The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” the valati chuckled. “But the only thing miraculous about Deena Esther is that she doesn’t actually exist.”

  Dasen nodded again. Took a step away from the valati and stared down the road. He glanced at the western horizon then at the soldiers. It was nearly dark, and he was getting nervous about making it down that road before the governor’s men had an excuse to arrest him or the cover of night to do something more permanent. After the miracle of the first day had been repeated for four more with word spreading throughout the city and the crowds of disciples swelling to the hundreds, the governor had finally taken notice. A dozen guards had been waiting at the inn when the wagons arrived that morning. Claiming that the governor had sent them to protect Lady Esther and the supplies she was collecting, they had shown Dasen every courtesy, but he suspected that had more to do with the crowd that followed his every movement than any concern for his safety.

  Their real mission, Dasen knew, was to discover the truth behind the miracles and discredit the city’s new saint before things got any further out of hand. Thwarted in their attempt to see the secret behind the miracles – just as the actual Lady Esther had been up until the valati revealed it – they had accompanied the wagons on their trip to the camp and come face-to-face with Deena Esther’s second miracle. The sickness was gone, the refugees were returning to health, no one had died in days. And the people there, including the guards, gave every scrap of credit to Lady Esther and her miraculous connection with the Order – accepting a miracle even over the medicine they’d been drinking daily for a week.

  The soldiers spent the entire trip back talking among themselves, trying to understand what they’d seen and how they would tell it to the governor. From what Dasen had caught of their conversation, the governor had largely dismissed the impact that Lady Esther’s miracles were having on the psyche of the people. He had believed her a fraud from the start and had been only surprised that she had not been unmasked already. The nervous looks of the soldiers now showed that they did not relish the idea of telling their leader what they had seen this day, of relating yet another miracle, the growing crowds, the devotion of those followers, and no evidence to discredit any of it.

  The question was how the governor would react to that, especially if the source of those irksome miracles happened to be standing a few hundred paces away in clear violation of his curfew. During the day, Dasen felt sufficiently protected by the crowd that accompanied him. To hurt or arrest him in their presence would almost certainly lead to the riots that Lareno and Kian sought. But that crowd was nearly gone now. The pending curfew had reduced their number to those who relied on the charity of the Church to keep themselves out of the camp. And they would be forced the final feet into the temple in only a few minutes, leaving Deena Esther alone with the soldiers, out after curfew, perfectly positioned for arrest, and whatever else might happen after.

  “Don’t worry so, my lady,” the valati said loudly enough for the words to carry. “I am sure that your man will be here. I know you fear reprisal from the governor, but you have to believe that no one in this city could allow that to happen.” The words resonated across the courtyard, soliciting gasps from the onlookers and grumbling from the soldiers.

  “There’s your man now,” the valati announced, pointing down the gloomy hill toward the Morg. Boiling up around him was a mob of at least fifty men. At their front, a carefully disguised Kian led a pony without a rider.

  The soldiers seemed to catch sight of them at the same time. They bristled noticeably. Their commander issued a quick order and two of them sprinted up the path to the fortress. Dasen’s eyes bounced between them and the mob. Was this it? Was this the moment that Kian had envisioned? Was this the mob that would attempt to overthrow the governor? Heart hammering, he searched the mob for Teth and an escape.

  “They come to ensure your safety, my lady,” the valati very nearly yelled. “There is no need to worry. They are only concerned for you. They know that certain people are threatened by your connection to the Order, by your great works, and incredible compassion. They only want to ensure that nothing happens to you.”

  He lowered his voice and continued, “Things are going to start to happen. The governor now recognizes the threat you pose, but it is too late. He has allowed this to go far too long, and he has no idea how to handle it. The next week will be tumultuous, but it will also be the beginning of the end.”

  Dasen could only look at the approaching mob, carrying lanterns and torches, as the valati spoke. Images of a much larger mob came to his mind, of a fortress under siege, of Deena Esther at its front. Then he remembered that Deena Esther was supposed to die.

  “Don’t worry so, my lady,” Valati Lareno smiled and patted his arm. “The Order will see to everything. Lady Esther will lead the revolution in spirit only.”

  “And me?” Dasen gulped, but the valati’s attention was drawn away by Garth arrival.

  “I am sorry, my lady,” the Morg thundered. “These men would not let me leave without them. They are concerned for your safety and seem not to trust me with the task.”

  “We brought a pony for you, my lady,” Kian said with exaggerated volume, bowing low and offering Dasen the reins. “I know you haven’t eaten in days and must be spent. It is a miracle you can even walk. Please sit and let us escort you.”

  Dasen was spent. Though he ate every night and morning – half of Teth’s conveniently doubled portion – he was allowed no food during the day. His stomach was rumbling and head swooning. Kian helped him onto the small, grey horse. He sat side-saddle and allowed it to be led back down the hill, escorted by a mob, wondering how many more such mobs he would lead before Deena Esther was finally sacrificed.

  Chapter 57

  The 45th Day of Summer

  “I don’t want him to be part of this!” Ipid was emphatic. He looked from Eia to Naidi and back again. They seemed not to grasp what he was saying. They looked at each other in confusion, which only increased his ire. “Do you understand what is going to happen in a few minutes?”

  “Of course we understand,” Eia sighed, voice low. “We have known almost since you became Chancellor that this would be necessary. It is the natural consequence of the choices that have been made. Why should you deny him from being part of that?”

  Ipid shook his head. He could not believe that he was having this conversation. In the city’s center, Naidi’s control and direction had allowed them to save lives, to make the work less dangerous while still finding the emotion necessary for their magic. In a few minutes, they might be calling on that magic to kill. As long as Rynn was under his care – even only secondarily – Ipid would not allow that to happen. “He’s just a boy. He should not be subject to this. He should not be part of it.”

  “He is not a boy. He is older than some of the soldiers you bring with you today, older than many of the men that lost their lives in Thoren. He is the same age as your son.”

  “Yes. And I wish desperately that I had been able to shield Dasen from what happened in Thoren. I would give everything I have to have spared him that. And now, I can save Rynn from seeing, from being part of something nearly as terrible, and I plan to do so. He is not coming. Do you understand me? I have decided. It is done.”

  “As you wish,” Naidi answered, placing a hand on Eia to hold her back. She took a breath. The red that had crept up her neck to her cheeks slowly dissipated. “I think the boy . . . would benefit from seeing . . . what is about to happen. . . . He needs to learn . . . to control his gift when . . . the most powerful emotions . . . of others are flooding him. . . . The only way to do that . . . is to feel those emotions. . . . You do him no favors . . . by denying him that lesson. . . . But you are . . . the Chancellor of this land. . . . The Belab sent us to serve you . . . and we will do as you ask.”

  “Thank you,” Ipid breathed. His stomach churned, head throbbed, and they hadn’t even done anything yet. He knew that Naidi was right. This was t
he time they were living in. He was not helping Rynn by denying him those realities, but he could not stand by and watch the boy – and in Ipid’s mind he was still a boy – commit the atrocities they were preparing to commit, no matter how justified those crimes would be.

  The three of them were clustered in a sitting room off to the side of the main foyer of the Stully manor. Ipid had forced them there when he saw Rynn standing in the courtyard waiting to accompany them. He could not remember ever seeing the room before. He had spent three weeks now in this magnificent house and barely ventured past the office. He looked around the room now. It was opulent, white marble, silk rugs, fine vases, and beautiful paintings, all meant to overawe whomever was left here to wait for the house’s master.

  Searching for an escape from what awaited, Ipid focused on the painting that covered the entire expanse of the wall before him. It was a scene of the river, workers, ships, the city lost in the distance. The details were precise, the brush strokes imperceptible, the colors vivid, shadows clear and present. The scene was busy, overrun with activity, but infused with order. Everything was moving. So many pieces. Tangled. Interwoven. How did the workers not knock each other over? How did the ships not collide? How did the shadows not claim them all? Maybe that was the secret.

  Maybe that was what he had been missing. He focused on a tiny boat coming into the dock. Another larger vessel was already there. Workers piled it with sacks. Yet Ipid knew that the boats would not collide. He knew that the small boat would turn. There was no indication of it in the painting, no sign that the tiny man at the rudder would push the tiller to the side. Still, Ipid knew that he would. No one needed to command him. No one needed to yell from the dock. He would do it all on his own, just as the men loading the boats would turn to take the sacks from their fellows at exactly the moment they were handed on, just like the boys playing up the hill would dart around the approaching carriage. It all worked. Despite all that seeming chaos, there was order.

  “Are you ready?” Eia asked, pulling Ipid from his thoughts. He looked around himself. Naidi had gone. He was alone with Eia. She wore her black robes. Her hood was thrown back, wild hair loose, framing her round face with frizzy curls. Her skin seemed even paler against the black of the robes, like porcelain so fine as to be nearly translucent. It reminded him of when he had first seen her. When she had woken him in Wilmont, had offered him breakfast, had answered his questions, and kissed him. Had she known then what they would be? Had he?

  She approached and put her hands on his arms. They were warm. “I sense your unease, your fear and uncertainty. You have known that this was coming. I have felt it burning in you since that night a week gone. It is eating at you, and it is time to be done with it. Sometimes the dread is worse than the act.”

  “I do not think this is one of those times,” Ipid sighed and shook his head. As much as he had been dreading what was going to happen this day, he could not imagine the anticipation could be worse than what was planned.

  Eia gave him a sympathetic smile but said no more. Their relationship remained awkward. Despite her words, Ipid could not come to terms with the person he had been that night, and no matter of trying on Eia’s part could break down those barriers to her satisfaction. She claimed after each failed attempt that she would wait, that it took time, that he was getting better, but he could tell that she was frustrated with him. And despite how magnificent it had felt, he was not sure that he could find that place again, that he even wanted to.

  “We should go,” Eia said quietly. She moved her hands to his face and guided it down to kiss her. He complied but his thoughts were elsewhere, and Eia soon gave up on him. “Everyone is waiting,” she urged, stepping away and taking his hand. “They are as nervous and unsure as you. If you wait much longer, they may lose the courage they have built.”

  “Of course,” Ipid said absently. He nodded and allowed Eia to lead him from the room, but his eyes were back on the painting, examining all the people working in harmony without him having to say a word.

  #

  It was the middle of the day, hot and sticky. Ipid was already soaked with sweat, but for some reason, he had allowed someone to talk him into wearing armor. In a flurry of activity, four boys strapped the plates of metal to his body with leather buckles as he watched in the mirror to his side. He wanted to laugh for the sheer insanity of a world where a shopkeeper was dressed in gilded steel. Instead, he took a deep breath and winced as a boy pulled too tightly on a strap that held the shin guard in place.

  “Sorry, sir,” the boy stammered, but Ipid paid him no mind. He was lost in the thoughts of what he was about to do, of the idea of drawing the long sword that lie on the table to his side, of the idea, however distant, that he might have to use the blade that he had never before seen, much less held or swung. What, in the Order’s holy name, am I doing? he asked himself. I am not, have never been a soldier. How far have we fallen that it has come this?

  He nearly stumbled through the main doors of the manor, almost fell down the steps that led to the courtyard. Never before had he considered what the addition of fifty pounds of metal would do to a person’s ability to walk, especially a person who had no right in the world to be wearing that metal. Knowing their places, the boys who had dressed him helped to guide him down the stairs and support him when he wobbled. He just hoped that the display was not so ludicrous as to dishearten the real soldiers that watched. Though he heard no mumbles, saw not a mouth move, he could imagine the words they would say. None of them were kind.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Marshal Landon waited with two score of his knights. They were on foot, their armor was light relative to what they wore into battle the day that the Kingdom’s fell, chain mail over heavy leather, shin and thigh guards in the front, simple faceless helms, shields, and swords. Over their armor they wore the tunics that marked their position in the Chancellor’s Own, blue stripes on a black background as if they were wearing flags. Sweat ran down their faces. Their armor glistened with it. Ipid had left them standing far too long in the blazing sun with nothing but anticipation.

  Past the knights, lost in the sea of their blue stripes and steel were two black-clad figures. Ipid was glad to see that the third – it was the first time he had seen Rynn in the te-am ‘eiruh’s black robes – now paced far to the side. He caught Rynn’s eye through the veil of his long hair. The boy smiled and nodded. Ipid released a breath that he had not realized he was holding. Rynn had not wanted to be part of this, was glad to have been spared. It was all the validation Ipid needed.

  Finally, as he reached the final steps, a cadre of Darthur closed like a leather-clad wall. There were a dozen warriors, as many as Ipid would allow to accompany him on this, and they had strict orders to stay back when the fighting started. This was a dispute that should be settled by the people of the Kingdoms. It had to be clear that it was soldiers from the Kingdoms that had decided it. Still, he was glad to have the warriors there to protect him. Unlike the Chancellor’s Own whose eyes darted and body’s fidgeted, the Darthur joked and shoved one another like boys preparing for a game. They wore what accounted for armor among them, heavy leather vests and guards for their arms. A few had helms but none carried shields. Their hands were open. Weapons still strapped to their backs in the Darthur style. Ipid had no doubt that he would see the things soon enough, though he hoped that no threats got close enough for them to come into use.

  “Lord Chancellor,” Field Marshal Landon called as Ipid walked toward him. “The men are ready and await your command.”

  “You understand your orders, marshal?” Ipid tried to sound commanding though he was sure that his voice quavered.

  “We do, Lord Chancellor. We have trained all week. Every man knows his part.”

  “You are prepared for the portal?” Ipid knew the answers to these questions, had asked them all the night before, but he wanted the men to hear the answers as well, wanted them to know that he had asked.

  “The . . . te
-am ‘eiruh,” Marshal Landon still struggled with the proper name for the wizards, “have transported us as part of our training. We are ready, Lord Chancellor.”

  “Di Valati,” Ipid called to the man standing to the side of the stairs, “please confirm for us that this action is aligned with the most holy and benevolent Order.”

  Di Valati Wallock raised his arms and spread them wide so that his brown robes stood out like the wings of a bat. His voice carried over the creak and rattle of the leather and steel around him. “Justice,” he called then paused and scanned the soldiers. “Justice is how the Order maintains Its balance. It is how It corrects for those that transgress against It. Sometime, that justice is delivered by the Order directly, but more often, It calls upon Its greatest creation to see that justice is done, that Its will is enforced and sanctified. Even as he stood upon the rock of Sal Danar to cast out the Lawbreakers, our savior, the great and all-wise Theonious Valatarian said, ‘We humans, Hileil’s most precious creation, were given the ability to understand so that we could protect the Order he made. Only humans were given the ability to judge, to be the Order’s final arbiters. We must do everything possible, must make any sacrifice to maintain the Order, to ensure that Its laws are upheld.’ This is the way of the Order. May it guide and protect you.”