by Scott Rhine
Sophia made a goose-beak, talking motion with her hands. “Blah-blah-blah. Whether it’s right for her or a mistake, a woman knows within minutes of meeting—will she or won’t she. You know how you respond to him. You’re just afraid.”
The men around them"0" widto clue what they were chatting about.
“Why’re you pushing?” demanded Sarajah.
“The end is coming.”
“Wait, what end are you talking about?”
“Full circle,” Sophia spelled, tugging on her rope belt. “I envy you needing less sleep. It robs me of time I have left.”
“Do you want to be freed? We have more ink,” Sarajah offered.
“I already wear the symbols.” The perpetual sixteen-year-old slid her robe away from her neck, revealing an inch of her shoulder blade. There was a swirling pattern burned into the flesh.
“Oh, the other priests did that to you. I can understand why you wouldn’t want anything to do with their ways. But we’ll fix it. We’ll fix all of them,” the seeress vowed.
“Enjoy the now,” the wife admonished.
“That takes a lot of faith.”
Sophia shook her head. “T-r-u-s-t.”
****
They risked a small cooking fire for dinner that evening. Jotham wanted to compare notes about the enemy and plan strategy.
Sophia had Sarajah help carry the meals to the men. Had a man asked Sarajah to serve, she would’ve blistered his hair back. But she was glad to help her new friend.
As the seeress carried a bowl over to Tashi, Sophia ‘accidentally’ tripped her. The swordsman caught her before she spilled a drop. Sarajah muttered a weak, “Thank you,” to Tashi. Then she rubbed her eyebrow in an obscene gesture to the architect’s wife.
Her friend pretended not to see.
Jotham started by reviewing what each of the artifacts did, where they were going, and why. “The harder something is to cut through, the brighter the One True Sword flares. We know now that the gloves were made so that a human could hold the sword without being burned.”
“What about the tuning fork?” asked Brent.
Tashi announced, “I think that’s a defense. The gods use some sort of killing sound in the City of the Gods. I think that it emanates through the Door from wherever the Traveler is.”
“So I’m supposed to hold it in my left hand while I hold the sword in my right?” guessed Jotham.
“Who said you’re going to hold it?” demanded Tashi.
“Friend, the bearer must walk through nightmare and unite all the arms of the temple. You’ve already abdicated your responsibilities.” The sheriff glanced over at the seeress, admiring her form. “And I doubt you’d survive a second, longer trip through the undergirding.”
“You’ll need to plant the hilt of the fork into the center of your safe zone. That sword will take both hands to swing. You make a good point, though. Wea ll have to give you all the symbols eventually. We should do it gradually, so you can adjust. We don’t want you passing out and falling through the Door.” Tashi took off his tabard and handed it to Jotham.
The priest bowed and formally accepted the duties as he was sworn into office.
Sarajah listened with half an ear as she signed accusations at her friend. “You tripped me.”
“you-r w-e-l-c-o-m-e.”
“How dare you.”
“Oh, be still my heart, my strong hero has rescued . . .”
“Heinous cow . . .” Sarajah shot back, fingers flying. She emphasized the last by putting fingers up to her temples like horns.
Simon, who only caught the last phrase, spit out some of the ale he was sipping.
“What’s wrong?” asked Brent.
When he stopped coughing, the architect said, “Sarajah has something she wants to share with the class.” All eyes swiveled to the seeress, who still had her fingers up to her forehead. “How does the deck of cards work?”
“Um . . . nothing that would be combat related,” the seeress said awkwardly. “I’m almost positive that the cards are only used to get us, the Arcana, to the conjunction at precisely the right time and place.”
Jotham shook his head. “They’re almost always usable as a key of some kind. Even the tuning fork could be employed to vibrate the Door to a certain resonance frequency.”
“Could I see the cards?” asked Simon.
Sarajah took a step back. “No. They’re mine.”
“She treats the deck like some old men treat a flask of vodka,” noted Brent. “You’d have to hold her down first to take it and then sew your pocket shut to keep it.”
Tashi stood up to volunteer and the seeress dropped into a defensive crouch. The former sheriff grinned at the challenge—win or lose, it would be fun wrestling with her.
Sophia interceded and shook her head. “N-o F-o-r-c-e,” translated Simon.
Jotham agreed. “A relic or office must pass by free will or it’s meaningless. It was stored at the Bards’ College; perhaps, their book knows something about the key.”
Brent examined the inside of his mantle and concentrated. Words from the book appeared in the lining. He read a quote out loud: “At the Door to forever, nothing has meaning.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” complained Tashi. “I was never good at koans.”
Sarajah remained silent.
Jotham scratched his head. “Nothing has meaning. What word was used for nothing?” Brent showed him the text. “It also means blank or empty.”
The seeress began sidling away. Owl blocked her escape, clearing his throat. In his high, kind voice, Jotham said, “It obviously means something to her.”
“You don’t want to know,” she insisted. “It’s bad.” The seeress, former ruler of the lands south of Reneau, appeared about to cry.
“We need total honesty from everyone here if we’re to survive,” reasoned Jotham.
“I will if you will,” she promised.
“You first, witch,” demanded Simon. His wife glared at him for the epithet. No one needed sign language to interpret that.
Staring the architect in the face, she said, “There’s a blank card included in the deck, in case any of the others are damaged—the Void. It can be used as a replacement. I mix it in for all the readings but it’s never been drawn in a reading I’ve done for someone else.”
“What about for yourself?” asked Brent, sensing the loophole.
“Once, but only to say that the day I surrender the Void,” she said, sliding her eyes over to the ex-sheriff, “Tashi dies.”
Chapter 41 – Brutal Honesty
Jotham pulled back. “How do you know it’s him? Are you certain?”
The seeress fidgeted. “It’s my reading—personal.”
Sophia tugged on her sleeve and motioned her to one side where the others would see or hear their exchange. Fingers danced. Sarajah whispered to her friend, “If we try to close the Door, one of our own will die—one of the Lovers,” to her friend. Sophia began to cry and placed a compassionate hand aside the green-eyed woman’s face.
After a prolonged negotiation, both women returned and Sophia signed the terms of the compromise they’d reached.
Simon interpreted for her to the others. “Sarajah will hand the Void over on Emperor’s Day, when we reach our goal, not before.”
“How do we know she won’t try to run again?” Owl asked.
“Have her take point with Tashi,” suggested Simon.
“Subtle,” said the seeress.
Jotham defended the plan. “No, it makes sense. Tashi’s life is at stake, so who better to safeguard the relic?”
“Plus, she can see Dawn folk, and we’re heading into their territory,” said Brent.
The sudden agreement felt like a conspiracy to Sarajah. “Fine. Anything else?”
Jotham resumed control of the camp meeting. “We need to plan our mission. Tell us what Zariah knew about the priests of the Final Temple.”
The seeress had a seat. “Not much. Th
e ki mages are a very secretive and militant lot. I only remember meeting a few of them in the Dreaming City. I know that they manipulate a lot behind the scenes.”
“Such as?”
“Who lives and dies after a battle. I’m not convinced that the massacre at the Vale was entirely accidental.”
“What could they gain?”
“I don’t know. I just recognize puppet strings when I see them. The inner circle of ki mages like to control a lot of things in secret. They call themselves the Beyond.”
“Who are they?”
“An elite group of nine wizard-priests who underwent the final ceremony, called the Tearing of the Veil. The leader actually thrusts a sword through their heart. But, as you know, people don’t always die in that temple.”
Simon blanched. “Why would anyone let someone do that to them voluntarily?”
The seeress shrugged. “From what I’ve heard recently, I’m guessing it’s to prove their loyalty and to make it clear that they can never leave the temple grounds again.”
“But how would it benefit them?” Simon demanded, clearly upset.
The green-eyed woman stared at him. “People who have died can often see more clearly in the spirit realms. I’m told not having a body to maintain can increase the amount of energy that a wizard can drain and store.”
“Why would they need so much energy?” asked Tashi.
“The technique of Kissoomfar,” guessed Brent.
Jotham nodded and explained to the others, “They save it up for one big spell, and let it loose all at once. Usually there’s a lethal explosion. Yes, I could see them making such a sacrifice for power.”
At the word sacrifice, Simon winced.
Tashi said, “How does the boy know this? I was your student for years and head of two arms of the temple.”
“To each his own,” countered the priest.
“Yes,” agreed the boy. “I have a great memory, but he hasn’t shown me any of the neat things you can do with weapons. I’m a little jealous of what you know.”
Tashi shrugged. “I can teach you if your parents approve.”
Simon nodded. “I don’t see why the boy shouldn’t know how to defend . . .”
Both women interrupted with their objections. Sophia was the most adamant. Sarajah said, “Tashi, I would take it as a personal favor if you didn’t introduce this child to a weapon. Throws, escapes, and blocks are fine, but childhood is too short for such a burden.”
He bowed his head. “Done, in the name of harmony.”
Jotham piped in, “Madam Sophia, could you tell us what you know of the inner sanctum?”
Brent said, “I can reproduce the temple floor plans for you. I’m sure . . . Dad could do the elevations. It may take a day, but we’ll have them for you by the next meeting.”
The priest nodded. “Meanwhile, let’s find out what Sophia knows about the senior priests. Do you remember their names?”
“They killed her; what do you think?” snapped Simon.
“I think that unless everyone stops protecting the lady, we’ll never find out anything of value.”
After a brief staring contest, Sophia began to describe a long list of members of the order. Simon added to the descriptions, when he could. Since his father was a builder, he knew a lot about personalities and responsibilities from a business perspective.
“What about the sword?” the priest asked.
“We never saw it used,” Simon claimed. “Is this necessary?”
“Know your enemy,” said Tashi. “What about the leader of the Left Hand sect?”
“Someone they all called the Marchion,” Sarajah supplied.
“Is that a title of some kind?” asked Brent.
Jotham vacillated, moving his head from side to side as he decided how to respond. “A marchioness is an old Imperial title for the wife of a marquis, or even a woman who bore the title herself. There isn’t really a masculine form.”
“Maybe he was married to a powerful woman and men mocked him for it,” suggested Tashi.
“Perhaps he wanted to take the name of an archfiend, with the -on suffix,” offered Sarajah. “Were there any titled men in the group that you know of?”
Jotham considered for a moment. “Oh, dear. Akashua was the Marquis of Abranega Island.”
“The former warlord who bore the One True Sword for the emperor,” explained Tashi. “That would explain how they managed to substitute a forgery before the Scattering.”
The priest paced. “This isn’t good. He’s been planning something for fifty years. We need to find out why he needed the sword and what he’s up to.” When no one could decide on a good way to accomplish that goal, he wrapped up the meeting. “So, tomorrow, we’ll plan our approach. Sheriff . . . I mean Tashi, please teach our seeress the basics of scouting.”
The seeress turned to Jotham and said, “You should take your turn with embarrassment and discomfort. The rest of us have had ours.”
“Very well, what do you need to know?”
“Given that you could’ve taken any form you wanted, why are you so old?”
The tenor considered this for a long moment. “I suppose because I was a child in Tor Mardun, and I never wanted to be vulnerable again. I wanted to be someone wise that could rescue us all but not . . . sexually threatening.”
Sarajah’s self-righteous look vanished. “I can understand that. We’re all broken here. But when you reach the final Door, don’t let fear decide who you’re going to be for the rest of your life.”
****
Tashi talked to the seeress about walking pace, moving silently, and keeping an eye out for ambush. “Sometimes an area being too quit can be a clue that there are people nearby.”
“You already said that, and quoted the holy canons on the issue,” she told him. “Can’t you talk about anything but work and religion?”
The former sheriff opened his mouth several times to speak authoritatively. Eventually, he answered with a meek, “I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m not looking for protection; I can take care of myself.”
“I won’t have a defenseless woman—” Before he could finish the sentence, Sarajah had tripped him into the dirt. He twisted so that he landed face-up, but she fell on top of him. The seeress tapped him in the neck, several pain points, and groin—not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to show she could have.
Sitting on his chest, she replied, “I am a weapon. My body hunted prey for decades. Zariah used the Eye to make my muscles stronger and faster than any human should be. I could kill you and jump into the trees before anyone back there could stop me.”
A wide, stupid grin spread over his face as she sat on him, lecturing. Tashi could’ve dislodged her at any moment, but enjoyed the contact. They were both breathing hard now, and he was staring into her eyes.
“What’re you smiling about?” Sarajah asked.
“I get to spend the afternoon alone with you,” he replied.
“I tortured and tried to kill you,” she cautioned.
Tashi shrugged. “If I discounted everyone who did that, I’d never get to talk to anyone.”
“Something other than your memory got damaged when your skull got cracked,” she insisted. “Normal people would be afraid of me.”
“I’ve died twice already. I don’t mind doing it again for a good cause.”
”I’m not Alana,” she stressed.
“I know; she wouldn’t try to warn people away.”
“You’re impossible,” she said, rolling to the side so that he could stand. She even held out her good, right hand to help him up. Though he could roll to his feet without assistance, he took her hand as he rose. Once up, he didn’t want to let the hand go. This flustered her a little. “Surely you have something else you can talk about.”
“Work and religion are all I can remember.”
“No friends?”
“One—Babu was funny and didn’t stare at me like the others. He died
the day after I met him. I never got to say goodbye or thank him.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, genuinely. For some reason, she let him continue to hold her hand.
“It’s fine. Your boss comes to me as him sometimes. I’m not entirely certain who the real Babu is anymore. But I know Archanos, and he’s been a decent friend, given his constraints.”
“I’ll be sure to engrave that under his statue in the temple,” she said. “Tell me about what you do remember.”
He described traveling to old battlefields or tournaments, breathing in the hayfields, and the barest snippets of childhood. By the hour of sundown, she softened, so he felt comfortable asking, “What about you? Do you have any friends?”
“Just Brent and now his mom. Zariah didn’t trust anyone. Since they freed me, everything’s been new.”
“Would you consider me a friend?” he asked quietly. But his voice resonated with a desire for more than friendship. His hormones were holding up a big sign begging for more. But if she could avoid a physical relationship, they wouldn’t be the lovers. And if they weren’t the lovers, his life might be spared.
She gazed at him. “I’m willing to give you a chance. But I’m still a girl inside. We’ll take things slowly and see.” If he’d been a dog, his tail would’ve been wagging. He wasn’t listening, so she decided to spell it out. “Nothing physical until I have my own body again. When we get to the Door, I’ll use the magic there to change back into myself.” Maybe a little younger, she added silently. “If we’re ever together, I want you to be thinking about me, not Alana.”