I have not the time to dance about. Since you, amongst your numerous qualities, appear to be a practical woman, I shall be most blunt. I admit that your contributions to this union, both personal and political are formidable. Unfortunately, both of my primary gifts to you have gone missing.”
A beat went by before Humi announced, “We know.”
He let out a breath. The intelligence leak was annoying, but the very fact that Lady Kragen was still negotiating was a favorable sign. “I still have much to offer. I can still give legitimacy to your child and ensure it the throne of a reunited empire when I step down.”
“Him,” Humi corrected his use of the gender-neutral term for the Heir.
The revelation gave Sandarac food for thought. “Indeed. I can also guarantee to do everything in my power to extinguish both the sheriff and my former concubine, but this offering falls short of our original terms. I need to know, Lady, how this affects our deal.”
Humi lowered her eyes so he could see the elegant colors shading her eyelids. “You speak to me as an equal, Highness.”
This was like a game of plaques, reading what was not said before making the next bid. Sandarac stared at her fine tea set before playing his next card. “I’m speaking to a prospective business partner about terms and trust. Both are crucially important.”
He wasn’t getting the hint, so Humi was unspeakably forward. “Will you continue to speak to me as an equal?”
Sandarac paused. He mentally reviewed the estimated count of Kragen Honors the Viper had provided, as well as the real estate controlled by all parties. From a political point of view, this marriage would give him more legitimacy and power than the kings had. He’d be a fool to let her slip away. From a strictly personal perspective, if Sandarac couldn’t have Jolia, then an exquisite vessel like Humi might prove stimulating on many levels. “In public, I shall not converse with you directly. We shall gravitate to different spheres of activity and authority so that we might not seem to contradict each other. Your word shall be law, no less than my own. In private, you may say anything to me you wish.”
She seemed satisfied with the circuitous yes. “Then we can still do business. I’ll compromise, changing my sole requirement to one readily achievable. The coat of arms for the unified family shall be this.” Humi handed Sandarac a sample of the silk dragon banner.
Sandarac was simultaneously uplifted and puzzled. “But the history of my family . . .”
Humi moved in for the kill. “Mine has no less history. But in the present, I control half the South, the Temple of Sleep, and more yet to be revealed.”
“What happened to Zariah?”
She gave him the stack of notes recovered from the ruins. “She was captured by our enemies, and taken north. Your Hisbet will find these interesting.” While he stared dumbly at the cryptic scratching, she pressed on. “Give me this concession, and I will give you more than you asked. Provide this proof of my equal standing, and I’ll immortalize your reign. We will begin a new age of power in the world.”
She walked over and signed her name to the document atop the table. “Trust,” Humi concluded, handing him the page.
“Done,” he said, also signing, and affixing his signet ring to the wax.
“How should we seal our pact?” the young woman asked suggestively, reclining on the emperor’s palanquin beside him.
He edged away, nervously. Sandarac was unwilling to share this secret weakness with his betrothed just yet. “I prefer to keep our dealings strictly business until after the ceremony. You’re most tempting, Lady. But the ancient traditions are strong in our new capital, and I need to provide an example to the people.”
“So be it.” Humi grew cooler and more professional. “Our last order of business tonight will be a demonstration on The Beauty, my ship on the docks. Unfortunately, it’s not my warship; that’s at the head of my armada at Innisport.” At the word warship, Sandarac flinched slightly. That Kragen had managed to rebuild an Imperial war vessel and invade the largest port in the world meant that Sandarac’s decision had been the right one. Humi mistook the look on his face. “You don’t mind a few more hours travel tonight, your Highness? I assure you the display will be worth your while.”
Sandarac put his game face back on. “My betrothed, nothing could tear me from your side tonight. You can even sail your craft upriver to the capital and save our retinues the walk. I just happen to have an empty berth in my naval shipyard.”
It was Humi’s turn to cover surprise. She did a far better job. “How many warships do you currently have deployhe page.eloved?”
“Five heavy troop ships supporting an action along the north shore,” he confided. “Your generals will be briefed in a few days.”
Humi adjusted her plan. “None below the Imperial Islands in the Inner Sea?”
Sandarac decided not to mention his spy ship. He decided that he had trusted enough for one day. “No.”
“Excellent. Then come with me to the harbor where I’ll present you with my personal gift.”
He agreed. She rang the gong and servants poured back into the tent. After the celebration meal, the core of both groups traveled south to the docks. Sandarac noted a dragon banner already hanging from the mast. Humi must’ve borrowed local birds for the message, he reflected, or been supremely confident in her demands.
As his retinue boarde
d, it occurred to Sandarac that this could’ve been an elaborate trap. As they pulled away from the docks into the deeper waters of the Inner Sea, the air was heavy with drumbeats, and the wail of men crying out the rhythm. When there was no wind, men had to use muscle. The very timbers around them creaked with their efforts. Humi lit incense in her chambers.
Soon they passed beyond the mud bottom and into the unbroken bowl of glass, that part of the sea officially known as the Deep. All noise on the ship stopped. The calm was eerie after such frenzied effort.
The Lady of the Deep faced the emperor in her chambers. “Perhaps I reveal more of myself now than I should. Tell me now if you want to return to the shallows and send me back to the South.”
Sandarac gazed into her eyes. He could feel his heart beating as loudly as the rower’s drum. “There is only forward in a ship of war, my betrothed.”
Humi drew a white circle around the cushion where he sat on the floor and placed a few arcane trinkets in their iron brackets. She drew a black starburst on the hull of the ship with the ash of a special flower. He remained unimpressed by the ceremony until she removed her robe and stood naked beside him in the circle. Sandarac sucked in a breath but remained silent. Humi focused her attention on the star of ash. He imagined that the spot might smoke under the force of her will alone. The emperor was sweating.
“Mother of the Deep, guardian of my child, hear my cry.”
The thick incense was making it hard for Sandarac to breathe in the small room. Claustrophobia was tugging at the back of his neck, reminding him of his cell in the mountains. Had he the use of his legs at that moment, he might well have run.