by Tim Stead
“So what are they?”
Alder sighed, and it was his teacher sigh again. “They are the perceived supernatural agents of order and chaos in the world. They created everything, they bring the rains, they cause the sun to rise, they draw the crops from the ground, they lend you strength when your own is exhausted, they replace the laws of probability for those who do not know them, they justify terrible acts that men could otherwise not countenance. It is impossible to explain what they are, because they are always a little different.”
“Are there bad gods and good gods?”
“Yes. Sometimes. Almost always.”
“And they are a figment of men’s imaginations?”
“Almost always.”
“Then how does anyone know what the gods want, or what they do?”
“Priests, sacerdotes, monks, oracles, diviners, mystics, mediums, and sensitives.”
“Who do what?”
“Interpret the will of the divinity, the god.”
“They make it up?” She was aghast.
“Many do. Some believe that their chosen deity really does speak to them by putting ideas into their heads. It is all very strange. If a godlike being wants you to do something it usually leaves you in little doubt as to its will.”
“And this world, these people, they have gods?”
“Many. Different tribes have different gods, some have several, some even share some gods but not others. It is most confusing unless you have studied it.”
“How does it affect us?”
“We must show respect, or they will seek to destroy us, and we must show the proper respect in the proper way.”
“It sounds difficult, but you will teach me?”
“We do not have time. It will not be long before we come to a town or village, and we cannot delay our pursuit of Raganesh. He must be captured as soon as possible.”
“Captured?”
“Of course. Did I not explain? There are things that he knows which must be discovered.”
“And I do not suppose you will tell me what these things are?”
“No. It would not be prudent. In many ways the less you know the safer you are. And now to your behaviour,” Alder changed the subject quite bluntly. “You cannot speak their language, so I will tell them that you are a seeress from a far land, and that we are here seeking a demon that possesses men.”
“It is not far from the truth, but will they believe it?”
“One of the oddest things about believers is that they are disinclined to question what they are told if it fits with their beliefs, and this does. To be clear: speak only to me. Do not use the knife or show it in public. Metal is valuable here, and a piece such as the blade that you carry would be worth a great deal. Enough to kill for, perhaps.”
They set off again, allowing Pathfinder to guide them, and quite soon they began to see signs of industry. There were clearings where the trees had been felled, and tracks cut through the undergrowth where carts had passed. Felice became aware that Alder was muttering something, and when she looked at him he appeared to be wearing a red robe that dragged on the ground, and a red hat that covered his ears and the back of his neck. He was also carrying a black staff, topped with a black circle, which he used as an aid to walking. Glancing at herself she was surprised to see that she was now dressed in a long, black dress, and that a silver thread, so thin that it was barely there, hung about her neck.
This, then, must be the glamour that Alder had mentioned, a spell designed to change their appearance without really changing anything.
They broke free of the trees, and the cart track passed a group of houses and became a road passing through fields planted with a tall, green crop. She glimpsed figures working in the fields, but they were distant, and she could see little of them, other than they walked on two legs and favoured dark, mud coloured clothes that covered most of the body.
Their road approached another road, and she could see that other people travelled along it in carts pulled by oxen. Some even rode oxen, while still others walked, laden with baskets and parcels which were tied to their backs.
“It is a market day?” she asked.
“So it seems. Hide the knife now. We will be among them in a short while.”
She slipped the knife into a pocket, surprised to find it still there. The black dress had no pockets, but the garment that she really wore, the one that she had dressed in that morning at White Rock, had a pocket on each side. She could feel them with her hands, but they were quite invisible.
As they came closer to the road she could make out the people who travelled along it quite well. They were like men, but they were not men. Not quite. They had two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth, but the mouths were lipless, the eyes a fraction too large and apparently amber in colour. Their ears seemed simpler, their noses smaller, and their skin was a dusky shade, like the bark of an oak tree. A surreptitious glance at her hands showed that they, too, had become brown, and her fingers seemed a little longer than they had been, and lacked finger nails, and yet she could feel them.
They joined the road, walked with the people, keeping themselves to themselves. They passed a spur of woodland that thrust across the fields towards the highway, and as they rounded this curtain of trees the town came into view. It was walled, and its low, brown walls looked plastered with mud. She could see figures on the top, guards perhaps, carrying long poles like spears or pikes. The gates stood wide, and the road poured its thin stream of life into the gap they made, the town beyond absorbing all like a great dirty sponge.
Even from here she could smell the place. The breeze carried its sour odour of rubbish and wood smoke, sweat and spices across the fields to them. She tried to gauge the size of the town. It was certainly bigger than East Scar or Yasu; probably bigger than Pek, but Samara would be larger, she believed.
“We are in luck,” Alder said. He spoke in low tones so that only she could hear. “I know this town. It is called Herebat, and we will find aid here.”
“Ekloi?”
“Yes. We have a man stationed here. He is the governor’s treasurer.”
“Will he mind that you have an assistant?”
Alder smiled slightly. “He is junior to me. He will obey my commands.”
They entered the town, were swallowed by the open gates and found themselves in the midst of a great throng. They were pulled along by the crowd as it swept through the streets and eventually spilled out into a great square, the like of which she had never seen. It was big: a hundred yards on one side and two hundred on the other. The floor was not dirt, but had been paved with great slabs of grey stone. Hundreds of stalls had been set up, and mostly they were simple things, men and women selling off the back of carts, or even from the stones themselves. They had aligned themselves in great rows along the longer axis of the great space. The buildings bordering the market on the long sides were shops, dozens of them, and Felice feasted her eyes on the mouth watering variety of trade goods displayed. She could happily have spent the whole day just walking up and down the alleys, browsing the endless lines of merchandise, but Alder hurried them down the broadest aisle towards a great building that stood at the far end.
The building itself was one of the largest she had seen. It looked long and low, but only because it was so wide. Steps rose up from the market for its entire width, leading to a colonnade of pillars, and behind that a row of doors. Above the colonnade the building was set back a little, creating a balcony that ran along its entire width, and behind that were more doors and windows. The whole was made out of a bright, white stone that contrasted starkly with every other building in the town.
They approached the building, mounted the steps, crossed the colonnade. At one of the side doors they were confronted by a guard. The man barred their way, his hand resting on a long, serrated sword that was made of some kind of ivory. Alder spoke to him, the language sounding gruff to Felice’s ear, and they were quickly shown into a chamber within the bui
lding. It was not particularly ornate, and contained no furniture, so they were obliged to stand.
“I do not think much to their hospitality,” Felice muttered. She was feeling tired and thirsty. “Is there anything to drink?”
“In a moment,” Alder replied. “If Inshaful is here we will be received, then you may drink.”
Inshaful must be the Ekloi. Felice walked to the door and looked out onto the square. Most of the sellers displayed a marked indifference to their trade, and sat lifelessly behind their goods, staring dully at the passing crowd, making no effort to sell, to engage the passing multitude. In such company any trader from her own world could have made a fortune.
A voice behind her brought her back to the business at hand. The guard had returned and was speaking to Alder, his manner more respectful than before. Alder listened, then threw a glance in her direction, beckoning her to follow. The guard led them up a narrow flight of stairs, along a corridor, past two more guards, through two sets of doors, and eventually to a chamber. It was a busy room, tables crowded against shelves, books and papers covered every available surface, and a fascinating collection of curios, objects made of glass, bone and wood competed for space amongst them.
The centre of the room was filled by a desk, which was miraculously clear of paper, holding only a single book. Sitting behind the desk, and apparently caught in the act of turning a page, was another of the inhabitants of this world. He dropped the page and gestured to the guard to leave them, rising from his seat.
Once the guard was gone he approached Alder and held out his hands flat and level, palms upwards. Alder placed his hands on top briefly.
“Inshaful,” Alder said. “You will oblige me if we can speak in Shanakan vulgate. It is a matter of courtesy and practicality.”
“Of course,” the other said. “Will you identify your companion?”
“If you ask it.”
“I do.”
“Very well. Her given name is Felice Caledon, she hails from East Scar on the world of Shanakan.”
“Not Ekloi?”
“Not Ekloi.”
“This is irregular.”
“Inshaful, you are third tier, I am first tier. You will accede to my judgement in this matter.”
“I will.”
“We are here in pursuit of the Faykin Raganesh. This one,” and here he indicated Felice, “identified and tracked the Faykin. It attacked us while I was stepping, and all three were precipitated into this place. This one preserved my life while I was unable to do so, and killed the flesh that the Faykin had taken. When I recovered it fled in the direction of this Herebat.”
“Even so, it will be almost impossible to track. There are thousands of strangers here for the market, and if it has taken flesh again it will be one Shi among many.”
“This one has the means to track the Faykin.”
Inshaful raised an eyebrow. “She is most resourceful, Sinalder, I am not surprised that you bend the rules. What do you require?”
“We need a palanquin, arrayed in the colours of Shishnaran Tokari, and four bearers, and a troop of soldiers.”
“You will conduct a demon search? On market day? It will alarm many. There could be unrest, and I would have to answer for it.” Inshaful seemed worried. Felice was bemused by the whole conversation. There were so many things that were new to her she could barely keep track. Alder’s name was Sinalder? First tier? Shi? Shanakan? Faykin? She had heard him use the last term when addressing Raganesh, so it was another name for Faer Karan, she supposed, Shanakan was her own world, and Shi could be the native people here, but it was all guesswork.
“That is unfortunate,” Alder replied. “However, Raganesh had returned to Shanakan, and he could not have done so unaided. He is not wise. We fear that one of the more dangerous Faykin has also returned. Raganesh will know which one. If we wait until after market day Raganesh will have fled among the other Shi and we will have a harder task. While he is here we can restore things quickly.”
“I understand. The palanquin may take an hour to arrange, and I will give you twenty of my personal guard. Please wait in my resting chamber. There will be food and drink. I will send a man to you when all is prepared.”
They were shown through a door concealed behind a curtain in the office, and Felice was pleased to see comfortable chairs and couches, along with a jug of water, and a jug of wine.
“I trust your curiosity is assuaged,” Alder said.
Felice sat down with a sigh and reached for the water. “Do you understand people at all?” she asked. “A few drops of water do not slake a thirst. But do not be concerned. I will keep your secrets even if you drown me with them.”
15. A Hunt
The interior of the palanquin was comfortable, she could not deny it. The soft seats were lined with fur, and cushions abounded. It was more luxury than she had ever seen on a mode of transport. In spite of it, she hated the thing. The faint rolling motion, the twisting and tilting as she was carried through the streets made her feel quite ill.
She was alone inside. Alder walked beside the window, listening to instructions on which way to turn according to Pathfinder. The windows themselves were curtained so that nobody could see in, and that was half the problem. It was stuffy, and it was getting hot. Combined with the motion it was getting to her.
“Can we rest a minute?” she asked. The curtain pulled back a fraction.
“It is me that is walking,” Alder said.
“This thing is making me feel ill.”
Alder seemed to think for a moment. “Put your hand on the sill,” he said. She did so, and he laid his on top of it, spoke a few words in a language that she did not understand, and to her astonishment the sickness in her stomach vanished, her head cleared, and she felt fresh again. “We are in a hurry,” Alder said, almost apologetically. The curtain dropped back again and the motion resumed, but now she was immune. It was magic, she supposed; a simple spell for one who knew it, but a miracle to anyone else.
“Turn left here,” she said, and heard Alder’s voice speak to the bearers. The palanquin lurched, and they set off down another street. If Raganesh was close it would not be long before they found him.
She had not spoken to Inshaful, had played mute while Alder had arranged everything, and climbed into the palanquin – nothing more than a box borne on poles – when asked to do so. She had been aware of him watching her, though. For all that he obeyed Alder without hesitation, she knew that the junior Ekloi had reservations. She had them, too, but it was best to go along with things, to seem agreeable, when she was in an alien world. She was effectively deaf and dumb, and Alder’s favour was her only way home – probably her only way to survive. She was beginning to trust the old man, to give credence to his word, but she remembered an old saw from her childhood – trust is the child of an oak tree. It meant that you should be slow to trust, and a trust built over years would be very strong indeed.
She wondered how long they had been gone from her own world. It was at least the best part of a day, though she had no way of knowing for certain. How long would it be before the caravan left White Rock for Woodside? Time pressed on. Did they have enough time to get back?
“Bear left,” she said, and felt the direction change again. She was starting to notice a pattern in the changes of the blade’s pointing. After three more turns she was certain.
“Stop,” she said. They stopped, and the edge of the curtain lifted. She could see from Alder’s face that he had worked it out as well.
“He knows that we are following him,” he said.
“Yes. He’s leading us in circles – keeping on the move. But how? Can he sense the knife?”
“Did he touch it?”
“It killed him – stuck into his back.”
“Of course.” Alder looked thoughtful. “But he was not prepared. He did not have time to tag it. The magic that it contains is slight, and over such a distance he could not detect it. He has touched both of us, so it co
uld be either or both of us that he can find.”
“It is me.”
Alder looked puzzled. “Explain,” he said.
“It is more likely that if he can trace anyone – if he had to perform some sort of spell to be able to do so – that he can sense me. The only time he touched you was when he was trying to kill you, so it would not make sense for him to mark you for following. It would mean that he knew where we were all the time at White Rock.”
“How will it help?”
“Can you use the blade?”
“No!” Alder seemed horrified at the suggestion. “I am reluctant to touch it,” he said, “and these things of Corderan’s are fussy about whom they cooperate with. They have a tendency to imprint on one person.”
“That will make it more difficult. Is there any way that you can remove the spell?”
“No. If I knew what he had done, then perhaps, but there are an infinite number of ways to mark a person or thing.”
“I see. Perhaps we can use that. Let me think for a minute.”
Felice dropped the curtain again and sat back in the warm twilight of the palanquin. Was there some way that she could drive Raganesh into a trap? She could not see it. They had no idea what he looked like. If he had taken one of the Shi he would be perfectly camouflaged in the crowds that would leave the town at the end of the day. Of all the thousands here only Alder and probably Inshaful could face him, so he must be brought to bay somewhere where one of them could be waiting. But she had already proven to herself that Pathfinder could do more than point.
“I think I have an idea,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“Is there a way that you can hear me over a great distance, if we are separated?”
“Yes. It will require an artefact, but I believe that Inshaful has such a thing. How will that help?”
“And can you get two maps of the city?”
“Easily.”
“Then send for these things and we will trap Raganesh.”
“You must explain it to me first.”
“Very well.” It was clear that Alder wanted to stay in charge. “I believe that I can get Pathfinder to indicate Raganesh’s position on a map. If I can speak to you, you can go there, and I will tell you if he moves so that you can follow. I will continue to move through the city as though I am following so that he will not suspect.”