Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3)

by Holder, Angela

  “But—Keeper, I’ll have to go near their demons, help subject people to their power, maybe even touch them!” Vigorre fought to quell the trembling that seized him. “How can we know they won’t see through my pretense?”

  “We don’t.” Yoran eyed him gravely. “I know what I ask will require great courage. If you feel yourself unequal to the task, I’ll find some other to perform it.”

  “No.” Vigorre swallowed. “I will. I just—I don’t want to be corrupted.”

  “You won’t be.” Yoran fixed him with an intense gaze. “The Mother has granted her children free will. The demons’ slaves have chosen to serve them. They can do nothing to you against your will. Be alert to their trickery, remain firm in your devotion to the Mother, and they can’t harm you.”

  “I understand.” Although even if his soul was safe, they could inflict physical damage. The mountain cat’s claws and teeth and the donkey’s hooves were deadly weapons. And their power could imprison and kill as well as heal. Nirel’s story proved that.

  “Good. You can learn about their strengths and vulnerabilities and pass the information to us. Once they’ve come to trust you, you can lead them into a trap.”

  “Ah.” Keeper Yoran’s plan suddenly made sense to Vigorre. Of course he was willing to risk associating with the wizards and their beasts if by doing so he could help bring about their downfall. “I see.” He straightened. “I’ll be honored, Keeper Yoran.”

  “Wonderful.” Yoran rose and gestured for Vigorre to do the same. “Unless you have further questions, I think we’re finished here. Go home and inform your family of your decision to remain on the conventional path. Tell your father the truth and arrange to return here with him after sunset. Then go to the Beggars’ Quarter and begin cultivating the false wizards’ friendship.”

  “Yes, Keeper.” It was a great relief to have a clear path laid out in front of him. Before today he’d been wary of Yoran and put off by his arrogant manner. But now he knew the full truth about the enemy they faced, he found the Purifier leader’s certainty reassuring. He was well suited to lead them in a war in which hesitation or doubt could prove fatal to their cause, and all of Ravanetha with it.

  Yoran ushered him out of the temple and bid him farewell. Vigorre started along the street toward the wealthy district high above the harbor where the First Keeper’s luxurious home was located. After a few steps a thought occurred to him and he turned back, but Keeper Yoran had already closed the doors of the temple and vanished.

  Vigorre continued on his way. Surely Yoran wouldn’t mind if he told Nirel the truth about his commitment to the Purifiers. They were practically betrothed. She would be excited to hear that he was taking concrete steps to help rid the world of the evil that had caused her so much suffering. And he had to let her know the real reason behind his sudden desire to befriend the wizards, because otherwise she would see it as a betrayal. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he’d ceased to believe the secret she’d trusted him with, now that he knew beyond any doubt her story was true.

  Seven

  Nirel blinked hard as the cold, stinging drops splashed in first one eye, then the other. She squeezed her lids tight shut, scrunched her whole face, and shook her head hard. Putting her hands over her eyes, she flung her head back and forth, hair whipping. She kept it up until she was sure she’d given her pupils long enough to return to normal size.

  As her thrashing stilled, she lowered her hands from her eyes and blinked, cautiously at first, then harder. She rose from her chair, staring about her in amazement. “I can see!” she exclaimed. She whirled to face the healer and pointed. “Your shirt. It’s blue! Praise the Mother, I can see again! Her power has cured me!”

  Ozor jumped up from the bench in the front row where he’d been watching. “No, no! You still sound like you’re reciting a script. You have to say it as if you believe it!”

  “I am reciting a script,” Nirel retorted. “I told you, I’m no good at acting. Get someone else to shill for you.”

  Ozor stormed onto the stage. “It has to be you. Everyone else has their own tasks. I’m not asking for a performance worthy of a master player. Just a little sincerity.” He shoved her back into the chair. “Do it again, and get it right this time!”

  Zamli scowled at Ozor and rummaged in his bag. “I’m switching to saltwater drops. It’s not good for her eyes to use the dilating solution over and over like this.”

  “Fine.” Ozor waved an impatient hand at the Girodan healer. “Your drops are perfect. Just the effect I wanted. It’s Nirel’s role that’s lacking.” He peered at Zamli’s bag. “Do you have something that would actually blind her temporarily? Maybe if she really couldn’t see for a while her reaction to being healed would be more convincing.”

  Zamli gave Ozor a hostile glare. “Absolutely not. If you think I would harm a patient in that manner, perhaps I should reconsider our bargain.”

  “Never mind.” Ozor hastily waved away Zamli’s objection. “It was just a thought. Nirel, you’ll just have to do better. Imagine how it would feel to have been blind for years and suddenly be able to see again.” He went back to his place and gestured for them to start over.

  Nirel returned to her seat, halfway down one of the aisles between the long rows of benches. Ozor swore that in a few days great crowds would fill the tent to witness his imported healers in action. Since it was unlikely suitably dramatic cases would present themselves every night, Ozor had recruited a number of his companions to keep the production lively.

  During an actual show her father would sit with her in the audience and escort her as she stumbled and groped her way to the stage. But Kabos had refused to participate in the rehearsals. He was out in the terraced fields above the village, getting them ready for the spring planting. There wasn’t much work to be done—mostly the seaweed and manure they’d turned under the soil in the fall needed time to rot—but Kabos always found something to keep him busy. Nirel barely saw him except when they shared the evening meal she cooked. He spoke to her only when he couldn’t avoid it, and then only in grunts and monosyllables.

  Nirel put aside that line of thought. She’d hoped their shared rediscovery of the faith of Kabos’s ancestors would bring them the closeness she’d always craved, but instead it had driven them apart. Kabos couldn’t accept the things Elder Davon had commanded her to do, even though the good of all the Faithful was Davon’s ultimate goal. Her obedience might prove the deciding factor that would finally free them from the oppression of those who followed the Lady of Mercy.

  Zamli launched into his spiel, inviting anyone with eye problems to come forward for treatment. Despite the Girodan’s air of bored impatience with the whole rigamarole, Ozor didn’t stop him for a scolding. He wouldn’t risk antagonizing the talent further.

  The only reason Nirel was willing to go along with Ozor’s scheme was that he actually had something of value to sell. She’d seen Zamli’s drops heal a child’s reddened, itchy eyes, although it had taken several days of treatment, not the instantaneous reversal she feigned. Nalini’s sleeping sponge allowed her to perform amazing surgeries, and her potions could cure all kinds of infections. Tesi’s slender needles could make pain or nausea vanish. The rest of the Girodan healers Ozor had brought back from his last trading venture all likewise had real skills to offer the people of Ramunna.

  The dramatics were just advertising. They had to compete with the flashiness of the Mother’s glowing golden power. People wanted to see a good show. It would convince them to risk their money, and then they would receive the subtle treatments that would really help them.

  Ozor made Nirel go through her part three more times before he admitted grudging satisfaction and released her. She hurried home to change out of her comfortable Tevenar-style tunic and breeches into a modest Ramunnan dress. Even though she was running late, she wouldn’t presume to appear before Elder Davon in anything but proper attire.

  All along the road between the village a
nd the city, members of Ozor’s band and hired workers were putting up signs Come Experience the Mother’s Healing! they proclaimed. All Welcome. No One Turned Away.

  Nirel made a face. The Girodan healers couldn’t help every problem, any more than the wizards could. But she supposed Ozor wouldn’t consider it good business to admit that.

  She passed through the gate into the Dualist Quarter with a nod to the guard. They were used to her coming and going now. They assumed she was on her way to the palace, for the Matriarch had taken the Tevenarans under her wing and often invited them to dine with her. Nirel was a favorite and made the trip frequently. Today, however, she had a more important errand.

  Elder Semanel opened his door with an affectionate smile and gestured for her to proceed into the shrine. She pushed aside the heavy draperies and entered the little room.

  Vibrantly colored patterns surrounded her, woven into the rug on the floor and the draperies that hung from frames encircling the space and arched into a dome overhead. The contrasting zig-zag stripes fooled the eye into perceiving constant, unsettling motion. Only one place in the whole shrine was still and calm: the pristine white scroll hanging between two lamps, embroidered in black silk with the words of the day’s Ordinance.

  A robed and hooded man knelt before the scroll, his head bowed. Nirel knelt beside him, silently reciting the appropriate prayer. When she reached the end of the long series of ritual phrases she worked to still and center her mind, emptying herself to receive the words of Elder Davon, which were to her as the words of the Lord of Justice.

  He only made her wait a few minutes before sitting back on his heels and lowering his hood. “Welcome, daughter. I have contemplated the tidings you brought me yesterday, and prayed, and the Lord of Justice has revealed to me what he would have us do.”

  “Yes, Elder.” Davon had betrayed no dismay when she told him of the wizards’ arrival, even though she knew their presence meant his plans had gone awry. The leader of the Faithful had told her of his intention to provoke the Matriarch into attacking Tevenar and destroying the wizards. Then Faithful agents in Marvanna would trigger that country to declare war on Ramunna, prompting the Matriarch to withdraw the Armada from Tevenar and send it against her old enemy. The Faithful were prepared to abandon their homes, board their vast fleet of trading ships, and voyage to Tevenar. They would occupy the leaderless land and establish what the Faithful had dreamed of for centuries—a country of their own, where they could worship openly and observe the Ordinances in peace, free of dominion by the enemies of the Lord of Justice.

  Elder Davon spread his hands. “Our course must change, but our destination remains the same. Since we can no longer hope to goad the Matriarch into sending the Armada against Tevenar in order to force the wizards to help her, we’ll have to give her a new reason to do so. We must sow enmity between her and the Tevenaran envoys. You know more about the wizards than any of us. Are you aware of any conflicts likely to arise between them and the Matriarch that we can exploit?”

  Nirel blinked. “I… I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. I know the wizards have very strict rules they’re supposed to follow. If she tried to get them to break one and they refused, she’d get angry.”

  Davon inclined his head. “Do you know what these laws require or forbid?”

  Nirel tried to think. “Um… they have to have a reason to look into the past for evidence of a crime. They can’t search just because of a suspicion.” Her face got hot as she remembered how Josiah had tried to get around that rule. “They’re not supposed to use their powers for anything bad, really. I don’t think they can. Maybe we could get the Matriarch to ask them to spy on her enemies, or kill someone for her, or something like that.”

  Davon nodded gravely. “I need someone close to the wizards, who can watch for such an opportunity and be ready to take action if it arises. You said these are the same wizards who healed your sister and stayed for a while with Ozor’s band?”

  Elder Davon knew the whole story. She’d held nothing back from her account save for how Elkan had once healed her. If she admitted that the Mother’s power had entered her body, the Elders would be forced to cast her out from the Faithful. They’d all but ordered her to keep any such incident a secret. “That’s right.”

  “And you consider the younger wizard a friend?”

  Nirel shrugged, hoping the light was too dim for him to see her blush. “I used to.”

  Davon’s smile was knowing, but he didn’t bring up what Nirel had told him about kissing Josiah. “I know you don’t want the wizards to learn of your presence here, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to make contact with them. Your prior acquaintance should make it easy for you to approach them and renew the friendship.”

  “No!” The denial escaped Nirel’s lips before she could stop it. “I mean, Elder Davon, I’m a fugitive. If they find out I’m here, they’ll capture me and take me back to Tevenar for trial.”

  “You have the Matriarch’s favor and protection. If they defy her by arresting you, it could provoke the conflict we seek.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. Would she be willing to face imprisonment and whatever punishment awaited her back home if it would serve the Faithful? She lifted her chin. “Do you want me to go now?”

  He smiled wryly at her. “As soon as we’re done. But fear not, daughter. I doubt your crimes are so grave they’ll risk the Matriarch’s wrath to punish you. The one they serve is named the Lady of Mercy for a reason; she cares not for upholding justice as we do. I think it more likely they’ll dismiss your transgressions as insignificant and welcome you. Especially if you offer to help in their work.”

  Nirel drew in her breath, going cold. “What? Help them pollute innocent people with their foul power?”

  Elder Davon shrugged. “It’s distasteful, I know, but they aren’t Faithful. They’ll clamor for the wizards’ corrupting touch. You’ll do nothing but help them along a road they’ve already chosen.”

  She shivered. “Yes, but…”

  He laid a hand on her arm. “We can’t protect unbelievers from themselves. What concerns me more is the danger you’ll face. You must be extremely careful not to be injured while you’re near them, lest they seek to invade your body with their power. You know that’s the one Ordinance I can’t waive, even if the fate of all the Faithful is at stake.”

  Nirel gulped. “Yes.”

  “I will send you into that danger, for you can serve in this as no other of the Faithful can. But I will pray earnestly for the Lord of Justice to protect you from his sister’s evil.” He took her hands and looked into her eyes. “You are dear to me, daughter. If you were lost to us I would grieve you as one of my own blood.”

  The words were so unexpected all Nirel could do was stare at him. With a gentle smile he patted her hands and released them.

  She swallowed and returned to an earlier subject. “Even if the wizards don’t try to arrest me and haul me back to Tevenar, what about Ozor and the others? They think he murdered people.”

  The deaths had happened before Nirel had joined Ozor’s band. She believed Ozor when he said they’d been accidental or in self-defense, but even if he’d deliberately killed, it didn’t matter. She’d sworn her loyalty to him. Betraying him to the wizards would be a gross violation of her vow.

  But her duty to the Faithful far outweighed any private oaths she’d made before she’d given her life to the Lord of Justice.

  “I don’t think Ozor’s presence in Ramunna will stay a secret very long, whatever you do. He’s preparing some sort of grand event in your village, correct? I’ve heard that a huge tent was erected yesterday and signs are going up today.”

  Nirel rolled her eyes. “He’s been planning it for weeks. As soon as he found out the wizards had arrived, he put his scheme in motion. He brought a bunch of healers back with him from Giroda on his last trading voyage. He thinks there’ll be lots of people who won’t be able to get healed by the wiza
rds, and they’ll be willing to pay for whatever we can offer.”

  Elder Davon stiffened. “These Girodan healers—do they wield the Lady of Mercy’s power?”

  “Of course not. Just potions, instruments, clever techniques, that sort of thing. A lot of it works pretty well, but it’s all perfectly natural.”

  “I see.” Davon sank back on his heels, his gaze distant. After a moment he focused on Nirel again. “You’ve eased my burden immensely, daughter. Ever since you arrived and we learned that wizards still exist, I’ve been working to strengthen the Faithful of Ramunna against temptation. But people are weak. I knew that for all I could do, if the wizards came here we would inevitably lose some portion of our number to their corruption. It’s hard to watch the ones you love suffer, even when you know the Lord of Justice has decreed it.”

  His voice was so intense Nirel looked at him curiously. She knew nothing of Elder Davon’s personal life, who his family might be or if he even had one, but she wondered if the emotion in his words came from first-hand experience.

  His smile seemed to lighten his whole face. “But now they have an alternative. The Lord of Justice doesn’t forbid using things of this world to cure disease or ease pain. Indeed, to offer one’s skill in such matters to one’s neighbors is a righteous act. I will spread word among our people that any who wish may seek help from Ozor’s healers with the Lord’s blessing.”

  Nirel grinned. “That will make Ozor happy. He’ll love having more customers, and he doesn’t hate the Faithful like Ramunnans do. He’ll take anyone’s money.”

  Elder Davon’s smiled turned wry. “Truly the Lord of Justice works in marvelous ways, if he can use Ozor’s greed to save our people from corruption.”