by R. J. Larson
Allowing his words time to sink in with his dumbfounded audience, the prime minister challenged, “Will you welcome me, and my wife and servants, and guarantee our safety as we inspect the buildings that have been completed?”
Ela waited. If the citizens of Ytar dared to argue now—
The thin, officious councilwoman who had dominated last night’s meeting stepped forward, evidently unarmed, a pleasant smile gracing her narrow face. “Welcome, Prime Minister. I am Naia Vara, lead councilmember. I give you our word that you and your household will be safe in Ytar.”
By the disgruntled looks cast toward Councilmember Vara, Ela knew the lead council position had just been created by Vara herself. “Infinite,” Ela complained beneath her breath, “the woman is a born instigator and power monger.”
Tell her she will resign. Now.
Oh no. Her own father had never sounded so displeased. Ela quaked inwardly as the branch gleamed in white fire. She nudged Pet toward Naia Vara, who froze like a spied rabbit.
Pitying the woman, Ela said, “Naia Vara, the Infinite commands you to resign now. Go home. If you resist, your fellow council members will oust you. Viciously. Believe me.”
Her eyes huge, fixed on the branch, Vara’s color faded. Mute, as if she knew she’d pushed matters too far, the woman turned and scurried through the crowd. Glares followed her.
Taking advantage of Vara’s unexpected retreat, Jon called out to the crowd, “Follow her example, all of you! Disperse! Immediately!” The crowd, though sullen, scattered.
Tsir Aun reined in his destroyer and caught Ela’s attention, questioning her in a low voice. “Will negotiations proceed, or should we leave?”
“They will proceed.” Ela smiled at her friend. “You have the Infinite’s blessings, sir.”
“Thank you for the reassurance.” He returned her smile. “Ela, it’s good to see you. I hope you and your companions stay long enough for us to visit—we must speak with you. My wife prayed for the chance to meet you again.”
His wife. Lady Tek Lara, formerly of Istgard’s royal family—and Ela’s dear friend and benefactress during her imprisonment in Istgard last year. “I’ve prayed the same.” Ela looked over her shoulder and laughed, seeing the prime minister’s household approach in a clattering procession of light chariots and wagons. She handed the branch to Tzana and descended, using Pet’s thick mane to slow her drop.
Tzana protested, “I want to go with you!”
“Wait and I’ll bring Lara,” Ela promised. Her bare feet sinking in the damp, aging grass, she ran to meet her friend.
Lara was already waiting outside her chariot, obviously pregnant and unable to hurry. She greeted Ela with a fierce hug. “Ela! I’ve been worried about you!”
Ela laughed, kissed Lara’s cheek, then stepped back to admire her rounded waistline. “You look wonderful! Why are you worried about me? I’m in no more danger than usual.”
Serious as ever, Lara didn’t appreciate the joke. “Obviously my husband’s had no chance to tell you about our recent dealings with Parne.” Her soft brown eyes went huge as she gripped Ela’s arm and they began to walk toward the others. “Ela, why would your father—your own father—be involved in illegal smuggling?”
10
While they knelt about the low table and shared their evening meal, Ela watched Tsir Aun move away from his wife, as if fearing the leather parcel in his hands would harm Lara and their unborn child. He untied the parcel’s leather cords and placed it at the end of the table, revealing crystallized ores.
Obviously taking his cue from Tsir Aun, Jon caught Beka’s hands, preventing her from touching the yellow and silver-gray stones. Beka protested, “I won’t touch them, but I want to see what all the fuss is about. Really, Jon, let go of my hands and I’ll be good. For now.”
Tzana piped up, “I’ve never seen yellow rocks like those.” She reached for the crystals.
“No! They’re dangerous.” Ela lifted her sister away. Tzana loved odd chunks of ore.
Ela settled Tzana beside her, then stared at the glistening stones. “Those are the types of ores I saw in my vision. The yellow one is poisonous in any form.” She hesitated, hating to discuss the matter in front of Tzana. “But how is my father connected with contraband ore?”
Lara shook her head, clearly at a loss. “When our authorities found these ores being secretly sold in our capitol, in the middle of Riyan, we had to arrest the offenders. Our citizens became ill when they attempted to smelt the yellow ore. And after the silvered ore was crushed, the residue caused buildings to burn to the ground, killing several men.”
Taking up her explanation, Tsir Aun said, “When we demanded information from the Parnian smugglers, they specifically named your father, Dan Roeh, as their supplier of contraband ore.”
Reprobate Parnian liars! Ela clenched her hands into fists and paused. Be calm. Temper tantrums were unprophet-like. “My father is an ordinary workman. A stonecutter who maintains Parne’s foundations and walls. He has studied stone formations around Parne, but he’d never require others to sell such ores on his behalf. Particularly knowing the ores are dangerous.”
Jon and Beka, and Tsir Aun and Lara each cast her troubled glances. Did they suspect her father? Or her? Infinite, why?
“Nevertheless,” Tsir Aun said, “your father was . . . named . . . and it is a concern.”
He’d almost said accused, Ela was sure. In answer to her prayer, traces of a vision offered faces. And hatred. Hearing her own name hissed within the thoughts of others, Ela pressed her fingertips hard against the stabs in her head. “My enemies are attacking Father because of me.”
Because of Me, the Infinite corrected.
“Because of the Infinite,” Ela repeated, in perfect agreement with His statement. Hurting, she focused on the tiny bowls of brightly pickled vegetables, baskets of soft flat breads, autumn fruits, and a platter of fat herb-roasted partridges. The vision’s residual pain faded, leaving Ela wearied.
Tzana huddled against Ela, her fragile body beset by tremors. “I want to go home—I need to see Father.”
“Yes. Soon,” Ela promised. She landed a soft kiss on Tzana’s insubstantial curls, then tucked the little girl close to soothe her shivers. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Until then, you should eat and rest.” She offered her sister some fruit. Tzana ate.
Jon cleared his throat and spoke to Tsir Aun and Tek Lara. Polite, but defensive. “It makes sense that Ela’s enemies would attack her father in an attempt to smear her good name. If her enemies convince others of this lie, then they’ve diminished Ela’s authority.”
“We agree,” Lara said, with a glance at her husband, who nodded. “Ela, you will keep us informed, won’t you?”
“Yes. Istgard will be informed.” They deserved to know everything. She addressed Tsir Aun. “Prime Minister, within a few weeks, the country of Belaal will attack Parne from the south to gain control of these ores—and Parne’s gold, which they’ve promised to share with the Agocii and Eosyth tribes.”
Tsir Aun tensed, scorn crossing his bronzed features. “Belaal!” He hesitated. “If Belaal’s god-king—that Bel-Tygeon—gains exclusive command over these ores, then devious as his mind is, he’d command that Belaal create a destructive arsenal to use against other countries.”
Passing Beka a dish of pickled vegetables, Jon agreed. “If not an outright war, then the least Bel-Tygeon would do is threaten the Tracelands and Siphra to gain trade concessions. And lands.”
“Bel-Tygeon won’t be satisfied with such small victories for long,” Tsir Aun said.
Lara frowned. “With our new government, he’d consider Istgard vulnerable.” She gave Ela a pleading look that ought to have carried some blame. “Ela, can’t you subdue Belaal and its king?”
“Parne’s judgment comes first. Through Belaal and others.” Ela put down the morsel of bread she’d taken, her appetite obliterated by thoughts of the coming siege.
Unaffected, Tsir Aun ate. Neatly.
Between bites of herbed meat and bread, he said, “We cannot allow Belaal to control Parne and these ores. I’m sending the Tracelands and Siphra warnings as soon as we return to Istgard. If need be, we will go to war.”
Beka cleared her throat in the silence that followed. As Jon nodded agreement, she said, “Unofficially, I promise you, the Tracelands is concerned and will send a force to join yours.”
“Thank you.” Lara studied Beka now, her expression fond. “You look so much like your brother—I’m surprised he’s not here. How is Kien? Where is he?”
Jon chuckled. “The Infinite sent him off on a mission.”
His dark eyebrows raised, Tsir Aun asked, “What type of mission?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Sudden fear tightened Ela’s stomach. She shut her eyes, praying for Kien.
Ominously dark clouds dropped shroud-like over Adar-iyr’s rooftops as Kien passed through the island-kingdom’s main gate. Odd island weather. Covering his mouth and nose with the edge of his cloak, Kien entered Adar-iyr’s filthy streets, his boots slipping in the fetid mud and waste heaped on the pavings. Didn’t the authorities enforce sanitation regulations? The city’s central gutter was blocked with . . . rotting corpses. Two bloated humans and one goat. The stench worked into Kien’s nostrils, gagging him. So much for the cloak. He lowered his hand.
“Infinite,” Kien muttered as his stomach churned in revolt, “thank You for not allowing me to eat.” Steady. Given the situation, he must behave as a prophet and follow Ela’s example. Warn offenders while trying to see them as the Infinite did, with concern for their souls.
He wove away from the gutter toward the buildings, still counting the corpses. Six now. Three human. Three animals . . . One, by appearances, had been carved up for roasts while still alive. No more than ten breaths within this stinking city and Kien had already counted at least eleven violations of the Tracelands’ criminal codes.
“Ooo . . .” a feminine voice purred as an arm slipped around Kien’s waist, chafing his raw skin so sharply that he wanted to yell. A young woman with sun-streaked brown hair clung to Kien, caressing him, and—between nervous glances at the forbidding clouds—taking liberties he’d allow no one. “Who are you, stranger? Never mind. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”
Kien stepped away, frowning. Why would anyone touch him, rotted as he appeared?
She flung herself at him again. “Wait! My, but you’re in a bad mood. Well, I can make you forget everything for a quarter-ninus.”
Twelve violations. Thirteen if she’d stolen his coins. Fourteen if she continued to maul him against his will. Gritting his teeth, Kien unwound her arms from his waist.
She grabbed him again, painfully, revealing her desperation. “Please, sir!”
This was like trying to free himself from a many-tentacled creature—its arms continuously entwining him. Frustrated, Kien stared down into the young prostitute’s eyes. He froze, shocked. She was so young! Obviously this girl’s situation wasn’t her fault. He removed her hands from his waist and held her wrists to keep the girl’s attention—and some distance.
Remembering his divinely dictated guidelines—the twelve official words he’d be allowed while in this city—Kien spoke gently, hoping she recognized his concern. The Infinite’s concern. “In twenty-one days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr. Repent and be saved.”
“What?” She stared at Kien as if he were insane.
“In twenty-one days—”
“You’re teasing me.” The girl pouted, her voice pathetic, her lower lip out as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Don’t be mean.”
Were those specks crawling through her hair lice? Kien held the girl off, repeating earnestly, “In twenty-one days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr. Repent and be saved.”
“Huh! Madman! Let go!” She ducked and tugged her hands from his. “Freak!”
A man leaned from the nearest doorway and snarled at Kien, “If you’re not conducting business, move on!”
The man’s hair was the same sun-streaked brown as the girl’s. Was he the girl’s panderer, selling his own daughter or his little sister to a peeling, blighted stranger? No doubt he was. Infinite? Did Adar-iyr have any laws at all? This poor girl had been defiled through her relative’s greed! Kien eyed the man and struggled not to judge and condemn him with evidence unheard. “In twenty-one days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr! Repent and be saved.”
As the man stared, then cast a wary glance at the threateningly low sky, Kien turned his scruffy-booted heels in an about-face and marched down the cloud-darkened street. He checked his coin purse, still secured to his waist, silver drams intact. Amazing. He untied it, cinched his belt tight, then dropped his coin purse inside his tunic, where it would be safe. Unless someone gutted him, which was bound to happen.
Raising his voice, Kien yelled, “In twenty-one days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr! Repent and be saved!”
Unless their Creator forgave all these miscreants. Infinite? Would You?
If they repent. Yes. And you are right to not judge them by your own mortal understanding.
He’d done something right? Thank You! Heartened by his Creator’s approval, Kien clasped his sword’s hilt and crossed the filthy, gloomy streets, praying with every step that he’d survive.
Branch in hand, Ela waited in Ytar’s council chamber.
Expressionless, Tsir Aun rolled up a signed agreement and spoke to Ytar’s council. “Istgard has your oath, and you have Istgard’s, according to our first agreement. The wall, as it stands, has been paid for by Istgard, but it is now returned to your care. Remember that we’ve contributed to its construction.”
The eldest council member—a slight, weathered man with reflective gray eyes—nodded. “Agreed. Istgard has been fair enough.”
Considering that Ytar’s slaughtered dead couldn’t be restored to life.
Ela almost heard the unspoken thought echo through the chamber. “Remember,” Ela cautioned the council gently, “the Istgardians who dared to massacre your people are also dead. They paid for their crimes with their lives.”
“Speaking of crimes,” another council member intoned, her straight dark hair and long face as solemn as her voice, “do you intend to leave us with the care—the expensive care—of ten blind prisoners?”
Ruestock’s men. If they were blind for the remainder of their lives, they’d rob no more. And yet . . . An impulse of pity made Ela sigh. “Have them brought here. We’ll see if the Infinite is merciful to the undeserving.”
The prisoners soon arrived in a straggling line, bound together by ropes at their waists. Leading the miserable parade, Ruestock threw Ela a surly glance. His men stumbled after him, seeming exhausted, untidy, and drained of hope.
Ela bowed her head, praying, “Infinite, open the eyes of these men.”
The branch sent a burst of light through the blinded prisoners. They gasped and lifted their bound hands to their eyes. Several uttered choked sobs. The eldest councilman stood and looked from the prisoners to Ela. Recovering, he asked, “What must we do with them? Kill them?”
Her voice monotonously flat, the dark-haired councilwoman said, “It’s too expensive to feed and shelter so many prisoners.”
The eleven prisoners sucked in their breaths. Ruestock darted a silent plea at Ela.
Ela frowned. For all their promises of peace, were the Ytarians still consumed by thoughts of spilling blood for revenge? Even if the blood wasn’t Istgard’s?
As the council members began to argue, Ela said, “Send them home. If you’d captured these men in war with your own weapons, wouldn’t you spare them for the sake of your own honor? Don’t tempt the Infinite’s anger. Be sure these men leave the Tracelands. Safely.”
Ruestock gave Ela a smile she couldn’t quite decipher. “There’s our charming, tenderhearted prophet. Ela, my dear, you are a jewel.”
Minding her temper, Ela said, “I am not your dear.”
“You break my heart.”
Did he have a heart to be broken? Ela wasn’t about to ask the question aloud. Duty done, she left the council chamber. Surely she would never see Ruestock again.
Parne would consume her instead.
Travel-wearied, Ela stopped Pet and dismounted before Parne’s single iron-shielded, stone-edged gate. Why was the city closed in full daylight? Were the Parnians already aware of their dire situation? She helped Tzana off, checked that Jon and Beka had also dismounted, and then waved to the watchman above. “Let us in, please!”
He shouted down, “I’ve orders to never admit you, Prophet!”
Oh? She’d been named an enemy? Very well. Ela removed the branch from Pet’s war collar and glared up at the guard. The branch blazed in fiery blue-white warning—and the Infinite’s wrath. “The Infinite’s orders surpass yours, sir! Will you open the gate?”
Silent, the guard crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t budge.
“So be it!” Ela marched up to the gate and touched it with the branch. Deep metallic squeals answered. The gate lifted into darkness.
By now, Jon was beside her. He leaned forward to peer into the gate tunnel’s blackness. “You’re not serious. We’re going in there?”
“You don’t have to go with me.”
“Of course I do. I’m under orders. But my concern is for the destroyers. Will they fit?”
“Certainly.” Ela hesitated. “As long as they can navigate the turns.”
“An unlit tunnel—with turns—for a city’s gate?” Jon shook his head. “That’s preposterous! What an ordeal for traders.”
Despite her own nerves, Ela couldn’t resist tormenting Kien’s brother-in-law just a bit more. “Yes. And those turns are why traders call this the Murder Maze. It’s agony to get through. But this gate was built over generations by a people who cared little for outsiders.” By a people once glad to be separated from others for the Infinite’s sake. No more. “Coming?”
Distinctly gloomy, Jon ordered his servants to set up camp for the night. While they obeyed, he snatched Savage’s reins and Beka took charge of Audacity. Ela picked up Tzana and settled the little girl like a toddler onto her hip. Then she coaxed the stomping, snorting Pet to follow her into the blackness. Toward her enemies.