The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “The governor has been called away,” Valati Lareno said as if that were an answer.

  “Everyone’s still asleep,” Dasen said through a yawn as the valati helped him into the back of the wagon then took a seat by the driver. “We can’t collect food now.”

  “It’s Teaching Day. We were never planning to collect food today.” The valati touched the arm of the driver at his side. The wiry old man snapped his reins but made no call as the horses began to pull. Only one other wagons followed behind with only the creek of wood and rattle of wheels to mark their passage.

  “Go back to sleep, my lady,” the valati said before Dasen could get his head around what was happening. “We have a long trip before us. You might as well rest.”

  How had he not remembered that it was Teaching Day, that they had already told the people that there would be no food collection today? It made this all the more nonsensical. What were they doing with the wagons if not gathering food? And why so early? In violation of the curfew? When everyone who might donate was asleep? Another yawn took Dasen as his questions mounted. He tried to formulate them, but his eyes refused to stay open, his thoughts refused to coalesce. And sleep claimed him before he could form any of the questions into words much less find their answers.

  He woke at the camp. The sun was just rising and Valati Lareno was calling to the guards to lower the drawbridge. Remembering to rub his eyes carefully so that he would not smear the cosmetics, Dasen sat up and looked around as the wagons rumbled over the bridge into a place a world removed from the one he’d visited only a week before.

  A crowd greeted them. Clustered into families, the people here were still ragged, dirty, wasted, barely human, but they were no longer dying. They stood straight, eyes clear and focused, faces filled with resolve. The death wagons to the sides held food and water now. The sickness was gone – attributed to Lady Esther but more a testament to Teth’s abilities as an herbalist. The well had been closed to ensure it didn’t return. The latrines had been moved to another island that was accessed through the gap they had created in the fence that first day. More of that fence had been deconstructed to create the bridge that led to that island. In fact, almost all the fences were down now, the remaining wood having been used for fires. In the middle of the camp, the doors to the tower stood open. The soldiers who had patrolled it with crossbows stood among the refugees now without arms or armor, differentiated from their prisoners only by the relative cleanliness of their uniforms and flesh that still clung on their bones. This was Deena Esther’s true miracle, and every time Dasen saw it, his heart soared. He had saved these people. They were alive because of him. For all of Lareno’s false miracles, this was possible because of him. It was and always would be his greatest achievement.

  When Dasen rose, the crowd bowed low as if meeting the highest form of royalty. Instantly awake, he waved at them from the back of the wagon and returned the bow. “My friends,” he declared, honestly pleased to see them. “I am so glad to see that you are well.” He looked around the wagon beneath him. It was empty. Why were they here? “I am sorry to say that we have brought nothing for you today.”

  He looked around confused and found Valati Lareno. He was smiling like an idiot. We’ll see about that, Dasen thought as his own grin formed. “We have come so that the valati can provide a lesson. It is Teaching Day, and no one should be denied the words of our savior and knowledge of the great and all powerful Order he served.”

  To Dasen’s surprise, Valati Lareno smiled, nodded, and rose to stand beside him. From Dasen’s experience, the ugly little man hated to speak in public. He had been sure that delivering a lesson would be the last thing he wanted to do, but he accepted the challenge as if it was what he had planned all along.

  “May the Order continue to guide and bless Lady Deena Esther,” the valati started, weak voice rising as loud as Dasen had ever heard. “We have all seen Its power working through her. She is our proof that It seeks to protect all those who believe, that It is protecting us even when all else has failed. But more than anything, she is proof that WE are the Order. It works through our actions, through our faith, through our desire to see Its will done.”

  The crowd mumbled their responses, but the lack of enthusiasm was wrought by a profundity of emotion not a dearth. Tears ran down cheeks. Families clutched one another, head bowed, hands rose as if seeking to feel the power emanating from the god before them.

  Dasen gulped.

  The valati smiled. He continued his sermon, going through the entirety of the ceremony that marked the weekly lessons, and the people listened, they responded as Dasen had never heard. They hung on every word, said ever response as if promising their very souls, nodded and cried and laughed. These people had not only seen the miracle. They had been saved by it. The Order meant something more to them, It was real, It had come to their rescue. It was no longer a distant thing. It was as substantial as the woman standing before them.

  Valati Lareno finished his lesson by describing all the ways the Order worked through average people, every day. Rather than speak about the miracles performed by their savior, the valati talked about the actions of the people who surrounded him of their devotion and sacrifices. Rather than talk about the miracles performed by Lady Esther in multiplying the food they received, he spoke about the people of Gorin West who had been giving up their meals.

  “And what is the Order’s reward for those sacrifices?” the valati asked as his lesson drew to a close. “What do they ask in return? Only that the Order’s will is done. But how do they know that their sacrifice has been worthwhile, that it has been received by the Order, that it has succeeded in restoring us to the Order’s path?” He looked around the crowd as if seeking an answer. “Faith. They know because they believe, but we all know how difficult faith is to maintain when we see only the hunger in our children’s eyes. Even Valatarian, as he asked for the greatest sacrifices from his followers showed them the result of those sacrifices, showed them how they were used to defeat the Lawbreakers. And if those people had not seen that proof, would their faith have carried them far enough to make the Exile possible? I do not know the answer, but I know that Valatarian did not risk such an outcome. He gave his followers miracles to show them that the Order was with them. Should the people of Gorin West be expected to have more faith than the first followers of Valatarian? I ask you, should they rely only on faith to keep denying meals to their families?”

  “What can we do?” a man called from the crowd. Stirred from his reverie, Dasen found the man. It was the same one who had seemed to lead the refugees that first day. He stepped forward and addressed the valati. “We, every one of us, are eternally grateful to those people. It was only their generosity, their compassion that allowed the Order to work Its will here. We owe them everything, but what can we do?”

  “Feed them,” Valati Lareno answered. “For a week, they have fed you. Now, you can return their kindness.”

  The people looked at each other, mumbling and nodding. “Gladly,” the man said. “But we have so little. You may take it all. It was never ours, but I am afraid it will feed very few of them.”

  “It is the symbol not the substance that is important. Give what you can. It will be enough.”

  And that was all that was required. The people of the camp moved in groups to the wagon where their meager stock of food was held. They grabbed bags of hard bread, dried meat, cheese, and beans and brought them to the valati. The guards fetched their own food and added it to the pile. Even so, it was barely enough to cover the bottom of a single wagon. The valati had it spread across the two so that it looked like a truly meager supply, then with a few more words of thanks from him and Lady Esther, they departed.

  “Hurry,” he said to the driver as they rumbled back over the drawbridge. “Time is short. We need to make it to the temple before the lessons are finished.”

  #

  The bells rang to close the lessons just as the wagons arrived at the base
of the hill. Ironically, it was only Lady Esther’s absence that provided her with the time to climb that hill before the crowds had gone. People streamed from the temple in the hundreds then milled in the courtyard, held by the morning’s shocking absences and the need to speculate about them with their neighbors. The fact that the governor had not attended only added to the intrigue. Rumor and conjecture flew, grew, and mutated until many were certain that some great battle had taken place in the night between the Exiles and the Order with the governor and the Lady Esther as the proxies.

  Dasen was sitting in the driver’s seat of the coach now with Valati Lareno, feeling the intensity of the rising sun as it beat on his wig and cosmetics. He felt his stomach rumbling and fought to keep from wiping the sweat from his brow as it ran down his forehead into his eyes. A few hours from its height, the sun was already threatening to break the string of cooler day’s they’d enjoyed throughout the week. Dasen was not sure how he’d survive it.

  The crowd was beginning to disperse when the wagons crested the hill and entered the temple’s expansive courtyard. The words “Lady Esther” rose from the crowd in waves as small groups heard the name, turned to see, and repeated it on to their neighbors. Soon, every eye was on Dasen and the crowd was parting slowly around the wagons. Men doffed their hats, women bowed, children pointed and stared as the wagon passed by. Dasen smiled and nodded at as many as he could, even reaching down to pat the head of children who were held up for his blessing. The people mumbled between themselves, seeming to build on the rumors they’d started.

  Scanning the crowd for Garth, hoping to catch a glimpse of Teth, Dasen marveled at the number of people packed around him. The crowd filled the courtyard in its entirety with still more issuing from the temple doors. There were thousands. It appeared to be an even larger turnout than the previous week when free food had been on offer. Dasen had no idea how they had all squeezed in. Come to see if the saint would perform another miracle no doubt and disappointed when she didn’t even show up, Dasen thought. Good thing, they didn’t leave early then. If he knew Gian Lareno, their wish would be fulfilled soon enough.

  “Lady Esther is sorry to have missed the lesson,” Valati Lareno called as the wagons maneuvered to the doors at the back of the temple, “but she insisted that if we were not going to take food to the poor souls at the camp, that we, at least, bring them the Order’s lessons.”

  The wagon came to a halt and the valati rose from his seat to address the crowd that was gathering around. With a gesture, Dasen joined him, towering over the little man. “To our surprise, they gave us one. Though they tremble still on the precipice of starvation, the people of the camp saved back a portion of the miracle-wrought food that we took them only yesterday. Rather than eat it today when no new food will be arriving, they insisted that we return it to you as their only means of thanks.” He looked to Dasen, who could think of nothing more to do than nod.

  “I begged them to reconsider,” he continued. “Though Lady Esther performed another miracle in ridding their camp of the illness that had ravaged them, though the Order has worked through her to create enough for them to survive the week, the governor had reduced them to such a state that they can ill afford to miss a single grain. I insisted that they keep the food for themselves. I told them that though you also know hunger, the knowledge that you are doing the Order’s work is enough to sustain you.”

  He stopped again at that then turned to Dasen. “Lady Esther made me reconsider. She said that there is balance in the Order. That those who receive must also give and, thereby, see their thanks returned again and again. Since the people of the camp have nothing else to give, she said that this would serve as their thanks. She, who is closer to the Order than any I have ever known, assured me that this is the Order’s will, that by thanking you who made all this possible, they are thanking It, and It will return that thanks.”

  By this time, Dasen had grown sufficiently accustomed to Lareno’s distortions that he managed to keep from reacting to the bold-faced lie. The crowd, of course, loved it. Their murmurs rose to a roar with the words, “Order’s will”, “Lady Esther”, and “miracle” in extensive use. Whatever the valati had in mind, the people of Gorin West were ready to believe.

  “I am sorry to say, that the people of the camp had only the barest amount to give,” Valati Lareno continued. He held up one of the bags to show that it was nearly empty. “Holding to our promise, we will give it out as we have in the past, but I ask you to understand that you will each receive very little. Please, form a line at the front of the temple. We will open the doors when we are ready.”

  The soldiers arrived as Valati Lareno was climbing from the wagon. They pushed through the crowd to the source of the disturbance, looking decidedly nervous despite their armor and spears. “What’s this?” their lieutenant asked. “What’s in the bags?”

  “The people of the camp provided food for us to distribute,” the valati answered.

  The lieutenant scoffed and used his spear to inspect a few of the sacks. Finding that the valati’s words were true, he seemed to grow more rather than less nervous. “The procurement of food outside that distributed through the ration papers is illegal. I must confiscate this.” His words lacked conviction, and the grumbles of the crowd eroded what there was even further. “Only the governor can overrule the order,” he nearly begged. “He’s been called from town, so there’s nothing I can do. It’s the Chancellor’s order.”

  The crowd grew ugly at that. They shouted insults, surged in around the cart, and began hefting stones. The soldiers who had accompanied the lieutenant – maybe a dozen – lifted their spears and looked back at their commander, unsure. Valati Lareno caught the man’s arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear before things could go any further.

  When he finished the lieutenant nodded. “Okay, but no funny business,” he warned, voice tight, meant only for the valati. “The governor said I was supposed to watch you and the lady, but you’re right, this little bit of food is not worth a riot. Just make sure it doesn’t lead to one.”

  “It shall be as you say,” the valati assured. “Perhaps, you and your men can help by keeping the line orderly at the front of the temple.”

  The lieutenant nodded and gathered his men. “Everyone to the front of the temple,” he commanded the crowd. “Women and children will be served first. Please, form an orderly line. If there’s trouble, we’ll shut it down.”

  At the valati’s urging, the people listened. They slowly dispersed, moving toward the front of the temple. “Bless the food,” he whispered in Dasen’s ear then turned to the acolytes around him, whispering instructions in their ears, and receiving nods in return.

  With a sigh, Dasen did as asked. He turned to the back of the wagon, closed his eyes, lowered his head, and held his hand out over the bags. His lips moved, but he did not actually form words. He knew now that another miracle was about to take place. The people seemed to think so as well. Those closest to the wagon began to nudge their neighbors, and point. Soon every eye was on Dasen as he stood over the few sparse bags of food, seeming to bless it.

  “That’s good. Now, come inside.” Lareno stopped the blessing, helped Dasen down from the wagon, and led him inside.

  “What now?” Dasen asked when they were inside, standing in the anterooms at the back of the temple. At that same moment, the first of the acolytes appeared, carrying a nearly empty sack from the wagon. He was met by another man coming down the hall that led to the temple’s basement. The second man carried a sack that was identical in every way except that it was bulging so that the man could barely lift it. The men smoothly traded with the first continuing on toward the nave and the other jogging back down the stairs past a line of his fellows.

  Valati Lareno stopped the man with the bulging sack short of the door to the nave. “Wait here for the signal, and remember, you’re amazed. A miracle just occurred.” The man’s face transformed, filled with shock and wonder. He stared at the
sack before him as if he had never seen anything like it. “Good,” the valati compliment then turned and gave similar instructions to a half-dozen men with similar bags.

  “Now for you,” the valati grabbed Dasen’s arm and steered him toward the door.

  “This is too obvious,” Dasen stopped him. “As soon as they walk through with those bags, the governor’s going to know what we’re doing. He’ll come back here and see it. We’ll be finished.”

  “The governor’s not here.”

  “Then one of his lieutenants or aides. It won’t take much to figure this out.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  And that was it. Lareno led Dasen through the door onto the dais at the front of the rows of empty pews and positioned him in a beam of light. It stung his eyes and cooked him, but the light also illuminated him in a rainbow of colors, bigger and brighter than life itself. The desired imagery was so obvious that Dasen could only groan.

  “You’d be surprised,” the valati repeated then motioned to the counselors at the front of the temple. Dasen held out his arms to complete the image and closed his eyes so that he looked like he was in a trance. The counselors threw open the doors to the crowd just as the first of the amazed acolytes walked across the dais with his bulging sack.

  “Another miracle!” someone from outside yelled – the voice sounded familiar. “Lady Esther has performed another miracle. The Order is rewarding us for our sacrifice.” Countless others repeated the call. They yelled their thanks, proclaimed their devotion, swore their allegiance, and Dasen silently accepted them. Standing in the sunlight, illuminated like the Order itself, he even looked like he deserved them.