How did they . . ? Suddenly he remembered the name of the man he had met on his arrival the previous day; Triptoak. It had been the Chamber Seat’s nephew. Not a coincidence, he thought. He had approached the gnomish Collector seeking information, but clearly the man had been waiting there in case Welgray appeared. They had known he was coming, after all. That tidbit of realization didn’t bother him, but the second did. He twisted me; he drew me right to him. He distracted me so I wouldn’t remember his name, then managed to catch me loose with my words.
It wasn’t against the order’s rules to twist fellow Collectors, but it was rude, and no one appreciated it—a Collector imagined himself above being manipulated as the common people, but of course, that wasn’t the case. Clearly, the Chamber had heard of his encounter with the girl—a spy among the warders?—and didn’t trust him to reveal all.
For a moment he debated withholding the key piece of information he knew they would want; then, defeated, he realized it wouldn’t matter; they’d know soon enough, even if they failed to twist it out of him. They were right not to trust me, he pondered. I would deceive them in this, if I could.
With only a pause at the thought, Welgray replied quickly and confidently. “Chamber Seat, I suspect that the girl spoken of is one who introduced herself to me as Merikal, with whom I met in the ravines outside the mining town of Red Rock.” It was a carefully worded statement—a Collector did not express uncertainty—but left opportunity to be corrected, if need be.
His statement was met with silence, so he continued.
“She stumbled upon my campsite in said ravines, though I detected her approach. She was highly suspicious of me, and obviously in flight. Her clothing and gear suggested she had been on the run for about a moon’s turn, and that she was a capable survivor in the wild.
“There was, I recognized immediately, something odd about the girl. I could not say what, but sensed that I needed to know more. With only a modicum of knowing, I sensed she was about to leave, so I used twisting to entice her to stay, and to trust me. My attempt succeeded, and she remained with me until morning.”
“And what did you learn?” The voice came from the other side of the Hall; he didn’t see who asked, so he simply bowed in that direction to acknowledge the Chamber Seat speaking, and turned to address the Speaker as he continued.
“Very little, Chamber Seats. The girl—” he winced slightly at this part, more out of the frustration that the memory dredged up, than out of dismay of being unable to evade the question, “—she had an uncanny ability to deflect my delving. Almost as if she were a Collector, or trained as one, though I knew that to be unlikely.”
“Impossible,” another Seat said dubiously. Again, he didn’t see the origin of the voice, so a quick bow in that direction and he continued.
“So I imagined as well,” he agreed. “And yet, she was impenetrable. I had hoped,” he went on, frowning slightly, “that I would have more time to travel with her, and learn more. She was not invulnerable to my twisting, that I could determine. Sadly, we were interrupted by a group of warders from the town seeking her out, and she fled before I could deflect their intent.”
“Did you seek to follow?” Triptoak asked him.
Feeling somewhat relieved to address someone directly, and a someone friendly to him at that, Welgray turned to face him. “I could not, Chamber Seat Triptoak,” he replied. “The warders pursued immediately, and with her skills in the wild, I knew they would never track her, nor could I. Thus, I departed immediately for the Spire, with intent to inform you of what I had discovered. Too late, as I have heard, however,” he finished with chagrin.
“That will suffice, Collector. You may be excused,” the Speaker said.
“Pardon of the Chamber, but might I inquire of the girl’s fate?” he asked hopefully, knowing that he was stretching the limits of his presence there.
“The girl is to be destroyed,” the Speaker replied coolly.
Welgray swallowed. The Chamber Seats were all watching for a reaction, and he fought not to display one. “Surely the girl could be brought here instead, to be trained and guided? She could represent unheard of value to the order,” he added, knowing full well that he had passed far beyond his welcome with the words.
The Chamber Speaker narrowed her eyes at him, but Triptoak spoke first. “She is too dangerous, son. The girl can manifest. That in itself makes her dangerous, but if we could have been sure that she would serve the order, she might have been spared. Now you have informed us that she cannot be delved. If we do not know her intent, she cannot be trusted—with her power, she could come to dominate the order in time, regardless of her inclinations. It cannot be risked,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
“Banish her, then,” Welgray suggested, a hint of desperation colouring his voice. “She may not be a danger at all. Surely if not permitted to return—”
“The Chamber has voted unanimously on the issue. It is decided, Collector. You may withdraw,” the Speaker said; it was a command.
“And Chamber Seat Llory?” Welgray burst out. “How did she vote?”
“You are dismissed!” the Speaker bellowed, her voice echoing throughout the Hall.
It was the first time Welgray had heard a voice raised in the Hall Ascended, and he saw several Chamber Seats widen their eyes in surprise; apparently it was for them, as well. Twisting was also evident in her words—a certain break with propriety, but no more so than his outburst.
Welgray looked up to Triptoak in hope of some support, but found none; the man had his eyes closed. His heart sank. He had hoped to convince the Chamber of the girl’s potential to be a great asset, more so than a feasible danger. Now, his words had doomed her.
With a bow, he withdrew.
・・・
“Master, y’ can’t leave m’ behind, if y’ do na intend t’ return,” Wissa whined, her hands running down his back as Welgray tightened Cardinal’s saddle straps. “Take Wissa wit’y’.”
“Be quiet, girl,” Welgray moaned. “I told you, we mustn’t spread the word on that. As far as all are concerned,” he reiterated, glancing around furtively to be certain no one was listening in, “it’s just another of my journeys, to end in an informative report on my return.”
“But ‘tis na so,” she said quietly, her voice nearly breaking in anguish. “Wha’ will Wissa do?” Her cheeks shined with tears, and Welgray couldn’t help but feel a wrenching in his gut. He did love the girl in a way, simple as she was. As much as any Collector could love a woman.
“Wissa shall return home,” he replied, wiping her cheeks clean. “I release you from your service.”
She starting to wail then, and he seized her quickly by the shoulders, pulling her face to his chest and shushing her; no mean feat, considering the near handswidth she towered over him by.
When she calmed slightly he pulled her face from his shoulder, where she had left a wet stain on his traveling robes, and frowned at her. “Now see here, Wissa. Your term of vice would have ended soon enough anyway. You had what, a few moons at most?”
Wissa shook her head sadly. “No, Master. Wissa finish her term haf’a year back.”
“What?” Welgray exclaimed, then shushed himself. “What are you saying, girl? Why didn’t you leave?”
“‘Cause Wissa loves Master, that’s why,” she answered firmly. “Y’ needs me. I wan’ stay wit’ y’, always.” Her eyes held him at that, and he knew she meant it.
“It will be dangerous, Wissa. You must return home.”
His attempt to twist, however, backfired completely. She had caught him completely off guard with her declaration, and his focus was shaken.
“Wissa will na.” she stated firmly.
Welgray stared at her. He certainly could not take her along; she would be a distraction at best, a fatal weight at worst. In any case, the danger to her was unacceptable.
“Very well, Wissa. Now don’t get excited, people will notice. You must,” he went on, pretending
to dry her tears again, despite the grin she was attempting to subdue at his command, “at least pretend to be as sad as you always are when I leave.”
Wissa nodded, turning her smile downward in a horrible attempt at a frown; her eyes were still smiling.
Welgray continued loading his pony, quietly instructing Wissa as he did so. “Wait a day after I leave, then inform the Chief Caretaker that you are claiming your term. Pack your bags and leave as if you are going home. We will meet in—” he paused as he tried to think of the name of a nearby village, “—what is the name of the village with the river wheel that you enjoyed so much?”
“Sun Field,” she said, smiling again at the thought.
“Sadness,” he reminded, pulling her face down to his shoulder again. She responded with a whine; unconvincing, but it was a start. “We will meet in Sun Field on the day after tomorrow, at dawn.”
“Thank y’, Master,” she replied, pulling her head away, with a face that fell partway between joy and anguish, but achieved neither; she appeared to be suffering from a stomach ailment.
Good enough, he thought. Good enough to get him away safely, without suspicion, after which he could be off to find Llory. When Wissa didn’t find him at Sun Field, she would return home, and he need worry of her no more. Perhaps one day he might seek her out . . .
“Farewell, Wissa,” he said, pulling her head down to kiss her forehead, as he always did.
“Fa’well, Master,” she said, with a far too eager curtsey.
“Shoo!” he commanded, and she rushed off with a partially hidden smile. He looked around guiltily, but the stable remained empty, so he took the reins and mounted Cardinal.
“Sorry to cut short your rest, old friend,” he said, patting the pony on the neck, then stroking him. Then, under his breath, “but we have a Chamber Seat to catch. Well,” he added with a shrug, “former Chamber Seat. Which I suppose will make me a former Collector, at that.”
He nudged the pony, and rode out through the towering gates of the Spire and across the ancient bridge.
16 JODHRIK
The sun was out, and the ship was cruising across long, smooth rollers ahead of a stiff breeze. At least it seemed stiff to Jodhrik; he had heard some of the crew complaining about their slow rate of travel. Likely they preferred the storm through which he had struggled to keep down his dinner, with tall white-capped waves so deep that from the bottom of one, he couldn’t see the next.
Jodhrik had taken to standing at the rail amidships during the day. His cabin, though private, had quickly become a stuffy, dark prison, and the weather, after they sailed a few days out of the reach of land, was mostly clear. The crew of course were on deck all day, and Jodhrik was beginning understand why. The fresh wind, salty spray, endless sky; sea travel was . . . refreshing.
The cargo on deck continued to be a curiosity for him, but he was unable to approach them; not only was the captain a near-constant presence, but the crew must have been told to keep him away as well. Anytime he thought to have a peek under a covering, there was always a crewman about, dissuading him from doing so with warnings of the ferocious and unexpected nature of the beasts trapped within.
He considered attempting to question the captain further on the matter, but the man always managed to find something important to do when he tried. In the end, Jodhrik had no choice but to abandon his curiosity.
Until the night of the calm. It was perhaps a tenday into the trip, and they had made excellent progress by Jodhrik’s reckoning, despite the captain’s complaints about poor winds. In the early evening, the crew were lounging about on deck after the evening meal. One crewman, another Somrian, had a small wooden musical instrument shaped like a reed with holes in the top, which he blew into melodically and had a number of the others dancing.
The captain, seeing the crew making a valiant effort to stave off the depressing effect of a calm, decided that serving some extra ale rations would be appropriate to the situation; shortly thereafter most of the souls on board were happily drunk.
Proselytes were not forbidden to drink, but Jodhrik himself was not much of a drinker. He sipped slowly on a cup that had been brought to him, and watched the evening unfold with interest; he had never been on board a ship in such conditions, and did enjoy being a sometime student of human nature. The men were a happy lot, though he wondered if sailors were always that way with extra ale rations doled out. In any case, it was a cheery evening filled with music, tales of heroism and love, and plenty of “big fish stories”.
It was mid evening, with most of the crew settling down to quiet conversation under the stars, when a man approached the cages and began banging on them with a belaying pin. What he was intent on doing Jodhrik could not know, but he stalked from cage to cage, pounding each with the wooden pin.
Jodhrik looked around for the captain, but for once he was nowhere to be seen. The crewman had reached the tarp covered the man-beast’s cage that Jodhrik had seen and began pounding on it repeatedly, when a howling could be heard from within the cage.
The sound drew the attention of several other of the men, who walked over to investigate the commotion. Jodhrik continued looking around for the captain as one of the men seized hold of the canvas and pulled it off the cage. The man with the belaying pin began striking every bar in order, and laughing.
Inside was what appeared, to Jodhrik’s eyes, a man. It was nude, covered in dirt, and huddled in one corner of the cage farthest from the man with the belaying pin, its hands over its ears.
“Stop it!” Jodhrik yelled out. The crewmen ignored him, caught up in the excitement of the moment, and several started hollering at the man-beast and pounding on the bars.
The man-beast, however, looked up at Jodhrik. Under his heavy brow, the starlight caught his eyes, and Jodhrik saw fear. Fear, and pleading.
“ENOUGH!” Jodhrik bellowed, stomping across the deck to the cage. “That is a man in there!” He pushed past the cage and placed himself in front of it, directly before the man with the belaying pin.
The crewmen stepped back, shocked. Then they began to laugh again. “Proselyte, you’ve a grave error, that’s no man, it’s a bungman!” one said. The others burst out in mirth, slapping each other on the shoulders.
“A bungman?” the Proselyte asked skeptically, holding his position between the men and the cage. Perhaps if he distracted them long enough, they’d leave the poor beast alone. “That seems an unlikely name for it.”
“Spoke by the merchant what brought ‘im aboard,” said the man with the belaying pin. He was tall and thin, with a disfigured left eye, no doubt the result of a dockside brawl. His hair was dark and his skin pale; Jodhrik couldn’t place his origin. His approach to Jodhrik was far from friendly, and he still held the bludgeoning tool as if to use it. “For ‘is smell.”
“Doesn’t seem to stink so badly now,” Jodhrik replied cautiously. “The salt air cleaned it up, perhaps. Why don’t we cover it back up? You’ve frightened it enough.”
Two of the crewmen lost interest and broke off, laughing. Another was looking past Johdrik with drunken interest at the bungman, but had calmed down, his eyes glazed over with the effects of the ale.
The man with one eye was still focused on Johdrik, however. His inebriation seemed more of the aggressive sort; Jodhrik glanced around furtively for the captain yet again, while keeping the man in his peripheral vision.
“Whatsa Proselyte with the bungman?” The crewman asked, leaning forward to rest the belaying pin on the top of the cage beside Jodhrik, still in his grip. The beast in the cage rustled restlessly as the sound again rattled the cage.
“I do not appreciate you being cruel to the beasts unnecessarily,” Jodhrik said. “They are innocent creatures, and all part of the same world we share with them.” It came out more philosophical than he intended, and the result was as expected.
The crewmen snorted. His companion finally lost interest and wandered away muttering to himself.
Jodhrik sudd
enly became aware that most of the crew had either fallen asleep or gone belowdecks. He could hear some hushed voices from below, but amazingly on a ship of the size, no one was near them.
“I’ll cover it up, why don’t you enjoy some more ale, young man,” he attempted.
“Enjoy some more ale,” the crewman imitated, using a less than complementary tone. “You peace-fearin’ godsack . . . You think you got what to give an order to me?” The man’s face was closer now, and Jodhrik could smell the ale on his breath.
He had heard the term “godsack” before in reference to Proselytes; it used the word for the old superstitious belief in a divine creator, “god”. Certainly the stole of a Proselyte could be likened to a sack, but the term was derogatory.
In Benn’s Harbour Jodhrik would taken grave offence, but there he had the warders to protect him if need be. Since lords deferred to the Sanctuary’s Great Master, Jodhrik could have a man thrown in prison for threatening him; this was rarely necessary, however, due to superstition, which generally kept men of the spirit safe from being threatened. There was a saying in Benn’s Harbour: Kick a godsack and feed the fish. Since “feed the fish” meant drowning, the phrase was generally used to mean: Don’t incur the ire of authority.
On a ships though, the rules were different; it was all up to the captain, who wasn’t around now. It also appeared that this crewman was unfamiliar with the phrase.
Still, Jodhrik knew most of these men would react to authority. “I do not appreciate you speaking to me that way, crewmen, and I’ll expect you to not do so in the future,” he said, with less conviction that he would have hoped, but firmly at least.
The crewman’s right hand was still on the belaying pin on the cage; his left fell heavily on Jodhrik’s shoulder. He said, “You know what happens to godsacks in the Waste who think they know better?”
Oh. Jodhrik paused. The man was from the Yellow Waste, an area of arid badlands east of the plateaus. Jodhrik had never been there, with good reason; the locals followed a complex system of ritual belief, and were extremely xenophobic when it came to outside spiritual teachings.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 18