by Ginn Hale
Wah’roa leaned a little closer to the Bousim commander. He dropped his voice. Even as close as he was, John had to strain to hear Wah’roa’s words. “Come between me and my conscience and I will bring a most holy wrath down upon you.”
The Bousim commander drew himself up straight in his saddle.
“This is a matter of the church, therefore I will leave it to your discretion,” the Bousim commander said stiffly.
“Thank you, Nivoun.” Wah’roa’s tone was once again loud and pleasant. “Go with Parfir’s blessing.”
The Bousim commander turned his tahldi. He gave John a murderous look and then rode back to his men. Moments later the entire contingent of Bousim riders were gone. Wild cheers erupted from the crowds. A woman John had never seen before threw her arms around him and hugged him. A man clapped him on the back. Another big, bearded man embraced John roughly. A dull bruised pain flickered through John’s shoulder, but he grinned giddily. They had won.
An ear-splitting whistle cut through the laughter, cheers, and congratulations. Startled, people looked to Wah’roa. He lowered his fingers from his mouth.
“Good people, I admire your spirit and it is a pleasure to see so many of you so happy. But could you make way? I have business in your prison.”
“Please, don’t take our little girl.” One of Lon’ahma’s grandmothers stepped up in front of Wah’roa’s tahldi. “She is not a witch. I swear it on Parfir’s bones. She’s an innocent.”
“I have no intention of taking any of your women,” Wah’roa said. “I only wish to have them freed. Will you let me pass, grandmother?”
The old woman stepped back. Wah’roa rode to the gates and waved to the guards on the wall. A second later, the heavy gates cranked open and Wah’roa rode into the courtyard. Prison guards stood at the open gates. They watched the crowd warily, but no one attempted to cross into the courtyard. Instead, people stood looking at one another with both stunned and relieved expressions.
A young man with long curling black hair stepped closer to John. He smiled, widely, and the expression reminded John a little of Ravishan.
“You’re Jath’ibaye, aren’t you?” the young man asked.
The question caught John off guard and his natural reserve failed him.
“Yes,” John answered.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” The young man bowed his head and then looked up at John with an almost awestruck expression.
“Thank you, but I…” John had no idea how to respond to the young man’s admiration. Fortunately, Lafi’shir caught John’s shoulder.
“We should go before that kahlirash returns.” Lafi’shir lowered his deep voice. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
John nodded and turned to leave.
“Best of luck,” the young man called to him.
“Good luck to you as well.” John glanced back at the young man. He waved at John and John started to return the gesture. Lafi’shir caught his hand.
“Quit that,” Lafi’shir told John. “We’re not trying to attract attention to ourselves.”
“Sorry,” John said. He hurried across the street and followed Lafi’shir through the crowd. No one spoke to him, but people watched him pass. A few times he felt hands touch him gently, almost reverently. Men and women bowed their heads. Some whispered the name Jath’ibaye. All of it unnerved John and he was relieved when they reached the city gates.
Chapter Ninety-Six
Later that night the Hearthstone filled with travelers who had found themselves stranded for yet another day in Gisa. Many had spent their day in the city and soon stories of the protest at the prison were spreading throughout the crowded dining room. John learned that after the kahlirash’im had freed the women accused of witchcraft, they had ridden to the Payshmura temple and dragged the ushman out and shot him. The city guards had done nothing to stop them.
“The kahlirash commander said he was calling down the Rifter’s holy wrath,” an old man with a wiry white beard told John.
“They say Jath’ibaye was there with them,” the old man’s plump son commented. “I heard he stands nearly seven feet tall—bigger than even you—and he lifted a tahldi over his head and threw it to the ground.”
“Really?” John asked. He was glad that Fenn had stained his hair dark again. It seemed to be enough to deceive these men, though John wasn’t sure if the disguise would fool many sober eyewitnesses.
“I saw him, all right,” the bearded old man said. “He’s an Eastern demon. Yellow hair and yellow eyes. He appeared out of the shadows and a witch-wind rose up with him. He defeated the Bousim commander and then disappeared back into the shadows.”
“Really?” John couldn’t keep but ask again.
“Oh yes. You can go and see the cracked stone where he stood in front of the prison.” The old man poured himself another cup of wine.
John didn’t recall the stone cracking under him, but he couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t. It bothered him that he might have broken the stones without being aware of it.
“You should have seen that Bousim commander shake in his boots.” The old man smiled, displaying his few remaining front teeth to John. “He rode in thinking he was lord and master and rode out with his tail between his legs. Let me tell you, things are going to change. This is the start of a war. That Bousim commander just got his first taste…”
John simply nodded. The prospect of the conflict escalating chilled him. Lafi’shir had already said that the Fai’daum were spread too thin in the north. His own power was immense, but it was also destructive and difficult to direct. And he couldn’t share his own invulnerability with those around him.
He didn’t like to think about what he would have done if the kahlirash’im hadn’t arrived when they did. How would he have protected all of the protesters gathered around him? He could have collapsed the road and crushed the rashan’im as they charged. But if they had simply opened fire with their rifles, how could he have stopped their bullets?
Bao’ahma, the girl Pirr’tu had charmed, returned from the kitchen with the fresh pitcher of wash water. John took it and paid her a small silver coin. He thanked the men at the table for sharing their news and then retreated back up to the rented rooms.
The rest of the Fai’daum were on the beds. Saimura sat carving small bones to send news of the day’s events to Ji. A tiny heap of bone chips lay scattered at the foot of his bed already. Fenn lay stretched out with his eyes closed and his arms crossed under his head. He briefly opened one eye when John came in.
“Anything to eat?” Fenn asked.
“Bao’ahma is bringing it up in a little while,” John replied.
Fenn closed his eyes again.
Pirr’tu, Lafi’shir, and Tai’yu sat on Pirr’tu’s bed playing cards. Tai’yu studied his hand and flipped a big silver coin up into the air. He caught it and then rolled the coin over his knuckles. From the way Pirr’tu glared at the coin, John guessed that Tai’yu had won it from him.
“Anyone recognize you?” Lafi’shir asked.
“No, but most of them are pretty drunk,” John said. He put the pitcher down on the dresser next to the washbasin and then retreated to his own bed. After a night sleeping in a chair, the mattress felt soothing.
“Any more news?” Tai’yu asked.
“Another man confirmed that the kahlirash’im shot the ushman at the temple,” John said.
“Serves the bastard right,” Pirr’tu said.
“There could be reprisals,” Tai’yu said. “The ushman’im might send out more rashan’im and probably ushiri’im as well.”
“Let’s hope they go after the kahlirash’im and not the city citizens,” Lafi’shir commented.
Fenn stretched on his bed and opened his eyes.
“I can’t believe the kahlirash’im stood up against the Bousim rashan’im. And what did that kahlirash call the Bousim commander?” Fenn asked.
“The Payshmura’s pimp,” Lafi’shir said.
&nbs
p; “But the kahlirash’im are priests too. Why would they care?” Fenn asked.
“The kahlirash’im are different,” Lafi’shir said. “They have never been in close accord with the rest of the Payshmura Church. Their ranks are filled from common men, not gaun’im, and they interpret many of the scriptures differently. Particularly those concerning the Rifter.”
“But to shoot an ushman…” Tai’yu shook his head. “That takes more than a disagreement over scriptures.”
“It isn’t just scriptures,” John said. “It was the treatment of the women accused of witchcraft.” John could still easily remember Wah’roa’s expression when he had warned the Bousim commander not to cross the line of his conscience. For that instant, John had seen Wah’roa’s raw rage.
“But how did they find out about it?” Saimura asked. “It’s strange how word is traveling.”
“It’s following the mail routes,” John said. “People are finding out because of the letters that my friend Hann’yu sent.”
“Letters?” Saimura asked.
John explained what Hann’yu had done and why. Halfway through Bao’ahma brought food up to their room. Pirr’tu flirted with her, keeping her attention away from John, the bones on Saimura’s bed, and the odd bundle of blankets that lay over their rifles. Bao’ahma quietly made arrangements to meet Pirr’tu later. After she left, John finished his story.
“He sounds like my kind of priest,” Pirr’tu commented, after John had explained that Hann’yu had a wife and son.
“So, those were the three people sleeping in your room?” Saimura asked. He’d put his bones aside. Now he sipped hot soup from a bowl. John nodded. His soup smelled sharply of weasel meat. He tore off a piece of dry bread and dipped it into the dark brown broth to soften it.
“I’d like to go back and make sure he and his family are still all right,” John said.
Lafi’shir shook his head.
“You can’t count on everyone in the city being too drunk to recognize you.” Lafi’shir paused to drink a little more of his soup. “Saimura, you saw them?”
Saimura nodded.
“After dinner, will you and Tai’yu check in on Jath’ibaye’s friend? Make sure he’s got enough money to keep him until the trains are running again.”
“Sure,” Saimura replied. “I’ll bet he’s still at the hostel. The room was rented for three days.”
“Thanks,” John said.
“No problem.” Saimura finished his soup.
“Anything you’d like me to tell Kirh’yu if I bump into him?” Tai’yu asked Lafi’shir.
“Tell him we’d appreciate it if he’d start the trains running again,” Lafi’shir replied. “And make sure that he understands that things may get worse because of this demonstration of his. The Bousim commander isn’t going to report this as a Fai’daum action. He’s going to implicate the citizens of Gisa along with the kahlirash’im.”
“I’ll make sure he gets the point.” Tai’yu gave a forced smile that made his narrow face look particularly cruel.
“Be polite about it,” Lafi’shir added. “We’re not trying to alienate him.”
“Is there a way I could politely knock his teeth in, you think?” Tai’yu asked. Pirr’tu laughed and mimed a flaccid punch. Lafi’shir shook his head.
“Save your strength for the rashan’im when they return with infantry and cannons.” Lafi’shir set his soup aside. The bowl was still half full.
“Don’t worry,” Tai’yu said. “I’ll behave myself.”
Saimura and Tai’yu left a few minutes later. Once John and Fenn had finished their meals, Pirr’tu gathered the dishes and took them back down to the kitchen. John played cards with Lafi’shir. They were both obviously distracted by other concerns and neither of them managed to keep track of what they won or lost. Fenn napped.
Saimura and Tai’yu returned before Pirr’tu.
“Your friend is fine,” Saimura assured John. “His son and wife are quite charming, aren’t they?”
John nodded. Saimura sat on the edge of his own bed to work the half-frozen laces of his boots loose. Tai’yu tossed his coat onto the spindly wrack before attempting to remove his own boots.
“What about Kirh’yu?” Lafi’shir asked.
Tai’yu looked up from cursing his own stiff fingers and scowled.
“He sends his thanks for our part in his wife’s release and wishes us the best of luck in the future. When I dropped by, his house steward was preparing to close up the house.”
“What?” Lafi’shir tossed his cards down in disgust. John folded his own hand; they hadn’t been good cards in any case.
“Kirh’yu and his wife are going to spend the rest of the winter at his southern house. They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“They probably won’t be the only ones.” Saimura placed his boots at the foot of his bed. “A number of other houses looked like they were being closed up.”
“That shit Kirh’yu will probably make a small fortune in train ticket sales,” Tai’yu said. He wrenched his feet free from his boots at last. A pattern of bright orange flowers decorated his stockings.
“What about your sister? Will she go south?” Lafi’shir asked Tai’yu.
“It’ll take more than this to get Pash’fai to abandon her house.” Tai’yu rinsed his face at the washbasin. For a moment he remained with his back to the rest of them, his hands held up against his bowed head. Then he straightened and wiped his face dry with a washcloth.
“My family will stay in Gisa. If the rashan’im come, they’ll fight,” Tai’yu said.
John knew that Tai’yu had grown up in Gisa, but until just now it hadn’t really sunk into John’s thoughts that the people of Gisa weren’t just old acquaintances; they were Tai’yu’s family. John thought of the lines of rashan’im with their swords and rifles and then of Tai’yu’s soft-spoken sister.
He wished he could think of something reassuring to say to Tai’yu. But he knew words failed and Tai’yu wouldn’t want his private fears discussed in any case. John dealt him into the card game and lost three games in a row to him. Lafi’shir left to sleep in his own room. Pirr’tu returned a little later. He smelled of sweat and fresh bread. After losing a last game of cards, John decided to go to bed. Tai’yu thanked him for his money.
•
The next morning they split into parties of two and rode out to discover just how many rashan’im were out on the roads and where they were bound.
John and Pirr’tu traveled east on the Hill Road, shadowing the retreating Bousim rashan’im. They camped off the road and slept rough, using their tahldi’s big bodies as wind breaks. In the still of the night, John often thought of Ravishan.
The third night, John reached through the darkness and felt Ravishan only fifty miles west of him. Ravishan was slumped in a chair in some dank wine house. He looked like he might be sleeping, but John noticed the tension in his shoulders. He was awake and waiting. A moment later two haggard, bearded men joined Ravishan. He passed them something small and tattered. John guessed it was a letter. Ravishan didn’t stay to watch the men read. He left the building and an instant later he disappeared into the Gray Space. John slipped into sleep, still waiting for Ravishan to emerge.
Two days later, he and Pirr’tu crossed the huge bridge that spanned the Oran’dur River and reached the small village of Yep’pasa. John hung back in the forest at the edge of the village while Pirr’tu made inquiries at the hostel.
While John waited, feeling cold and bored, his thoughts wandered, and again, he found Ravishan in the north. Ravishan burst from the Gray Space into an ornate, silk-draped chamber. The ushman in the room turned, opened his mouth, and then Ravishan’s Silence Knife split through the man’s throat. A younger priest fired a pistol. Ravishan dropped into the Gray Space again.
John clawed at the empty air, attempting to drag the Gray Space open to see if Ravishan had escaped the gunshot. The wind twisted around John, but the Gray Space remained untouched.
/> Pirr’tu returned less than an hour later. He brought John a flask of watery mulled wine and a cake of pounded dog meat. The meat eased the gnawing pain in John’s stomach. The wine cooled quickly. John took several drinks and then handed the flask back to Pirr’tu. Pirr’tu finished the wine.
“The man who brewed that stuff was awfully helpful.” Pirr’tu slipped his flask back into his coat pocket. “He’s been selling barrels of his wine to the soldiers. Just east of the village there’s a big camp of Bousim forces. Not just rashan’im, but foot soldiers, pike men, and gunners with wagons of artillery. Godhammers.”
“How many men?” John asked.
“I couldn’t get too close, but I’d say nearly a thousand.”
“To assault Gisa?” John felt a little sick at the idea.
“Couldn’t be, could it?” Pirr’tu asked.
“No,” John agreed. The Bousim commander who John had fought in Gisa had only reached Yep’pasa a few hours before them. This army had obviously been gathering for some time.
“The wine seller swears he saw ushiri’im in the camp as well.” Pirr’tu closed his eyes for a moment. “If they do come for Gisa, it’ll be a massacre.”
“I can’t think of any city that would hold out against godhammers.” John remembered seeing the huge mortars in Vundomu. The walls protecting most northern cities had been built before artillery assaults would have been a consideration. They would come crumbling down after a few blasts.
Something had to be done to stop them. For an instant John considered what he could do, here and now. He tried to imagine how he would destroy an entire army. He pictured himself charging, not dozens of riders but a thousand men. Countless bullets shredding his body. Mortars ripping away his limbs. Rifter or not, he couldn’t see how he could survive. How would he control the unspeakable rage that such intense injury would summon? A sick fear gripped John as he tried to make himself accept the idea of challenging the Bousim army. He couldn’t.