Deathknight

by Andrew J Offutt

  “Ashah sustain us!” Falc had pounced to his feet. “Master! These men were...” He broke off, working to compose himself. Sench! Senithal! Vennashah presumably dead; Relashah, old Relashah the Gasser dead in an alley! “Master! Could... could someone be... attacking omos, because they are omos?”

  The Firedrake turned to gaze at him. “Naturally such a thought occurs, Falc. However it is difficult to give it serious consideration, certainly without further evidence. Why? And who? Think of the incredible magnitude! A cabal that unites Holders and citystates?! The number of people of disparate places necessary to such a... such a plot! What could unite them? Who would dream of such a course of action, much less dare — and to what end? What possible motive could there be for attacking the Order? We have represented a form of peace and order, through communication and respect for the Order — us — for over two centuries.”

  The two men stood gazing their incomprehension at each other. Falc wondered, but he kept it to himself. He would try to learn.

  “Welcome back, over-proud Son of Ashah. Go and cleanse yourself.”

  Falc bowed low. He returned to collect his weapons and helmet before leaving the presence of the Firedrake.

  3

  In the Inner Temple, Falc muttered the rite-words while he stripped at the edge of the Pool of Complete Cleansing. His scarred, powerfully built body was not all he revealed in that cool, ever dark place where none might go save omos and resident monks. Here, where none but those of the Order might see, a Son of Ashah stripped completely. That meant removal even of the coif or skullcap to reveal the Curse of Sath. While he bathed all would disappear at the hands of a silent acolyte, who would leave a robe for Falc to wear while his blacks were thoroughly cleaned.

  He felt the chill when he bared his utterly bald head. Sath Firedrake had gone prematurely bald, and despite his later asceticism he was sensitive about it. That “curse” had been incorporated into the Order to be shared by all the figurative descendants of Sath. Since it was considered a secret and a Mystery of the Order Most Old, an omo removed his skullcap no place but here.

  Falc reflected in outrage and some horror on Sench and Relashah, stripped utterly... and Vennashah too? He hoped his brothers had been dead before they were subjected to such humiliation and disgrace.

  He tested his wind by muttering his penance while he swam in the pool in that complete cleansing he and his fellow Sons of Ashah received only here. It felt sinfully wonderful. His penance-litany he dedicated to the dead of Tern, victim of the angry planet, and to the survivors, who might by now be envying those who had died. His breath held well. He did, as Ashamal had wished him, enjoy his clean head.

  He did not enjoy visiting poor Chondaven, but was glad he had done it. O Ashah! Give me death that is my lot, but I beg you not to cripple me!

  He had to force himself to concentrate on the balance of his penance. He had memorised the Litany long ago. Repeating it required no conscious thought. His mind kept wanting to slide off into consideration of the murders and disappearances that might well also be deaths. His mind wanted to betray him by pondering his words — could someone be attacking the Sons of Ashah, murdering omos, because they were omos? — and those words of the Firedrake: What possible motive could there be for attacking the Order?

  4

  It was worse in the morning. Falc emerged from an hour’s visit and meditation in the adytum of the god to learn that Vennashah was not just missing but assuredly dead too, murdered and stripped like the other two. It was, Falc mused, as if some ritual were being practiced on the Sons of Ashah. That led to two interesting thoughts which he deemed worthy of the Firedrake’s consideration. Still loosely robed while his uniform was allowed to dry in the air, he requested another audience. The Master was not immediately available. Falc waited two hours, his mind busy without thinking once of Jinnery.

  Then an aide to the High Brother came, with the summons from the Firedrake. That second entry into the great chamber and the recounting of those ideas led to further embarrassment: Naturally both had occurred to the Master. He was kind about it, though, and for once Falc left his presence without feeling like a chastised child.

  He had agreed not to return to Lango save on orders. Therefore he would go on “home” to Lock, to place Jinnery within Kinneven’s protection. Completely uniformed in his blacks once again and having persuaded the High Brother to “loan” him another derlin, he sent for Jinnery and their dargs. She was led to him, long white traveling robe covering her full sections. She looked either unhappy or angry or both. Falc affected not to notice. He knew she had been cloistered absolutely in a small room and was sure that it had not been to her liking. He would not give her opportunity to complain by asking how she was!

  Besides, he was sure she would tell him.

  SEVEN

  Enforced sharing is both evil and a redundancy. Sharing is a voluntary act. Involuntary sharing is theft, whether it is accomplished by individuals or a group or large group called government; the State or citystate.

  By the same token, no one shall be deprived of sharing all that she or he wishes!

  — Sath Firedrake

  *

  He was right; Jinnery complained freely once they had traversed the pass and were making their way back down the mountainside. Falc saw no reason to try to explain or even respond, and did not. He did notice with pleasure that she had arrived at an important decision, in her solitude: she was calling her darg only “Tain,” now. “Knoll or small mount/mound” was a silly name for a darg, but of course so was Harr. It was at least one swiftly pronounced syllable! Falc noticed, and perhaps he smiled inwardly. He made no comment.

  *

  After they had made fireless camp and eaten, she remarked that he had said nothing about what she called “her treatment” in the High Temple.

  Seated comfortably on the ground across the little clearing from her, Falc saw no reason to say anything.

  “Falc!”

  He looked questioningly at her.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  “You have been a guest in —”

  “Guest!”

  Falc went silent.

  “Well? Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “I began, but you interrupted. Now I am waiting to be sure you are finished talking.”

  “Damn you for the most exasperating man on Sij! I am through, then.”

  “You have been fed, and been an overnight guest in the High Temple of Ashah. It’s possible that no other woman has been so honoured. It is a place of monks and their rites, of the Mysteries of Ashah. Naturally you could not wander about within a temple of men. Shall I say that I am sorry no one entertained you?”

  She said nothing. Her angularly bony jaw was taut. Perhaps she was grinding her teeth. She stared a few inches above his head at the tree against which he had placed his back.

  “I thought I might at least see something; see the Master, perhap.”

  “You saw much. You saw the Mon-Ashah-re. You saw some of its people and its defences. As for the Master... he looks like a man.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes. I made my report. We shared knowledge. I stated my desire to return to Lango and punish Faradox. It was denied and I was given penance for the request. I was also chastised for bringing a woman into the Temple.”

  “Really!”

  Falc only nodded.

  “And your... your uniform was cleaned.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do that? Is that some ritual, too?”

  “No. Yes.”

  “What? Which?”

  “No I did not clean my clothing. An acolyte did. And yes, a ritual is involved.”

  Her tone continued querulous. “Yet no one offered to clean my clothing!”

  Falc sighed and crossed his outstretched legs the other way. “Only men inhabit the High Temple. You expected a man — a monk — to clean your clothing, woman?”

  “No, I just... oh thunde
r and blazes! I just didn’t see or hear anything! I didn’t know where you were and I had no one to talk to and nothing to do.”

  “You could brag the rest of your life about being the only woman to have guested in the Mon-Ashah-re, Jinnery. All there stay busy, and when they are no longer busy they pray or chant, and then they sleep that they may busy themselves on the morrow. No one was available to come and listen to you complain.”

  “Complain!”

  “You said that you had no one to talk to, Jinnery. With you, ‘talk’ and ‘complain’ are the same.”

  She made her exasperated noise: “Oh-oooh!”

  Certainly Falc made no reply to that.

  After a time she snapped, “Complaints are not all you have heard from me!”

  “No; sometimes it is an accusation disguised as a statement. Sometimes it is a cutting remark designed to hurt. For some reason you think it necessary to be unpleasant.”

  Her voice was very small when she said, “oh.”

  She said nothing after that, but sat thinking, as he did. Next day he was aware that she was trying not to be unpleasant. That was less a positive act than the lack of a negative, but he wondered if she knew how to be pleasant. Having had that thought, he strove to be pleasant, and discovered that with her he was not sure how. He tried.

  They rode, they talked little, they tried. That afternoon they heard the rumble and felt the tremor and swiftly dismounted. For a full minute they lay still and listened to the low rumble of the world, and to their heartbeats. Another minor quake had rippled through Sij, and was gone. Somewhere rocks probably fell. Somewhere trees may have toppled, and even buildings. Falc mouthed a prayer for the Temple. People alive and at work or play or asleep one instant might be dead the next, and even buried within the planet, by the planet. The level of a lake might have risen or fallen, and new scars might mark the seamed ground. Not here. For a full minute they clutched the tremoring ground, but nothing came of it.

  They rose, they mounted, they rode on, thinking of insulted, ever-restless Sij. The sun at last quit a hazy sky and they camped under a rednut tree. He enforced some knife practice on her while he exercised. A writh’s wail sounded and forced them both to pause and listen, but it was far away. What voices those creatures had!

  Afterward they ate from knapsacks, along with rednuts. They made no fire.

  “Falc,” she said, just as it grew dark, “do you like women?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean or want, but I don’t dislike women.”

  “Not disliking isn’t the same as liking.”

  “You didn’t ask whether I liked men. The answer is the same. I don’t like or dislike anything as a class. Not all dargs are likable, or all swords or food either. In general, I don’t dislike men and I don’t dislike women. In particular, I like some and don’t like others.”

  He was uncertain as to what had prompted the question, but Falc was uncomfortable. He remembered her coming to the barn that night, and he was nervous, for it was night now and they were alone together and he could not send her back to the house. After quite a time of silence, she surprised him.

  “In... in general and in particular,” she said in a measured way, apparently having a difficult time making the statement rather than considering each word, “I don’t like the embrace of men.”

  “Umm.”

  “Isn’t that of any interest to you? I mean, it’s hardly natural, is it?”

  He kept his yawn quiet, so that she wouldn’t think it was a deliberate comment. He could no longer see her face at all clearly, and was happy that they were both almost invisible to each other. Their facial expressions were, anyhow.

  He asked the darkness: “Do you mean the sexual embrace?”

  Her voice was tiny: “yes.”

  “Always, do you mean?”

  “yes.”

  “Hmm. Excuse me, but... what about oestrus? Twice a year, when all women...?

  “I feel it,” the darkness said in her voice, still only just audible. “But even then the urge is not great. Not the way it’s... supposed to be.”

  “The way it is with other women, you mean — or seems to be.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is... unusual,” he allowed. It was easier to talk of such matters in the dark, and he knew it was for her, too. He surprised her by saying more. “Yet you came to me that night, in the barn.”

  “You didn’t believe me, did you. I really was sent. I didn’t think you would welcome me... that way, but he sent me.”

  “Querry.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right. Even though you had been hateful to me, sneering and scornful, I didn’t believe you when you said he had sent you.”

  “Do you now?”

  He took care to pause before he answered, so that she would perceive it as a considered reply and be more satisfied with it. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Querry sent you to me in friendship and some feeling of guilt. You slept with him?”

  “Yes. Slept with him. And... let him use me, when the need came upon him. I didn’t really respond or care for it, but didn’t let him know that I really wasn’t interested. I mean it really wasn’t fun and I’m really not interested. Really. I know that makes me strange,” she went on in a sudden blurt, “but it’s the way I am.”

  “It’s not an entirely new concept to me,” he said into the darkness.

  “You... don’t think it’s freakish... Falc?”

  “It’s the way some people are,” he said. “Women and some men, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean you’re not just making it up to try to make me feel better?”

  “Jinnery: have you ever told me anything just to try to make me feel better?”

  “Umm... no.”

  “Neither have I.”

  She was emboldened to amplify on her admission, or declaration: “What I mean is that I am not a sexual creature, and would prefer to do without the sexual embrace.”

  “Uh... I have not been considering it, Jinnery.”

  “That is not what I meant! I was not intimating —” She broke off.

  He said, “Sorry, Jinn,” which surprised her. “I did want you to know that.” Then: “Some women are able to live so.”

  Her voice returned partially to the scathing tone he knew better than this soft-voiced admitting: “Are they? In a world where strength counts and men rule and women serve them? How?”

  “By being strong. Being unpleasant as a ward against being embraced is not always necessary. Some run away and hide,” he said, thinking of the Sisters of Tyrvena. “Women can — you can substitute strength for resentment.”

  Minutes passed, and he was sliding down into sleep when the darkness spoke again, in her voice:

  “That’s your history, isn’t it. The essence and philosophy of Falc of Risskor.”

  Falc did not reply.

  2

  Next day they were more comfortable with each other, and they talked. They talked of the weather, the countryside, the places and things they passed, and of the old Empire.

  Falc had just realised that he had ceased being offended by her sections — most because he hardly noticed them anymore, when she much surprised him with an admission and a question he certainly did not expect:

  “Falc... uh, f-freak or not, it keeps getting harder for me to see the purpose of life. Does the Order have an answer for that, too? Just out of curiosity, you understand!”

  Falc ignored that disclaimer and spoke solemnly: “Years ago I had cause to ask the same question,” he told her. “Fortunately, I was speaking to the Master.”

  “The present one?”

  “Yes. I am not so old as to have outlived a Firedrake, Jinnery.”

  “I thought that perhap to be Master a man had to be old to begin with. Besides, everyone’s old when you’re twenty and twice an orphan. And the Master — did he have a satisfactory answer?”

 
“That depends on what you consider satisfactory! It’s enough for me. Rather than reply at once, he asked me a question in return. He said: ‘Men create suffering and women suffer. Should we then consider this their purpose?’”

  She looked at him with her brows up. “The Firedrake! I am amazed that a man would say that! It’s truth, of course, and part of what’s been bothering me! And did you have an answer to that?”

  “He didn’t expect one; I knew that. I waited, and he gave me what might be a parable. ‘“No,” a retired warrior and conqueror and liberator once replied to the same question, long ago. ‘“Let us not then question the purpose of life, but Life itself. Has yours purpose?”’ The seeker to whom Sath Firedrake said those words went away, saying that he had not been helped and might as well have stayed at home.”

  She stared away into the distance. “His mind was closed,” she murmured at last in a faraway voice, pursing and working her thin-lipped mouth as if physically chewing the concept.

  Falc was pleased by her perception. “And his heart,” he said.

  “Careful. I hear paradoxes coming from your mouth, Sir Fa — Sir Deathknight.”

  Falc nodded. He remembered that she had said just that to him, before. He made the same reply as he had in the farmhouse that night in Zain: “You do! All is paradox, Jinnery. Isn’t a religious man and a monk who is also an extremely competent warrior — and killer — a paradox? A woman who does not care for men and thus presumably does not want children? Are we not a paradox, just the two of us in company?”