Speak to the Devil bm-1

by Dave Duncan

  “Yes, we did go. And I have to go back there.”

  Someone rattled the door. Wulf walked over to it.

  “We’re all right,” he said loudly. “We’re chewing over old times.”

  “Sure?” asked Otto’s voice.

  “Quite sure. We’ll come and join you shortly.”

  Wulf sat on the stool and removed his spurs.

  Smiling, Marek came over to help him with his boots. “And where is Anton? Even the baroness says she doesn’t know.”

  “Anton is currently holding a castle that the Wends are likely to attack with cannon and Satanism any day now. He can’t withstand them with the men he’s got. I’m his resident miracle worker.”

  “False miracles,” Marek murmured. “Witchcraft.”

  “We’ll talk about that, too. Tomorrow Vlad’s going to join us. In effect, King Konrad’s chief minister has appointed the Magnus brothers defenders of the kingdom. And now that you’ve arrived, it will be four against the Wends.”

  Marek was just standing, watching him with wide eyes. “Four of us? Two men-at-arms and two Speakers?”

  “Correct. And maybe Otto as our counsel and liaison with the court.”

  “I was not sent to join you, Wulf! I ran away, I told you.”

  He had not produced the Greenwood password.

  Wulf stood up to remove his doublet and shirt. Standing close, he could look down on Marek even more than Anton looked down on him; the difference was that he tried not to. “Brother-and I call you that because we are of one blood, not because you were forced into a monastery against your will-Brother, you have been lying to me. You said you saddled Morningstar after matins, which is twelve hours ago now, but he arrived here so fresh that Achim says he’s still frisky. Tell me the real reason you will not cure your tattered back.”

  Marek dropped his eyes and said nothing.

  “And why you thought I had not been to the northern marches. Was that because I asked about your back?”

  The smaller man looked up, surprised. “Yes. You know this? The Voices cannot hurt me when I am already in pain. One pain cancels out the other and pays for the false miracles. Without that, I could not have endured the agony of my journey through limbo.”

  Why was he just standing there holding the habit, instead of dressing?

  “If that’s what they teach you, they’re lying. I suffered for my journey from Koupel to Castle Gallant, yes. My Voices told me that pain was the price I chose, so the next time I asked them for a miracle, I refused that price. I don’t feel pain now when I Speak.”

  “Oh, Brother, what worse pain are you saving up for eternity?”

  “I’ll worry about that later.” Wulf reached out a hand.

  Marek stepped back. Wulf followed until his brother was backed against the wall. Then he gripped his bare shoulders. “Holy St. Helena and St. Victorinus?”

  The Light flooded the room. Marek’s eyes widened.

  “Please will you cure these wounds on my brother?”

  — Of course, since you ask.

  “And tell me if his superiors at Koupel have been lying to him?”

  — Of course they have.

  “Thank you.”

  The Light faded.

  Wulf turned Marek around. The skin of his back was whole, unscarred.

  Marek sighed. “Thank you, Brother. That does feel better. What did they tell you?”

  “They said of course you’ve been lied to! But my Voices would say that whether they were angels or devils, wouldn’t they?” Wulf went to the chest where he had put his meager wardrobe. “Can you and I share the truth now, as we know it?”

  Wrapping himself in his gown, Marek said, “You’re asking me to pit one loyalty against another, but the abbot did that first, and it’s clear that he’s been deceiving me. You have almost convinced me that the Voices are who they say they are.” He went over to the empty hearth and sat on the hob. “I don’t know much, but ask me what you want to know. No more lies, I swear.”

  Wulf started lacing his trunk hose to his shirt. The brothers stared at each other. It was not a time for smiles.

  “You were sent here?”

  Nod.

  “To do what?”

  “To locate you so that we… so that they could come and apprehend you before you do any more of the devil’s work.”

  “How do you ‘apprehend’ a Speaker?”

  “Just by numbers,” Marek said simply. “Physically, two or three men can usually pin another, and the same is true of Speaking. Then they put a bridle on you, an iron gag with a tongue piece, so that you cannot Speak.”

  “You honestly believe that the Voices come from the devil?”

  Another nod. “I saved that boy’s life-Hans. But you tell me he committed a terrible crime.”

  “Your thinking has been warped!” Wulf said angrily. “If I see a child drowning and rescue that child, am I responsible for every sin that child commits thereafter? How can you reconcile that idea with the doctrine that God gave us all free will?”

  “Doctrine is a matter for the Church to determine, Brother.”

  “And lie about?”

  Marek hesitated. “No. The Holy Father would not lie about that. But small lies… Sometimes the Church is forced to employ things that are otherwise evil in order to do God’s work.”

  “Like attracting rich sick people to Koupel and having Speakers cure them so that they will enrich the monastery?”

  “We have to pay the abbot’s grocery bill somehow.”

  “That remark ought to earn you another dozen lashes.”

  “Or a forty-day fast.” The little man’s eyes twinkled, so perhaps they were drawing closer to the truth at last. “You have no idea how good it feels to be able to say things like that again!”

  But he still wasn’t saying all he knew.

  “When we came to see you, you talked about a first sin and a second sin. There are steps to Speaking, aren’t there? How many?” If his brother’s repentance was genuine, then Wulf might now learn some of the hidden lore of Speaking. If Marek was still playing false, of course, then he would just be pelted with more lies.

  The monk wrung his hands. “I don’t know. We are only taught as much as we need to know. The first sin, or first step, as I told you, is hearing the Voices at all. That temptation comes to very few people. The second sin is to listen to them and come to understand what they are saying. Many who are tempted manage to resist that step, so Speakers are very rare. I knew of five in Jorgary-two Dominicans plus three in Koupel, including me. You are the only other one I know of, and you were just starting when I left here, so I wasn’t sure about you until you came to Koupel on Sunday. You make six. There may be more. The third step is to ask the Voices for their help. Just in little things, at first-to find a lost coin, to cure a baby’s colic. It seems so harmless! Then comes the fourth step, undeniable false miracles and acceptance of the pain that is their price.”

  “That’s where you are now?”

  For the first time, the monk looked truly abashed. “Don’t you remember how sick I was after I healed the boy, Hans? No, you probably don’t, but for two days I felt that there was a thunderstorm going on inside my head. It was the worst pain I have ever known-until Brother Lodnicka’s chastisement yesterday. I might never have Spoken again after what healing the boy cost me. As it was, of course, the Dominicans came for me and made me swear not to. And I never did until today. On Monday I was released from my oath for the purpose of locating you. I was offered a lighter penance if I promised to redress my sin in letting you escape. I had to find you and then fetch the, um

  … we call them missionaries.”

  Wulf suppressed a shiver, remembering the day his brother had been taken away. “The Lord’s hounds?”

  “They get called that, too. The first part of my penance remained the same.”

  “To stand for fifty lashes?”

  “Forty-two that day, the other eight on Tuesday. I had to ask for a
rest. Today I was judged fit enough to start looking, so I came to Dobkov as the best place to begin. And it worked! The pain in my back kept the other pain away.”

  “Or they were lying and I was right. You accepted pain that you could have refused altogether. They want you to believe the pain is inevitable so you will not call on your Voices without permission.” Receiving no answer, Wulf said, “Try it now if you don’t believe me. Walk through limbo to Koupel and then back here. Refuse the price, and you will be given the power as a gift.”

  Marek grimaced. “I will believe you. After all these years in Koupel being fed lies, I will believe you.” He sighed. “I thought my search was over almost before it began. The moment I arrived here at Dobkov I was told that you had been here and were expected to return soon. My orders were to wait until dark and then go back and tell the abbot where you could be found.” He paused and looked away. “Except that I knew I couldn’t. Even before you walked in just now, I knew I wouldn’t. I am sorry, Brother! I was wrong even to think of it. Please believe me. It is so good to be home,” he added wistfully.

  The first story had been a lie; was the second true? Lies could qualify as “things otherwise evil” that might be employed to do the Lord’s work. Wulf donned a fresh tunic and a short cloak.

  “So what’s the fifth step in Speaking?”

  Marek shook his head. “I’m not sure. I once overheard someone saying that there are eight ranks or grades in all. When you were able to refuse the cost and feel no pain, then that may have been when you reached the fifth level. I do know about the sixth, and now you have reached that.”

  “Which is?” Wulf asked uneasily.

  “The sixth step is when you start believing in the saints-truly believing what the Voices tell you, rejecting the Church’s teaching that they are devils. That’s when the nimbus appears.”

  “Nimbus?”

  “Well, you didn’t have it when you came to Koupel.”

  Wulf crossed the room in two bounds to peer in the mirror. Light of no color and all colors glowed around his head as if he were a saint in an icon. He was still staring at it in horror when a concerned Marek appeared in the reflection.

  “You didn’t know?” he said.

  “No! It wasn’t there when I shaved this morning.”

  “Then it must have just come. Only other Speakers can see it.”

  “All other Speakers will see me like this now?”

  “Perhaps not those with very low rank, but when the Dominican missionaries came here to Dobkov for me, the main reason I went with them so readily was that I saw them glowing like images of Christ.”

  This was appalling! Wulf was literally a marked man, branded like a thief. “Will it fade if I stop Speaking to my Voices?”

  “I don’t think so.” Marek was looking genuinely sympathetic.

  “Abbot Bohdan doesn’t have a halo, not that I could see.”

  “I don’t think Bohdan is a Speaker. If he was, he wouldn’t have needed my help to eavesdrop on you. But there must be higher steps that I don’t know. Higher ranks may be able to hide their nimbus.”

  “They don’t need you to track me down now, do they?” Wulf wailed. “Any Speaker I meet will see me glowing like a bonfire.”

  “Most of them will be equally visible to you, though,” Marek said. “Some won’t be, like me, but those ones are probably not dangerous to you.”

  “So you still believe your Voices are sent by the devil? And mine?”

  Marek bowed his head. “I suppose I must. Maybe, when I have had a few days away from the monastery and have practiced Speaking again, I will come to agree with your view. But, Wulf, I swear I will not betray you to the missionaries! By my immortal soul, I swear! Now I see myself through your eyes and know that no Magnus should ever betray another the way I was going to betray you. I won’t go back to Koupel… willingly.”

  “I am glad,” Wulf said. Glad but not convinced. He ran fingers through his hair and pulled on his flowerpot-shaped hat to hide it. “You can’t go around in a Benedictine habit, though. We’ll see if Branka’s seamstresses can turn you into a Franciscan. Monk to friar, black to brown.”

  “You’ll forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive!” Wulf hugged him. “They had you for five years. They preached at you night and day, I suppose? Half starved you? Beat you? Kept you short of sleep? Their message was all you ever heard. You wouldn’t be human if you could withstand such treatment. But you must do one thing to prove that you’re truly repentant.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Join Otto and me in getting roaring drunk tonight and singing disgusting bawdy songs till dawn.”

  Marek started to laugh, but stopped abruptly, looking surprised. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve made that vulgar noise in five years?”

  CHAPTER 28

  The weather in Bavaria had changed overnight. Under heavily overcast skies, an unfriendly wind wailed pitilessly around Castle Orel, promising rain to follow. Wulf had asked his Voices to deliver Otto, Marek, and himself to the road alongside the lake that he had seen the previous day. They had consented without argument. Clearly they would take him only to people he knew or places with which he had some previous connection, but as usual they refused to explain why.

  Marek had tried a short journey through limbo on his own and had returned doubled over with pain, which Wulf had cured for him. By his reckoning, he was still only a Four. Wulf could only advise him to keep trying.

  Seen from the lake, Baron Emilian’s Castle Orel was a spectacular affair of towers, turrets and many windows, balanced on a rock like an osprey plume on a hat. Even to Wulf’s uncritical eye it looked more like decoration than a practical machine of warfare. Otto laughed at it and asked what it was supposed to be guarding in the middle of a forest. It was only a glorified hunting lodge, he said. Indeed, the land around the lake was an open beech wood that lacked the close-cropped grass that indicated pasture. It was surely a lord’s game park, and a moment’s search turned up both old pellets of summer deer droppings near the lake and the ruts made by wild boar.

  The brothers rode off up the hill. Roughly halfway to the castle, Otto and Marek found a secluded spot to wait, and Wulf rode on alone.

  He reined in Copper at the front edge of the drawbridge. The moat was a dry trench, of course, up there on top of the crag, but it was deep, steep-sided, and floored with sharp rocks.

  With the drawbridge down and the portcullis raised, he could have ridden all the way into the bailey if he wished, but dangers lurked there that he would rather avoid. The baron might want to know how his hostage had obtained that weighty bag of gold yesterday. Worse, Emilian might be hosting a squad of Dominicans, lying in wait for the Satanist. Wulf still did not trust Marek’s change of allegiance and protests of family loyalty; it would have been easy for him to step through limbo to Koupel in the middle of the night and report what his devil-worshiping brother was up to. This suspicion and gnawing dread would be the pattern of Wulf’s life from now on, aware always of the glowing nimbus that marked him as a Speaker and made him blatantly visible to any other Speaker, who might or might not be equally visible to him. He shivered as the wind sank claws through his cloak and tried to bluster him over the edge of the moat.

  “Holy Saints, what is Vlad doing?”

  — Watching his sumpter being laden, Victorinus said. — His mount is saddled and ready to go.

  “Thank you.” The Light faded.

  He drew his dagger and inspected his blurred reflection in the shiny blade. The nimbus still shone around his head. Several times in the night he had dreamed that he was on a battlefield, all alone, facing the entire Pomeranian army. The army had charged and he had called on his Voices to aid him-and they had not been there. He had awakened shaking and sweating, and he must have called out in his sleep, because he had awakened Marek once.

  If Vlad did not come soon he was going to find his youngest brother tragically frozen. Copper neighed in complai
nt and stamped a foot.

  Last night had been a wonderful family reunion with Marek, all the better for not having Anton and Vlad there, although that was a shameful thing to think of one’s brothers. Anton had very little humor and Vlad had far too much, of his own bruising kind. Otto had included Branka, who was entitled to be there as hostess and mother of the next generation of Magnuses. She had assured the family’s Speakers that she believed they remained in a state of grace, and had not only joined in the singing, but had supplied some bawdy verses that even Otto had not heard before.

  Vlad appeared in the archway, astride one horse and leading another. He wore a sword but no armor, having forfeited his when he yielded to Emilian.

  Wulf had not counted on an extra horse. He would have to ask his Voices if they could transport it, or if he would have to come back for it. He backed Copper out of the way and doffed his hat in salute. “God bless, Sir Vlad, and welcome to liberty.”

  Vlad just scowled. His horses were nondescript nags, his hat and cloak a fair match for them. Baron Emilian had not quite thrown him out naked, but he had not been generous with parting gifts.

  “I hope that you don’t expect me to ride far on this pig. Or be seen in these rags.”

  “You won’t be riding far. Just down this trail a ways.”

  “And then what?”

  “Otto is waiting there.”

  Vlad looked surprised at that and fell silent. As they rode, Wulf outlined the events of the last few days, from Anton’s craziness at the hunt to Otto’s meeting with Cardinal Zdenek. He was just short of explaining Marek’s defection before they turned off the trail and around a thicket, to a secluded dell where Otto and Marek were waiting. Vlad greeted Otto with a humility suitable to a shamed warrior who had put his family to considerable trouble and expense. He was always respectful to his older brother, even formal.

  He had a personal name for the each of the others. “God’s blood! If it isn’t Midge! And a friar now? Koupel threw you out?”

  Marek smiled with good humor. “They couldn’t afford to feed me.”