by Allan Cole
Gamelan was absent, which said much to me. Prevotant, that old thief, was present, which said even more. The ceremony went badly: the incense pots wouldn't stay lit and when the tied the felon up the knots kept undoing themselves. The poor fellow shrieked and moaned a flung himself about, so we knew the numbing potion they'd fed him wasn't working. People were frightened at all the mishaps; no one even laughed when Jeneander took a tumble in the mud while struggling with the sacrificial victim. Some felt sorry for the man; there were mutterings that he'd only been driven mad by the rain; and wasn't that the fault of the Evocators who should have known better than to order up so much?
Then Cassini stepped forward and clubbed him over the head with a log. He and Jeneander grabbed him by the legs and arms and without further ado, flung him into the water to drown. Everyone went home unhappy and angry at the city's leadership.
To no one's surprise, the sacrifice failed - the river kept rising. I rushed about with other men who made their living from the great stream. We emptied the warehouses, hauled up the boats, and sent larger craft away. When I went home late that night, the water was running into the warehouses.
Deoce shook me awake just before morning. "What is it?" I asked, coming up instantly - a habit I'd formed in my journey with Janos, and that I have kept to this day. She stood by our bed in a white gown, Emilie clutched in her arms. Deoce was pale and trembling. Emilie's eyes were wide - in a moment she was certain to cry. "Listen," was all Deoce said.
I heard a distant thundering - no it was a roar. Amidst that roar I could also hear the cracking and creaking sounds of large objects breaking up. I jumped from the bed and flung open the window. Even over the scudding rain, the sound was louder; but that rain was so thick, and the night so dark that I couldn't see what was happening. I turned back to Deoce, knowing just the same.
"It's the river."
"Shall we flee?" Deoce voice was shaking. I had never seen her display fear before; then I realized she'd never lived by a river.
"We're quite safe, here," I assured her. "Besides the old embankment - which the river has rarely reached - there are many hills between us."
I was worried about the docks and warehouses, and I was more worried for the people who lived and worked by the river; but there was nothing I could do. I was no god who could halt a flood. So I pulled my wife and babe back into the bed and held them in my arms. When the morning came, the rain had stopped, and when I awoke the first thought that came to my mind was that Emilie had never cried.
At the waterfront the river was back to near normal. The damage was heavy - but not so bad as I had feared. Some docks had been stripped away, warehouses crushed, boats and ships wrecked; but few lives had been lost. As we gathered to aid our fellow Orissans and dug away the debris, I thought it could have been worse. I looked at the marks the retreating waters had left and they had reached only half way to the old scars.
I was one of the few, however, who was grateful. On the way home I heard bitter grumbling about the state of things in Orissa. I was wearing rough clothing for the day's work, and had a cap on my head to cover my red hair, so no one recognized me.
"I hear in the Far Kingdoms the Evocators got spells that keep a river's temper sweet," one man said.
"Won't do us no good," replied another. "You just watch. When Cap'n Greycloak gets back our lice-ridden lot will do him in. Then swear to Te-Date there ain't nothin' for us in the Far Kingdoms... No matter what the Cap'n found."
"Hang Greycloak," an old woman barked. "He's the cause of our troubles. He's nothin' but a blowhard."
"Get out of here with your nastiness," the first man shot back. "Greycloak's the only luck we still got. Him and Lord Antero with all that lucky red hair. Weren't for them we'd have no chance at all."
They began to squabble and I moved on before I was spotted. For the first time in months I began to worry. I'd always known that much was hanging in the balance with the second expedition. But I'd believed the goal was all but won with such a mighty force to overcome the trials of that hard and distant land. But now I thought of all the twists and turns that had arisen in that first journey. Our sorcery failing, the mysterious watchers, the deadly terrain, the tricks and traps any wizard who opposed us could lay; and I realized that failure was a definite possibility.
But when I returned home to Deoce's warm greeting and saw my infant daughter's smiling face, I brushed all doubt aside. There had to be a future for such as them; a future much brighter than even my father had dreamed for me. How could the gods fail such a pair - much less, all the mothers and babes of Orissa? It will all be fine, I told myself... just fine.
The bleak mood deepened as we approached the Month of Harvest. The heavy rains and floods had washed away much of the seed and tender plants that had been set out in the field. Already we were facing lean times and rising food prices. To add to this gloom, all news of Janos and the Second Expedition ceased. It was as if they had simply disappeared. But I assured everyone - myself included - that it was merely because they had traveled so far that news was much slower in reaching us.
Just at harvest time, no more than a few days before farmers customarily went into the fields - disaster struck again. This time it came in the guise of an unseasonal wind, which swept down from the mountains. It was a mistral, hot and dry and unceasing. It sucked all life from the furrows, killing most of what the rains had left for our tables. The Magistrates ordered an emergency tax on all households, businesses, and goods to buy grain from abroad. The Evocators took to the fields and chanted and cast endless spells. Still the winds blew; and they kept blowing until one day they died of their own will.
The city was astonished by the Evocators' continued lack of success. For all our lives they had protected us from the evils of the natural world, as well as the spiritual. What had happened? Why were we becoming so unlucky? If things didn't change soon, the Lycanthians would begin to get notions not to our liking.
Sometime later, part of the reason was provided indirectly by my friend, Malaren. He came to me saying that one of the Magistrates wanted a private word. The Magistrate's name was Ecco; he'd be a strong, but quiet supporter of our cause, so I agreed without hesitation. We met the following night. Ecco was an older man, but with more wrinkles and gray hair than his age warranted. His eyes and step were young, as were his views. A successful trader before he joined the ranks of the Magistrates, he got quickly to the point.
"If you have had any word from Captain Greycloak," he said, "it would of great benefit to us all... no matter what the nature of that word."
"Honestly, sir," I answered, "I have heard no more than anyone else in Orissa, which is nothing. But there is nothing strange in this lack of news, after all, the Season of the Storms are upon us, and Janos would certainly seek shelter to weather it out."
He stared at me hard for a moment, eyes probing for dishonesty. Finding none, he lowered them and sighed. "Then there is no help there for us."
"What is the trouble, sir? In particular, I mean. For obviously there is trouble of all kinds in Orissa these days."
"You swear to tell no one what I am about to say?" I swore it. He nodded, satisfied, and said: "I fear collapse. Our people are fast losing all faith in us. We have had minor fighting in the streets, as you know, and other trouble that comes from a rebellious mood. And who can blame them? Why, when we can't even get the rains and the harvest right, why should they trust us? Still, I love this city for all its ills, and I would rather die on the rack than see it injured."
"Why aren't the Evocators doing anything about it?" I asked. "You Magistrates meet with them regularly, do you not? What do they have to say for themselves."
"If you mean Jeneander and Cassini," he replied with disgust, "then they have nothing to say. They come to our sessions and spout empty promises, collect their tithing and depart."
"What of Gamelan?" I asked. "And the other Evocators?"
"They have stopped coming, or have been stopped from c
oming - I do not know which. But, I can tell you this, there is a battle being waged in the Palace of the Evocators and anyone who could be our friend is not among the present winners."
"But there must be something more than a simple power struggle," I said. "Jeneander is a fool, and Cassini a liar. But they are skilled Evocators. Why can't they help us? I don't think it is a conspiracy, mind you, for they would be damaging themselves as much as us."
"I know of no facts," Ecco said, "and I hesitate in the participating in the spread of rumor."
"Hesitate no more, sir, " I replied. "Not if rumor suggests explanation."
"You have heard, or witnessed the strange doings at the Palace of the Evocators?" he asked. I said I had. "Well, this rumor arises from those odd lights and odors and such. It is said by some that Cassini and his fellows are engaged in wicked magick. For what purpose, the rumors do not indicate. However, what is said, is that the practice of that black sorcery has drained the city of its natural magical energy. And this is why all the spells cast in our behalf have failed; or are so weak that they might as well be failures."
"Do you believe these tales?" I asked.
Ecco gave another sigh, long and weary. "No. I suppose I don't. But it certainly is tempting, for it would explain much."
"And it would also relieve Orissa of any guilt that we have somehow offended the gods," I said.
"There is that. However, there is no way of finding out, so it is pointless to speculate."
Ecco drained the brandy I had given him and rose to go. "If you hear from Captain Greycloak..."
"I will inform you immediately," I said. And he was gone - leaving a long trail of unanswered questions.
There was nothing that could be done, but hope. But hope was a mother with withered dugs that year, for the bad times continued without relief. Just before the first frost, came the worst blow of all.
It was on one of those idyllic, early winter evenings in Orissa, when it is just cold enough to enjoy a fire, with perhaps a small storm outside to give the windows a gentle rattle and send you to a warm bath and early bed. Deoce and I made sleepy love in the big feather bed; afterwards - feeling not a care in world - I arose to add more fuel to the fire and to fix us both a hot, brandy drink. I noticed her face was flushed when I handed her the drink, but thought it was from our love-making. As I turned to get my own, she gave a gasp and the tumbler crashed to the floor.
I whirled back, full of concern. "What is wrong, dear?" She gave no answer, but gripped her head; her face was twisted in pain. "You are sick," I said in alarm. "I'll fetch a healer in a moment."
Her reply was weak: "No, Amalric. Please, there's a storm and you'll get cold and wet."
"Nonsense." I hurried to put on my clothes. She tried to get up to protest again, but then another wave of pain struck her and she gave such an awful moan, that I shouted for young Spoto, the chambermaid, to come and watch her while I rode for help.
The storm had worsened; it had a sharp chill to it and bits of hail nibbled at my face as I thundered down the road. It was quite dark by the time I reached the healer's house, but I could make out the glowing symbol of his Evocator's license. He was eating a late supper, but came without complaint and before long we were riding back down that road. This time the storm was driving straight into our teeth and we had to fight the horses through the hail and sleet. But soon we arrived at the villa and I rushed the healer to my lady's chamber.
Deoce lay groaning the in big feather bed. I knew the pain must be fierce, for she was not one who complained; preferred, in fact, to ignore her ailments away. She opened her eyes when we came in: they lay large and unnaturally bright in her head. The healer got out his things and I went to the bed and kissed her; her fever was so hot the kiss burned my lips.
"It's just a winter chill," Deoce said, trying to reassure me. She made a weak smile and reached to pat my hand; but she gave a low cry of pain and let the hand fall. "By the gods of the Salcae, I feel awful," she said. "I ache in every bone and there is a great hammering in my head.
I forced a cheery smile. "There you are, then. A winter's chill, exactly. You will be up in no time, my love, dandling Emilie on your knee."
Deoce looked alarmed when I mentioned our daughter. "Emilie? How is she? Have you checked her?"
"She is well, Lady Antero," Spoto said. "I've just come from the nursery and A'leen says your daughter is sleeping peacefully."
Deoce sighed relief, then gave herself up to the healer, who had laid out his charms and mixed up a potion for the pain. First he checked her: prodding here and there for tenderness; sniffing her breath; directing candlelight into her eyes. Then my heart leaped as I saw him hesitate... as if puzzling. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Then he smiled, and I imagined it as forced as my own, for I was grinning like an idiot to maintain a cheery appearance.
"A winter's chill, as we said - isn't that so, my good sir?" I asked.
Again the hesitation, then: "Uh... Yes... Yes! Just so. A winter's chill. Now, if you will relax yourself, Lady Antero, and drink this potion. I've put a dollop of honey in it to lessen the bitterness, but you'll still not like its taste. But if you will humor me, please, and drink it all in one gulp..." She did as he said, emptying the tumbler as quickly as she could. "Now you may close your eyes, if you will, my lady, and you will soon be asleep. I'll cast my spells and we'll drive those little demons out. Then, as your good husband prophesied, you shall be well by morning when you awake.
I sat beside her as she closed her eyes, taking her hand to give her comfort. The hand was fiery with the fever and her finger joints seemed swollen large. Suddenly her eyes opened. "You'll watch Emilie closely tonight?" she asked.
"Of course I will," I said. "And I'll post Spoto by her bed all the night through. And we have a healer with us, so you needn't worry on Emilie's account, if she should catch the chill as well." I kissed her and her eyes closed again.
"I love you, Amalric," she murmured. I said I loved her too. "You have been a good husband to me. And a good father to Emilie." I answered by stroking the hot hand I held. She yawned - the potion was taking affect. "You know... I think Emilie looks... just... like... you." And she fell asleep.
The healer motioned me back and I sat in a chair in the corner, while he lit the incense pots and sprinkled in the ingredients to cure a winter chill. He chanted an ornate set of fire beads to life, then broke them apart and scattered them around her bed. He tossed in more of the special dust and the dots of lights became a glowing circle. Then he lifted his hands and began to swiftly murmur the spell. But the lights suddenly dimmed and Deoce cried out, but did not awaken. The healer seemed startled by what had happened. He shook his head, then fetched a box with some other powder and sprinkled the dust into the pots. The beads brightened, and the healer sighed in relief; but his relief was frightening to me, for I was forcing myself to believe all was very usual, very routine.
As he started his chant again I waited, tense for another cry of pain. None came; instead, Deoce's features relaxed and I imagined her lips were curling into a smile - a sweet dream, I prayed. The healer droned on and on, and the incense pots filled the room with a heady perfume. Soon he was done, and he got out his little stool, unfolded it, and sat by the bed. He lowered his head in concentration and began to weave another protective spell. I'd seen it many times; even had it performed on me. Yes, it was all quite routine; the usual cure for a common malady. I fell asleep.
It was not an easy sleep, nor was it one I had sought. It was as if a pillow had suddenly filled my head, and I drifted away. The nightmare raged and I visited with the boatman again... and the ghastly man with the gaping eyesocket. Again I climbed those steps and heard the howling and confronted the fate the nightmare carried me to each time it captured me.
When I awoke, the Dark Seeker had come and gone.
Deoce was dead.
I will not desecrate her memory with mewling descriptions of my feelings. I can only write that I
have known such desolation, such pain, only one other time in my life. It did not scar me, for a scar does not have a lingering memory to it; a ghostly presence, as if your heart were a limb and you could amputate it, but still live.
I do not remember much of what happened next. The healer wept for his failure; but his tears fell on the cold plain of my hate for him. Rali came to give comfort and to see that Deoce's body was properly tended, and a preserving spell cast so she would stay fresh until the funeral. I recall my sister telling me others were ill and that all who had fallen ill had died. Her words had no meaning to me; did not penetrate my numbness. It seemed like years passed, but it was not much more than two days. I spent the whole time with Emilie. We played in the garden - she could walk, now, in a toddler's fashion; and she could say "Da" and "Mama." I said Mama had gone on a long journey and would not be with us for many a day. Instead of crying, she clung to me more; not for her own comfort, I think, but for my own. Finally I roused myself. There were things to be done; a funeral to plan. But was like coming up from a second sleep. In the first, Deoce had died; in the second, I awakened to find the Dark Seeker and his minions raging all over Orissa.
It was a plague like no other that had touched our shores. It ravaged through the city, unchecked by any spell the Evocators could conjure up. Rich and poor alike were felled. There was no logic to it. Whole neighborhoods were devastated, but in some, no one was harmed. In others, a single family might fall ill and die, while their neighbors huddled in their homes in terror, but in good health. Sometimes only one member of a household might be stricken, while the others were untouched by anything but grief. The sickness did not produce horrible pustules and sores, but struck out with awful pain and fever. Some lingered... some died at the first stroke.