The Whore protect you,
- Dydal
“Well,” Null said, “it explains why Lock didn’t burn this book.”
“Does it?” the queen asked.
“It sounds like they were colleagues of some kind, but that last sentence… it seems so aloof. I didn’t know that Lock was Dekahn’s mayor.”
The queen chuckled. “Yes, he was. And you’re right, they knew each other well. Remember that Dydal did come to Lock’s aid during the Succession… I do seem to recall actually… Gods, I cannot remember. It has been too long.”
“Too long since what, Queen?”
“Since I have read my histories. That is why I need you. Does the note trigger any thoughts? I feel like I should know what this is, but it’s just out of my recollection.”
“Nothing, Queen Tepa. Do you know what blessing he’s talking about?”
The queen shook her head. “Nothing comes to mind. Nikom was the name of the god, Farmer, but I do not know what a blessing is, or what he might have blessed… He uses very convoluted and often poetic language, which is why I am on my fifth reading of this accursed tome. Although… I seem to recall Lock asking Dydal to repair something… The wards on the wood, I think? It makes sense, I suppose, but what relevance would that hold for the Trellish? What could the High Cleric possibly gain from that knowledge now? Could he perhaps want the book to prove that we owe him something? Because that bargain was made by Lock, not by m-” The queen blinked as her eyes refocused on Null.
The queen sighed, and closed the book. “I have never liked priests,” she muttered.
“And what of the missing page?” Null asked. “The one you said was missing from the damaged copy the merchant brought?”
Queen Tepa perked up on her stool. “Oh, yes… I did make progress there. Here, look at this.” Rin Tepa reopened the book and flipped to a marker near the middle. “Before you’d left, I knew that there was a page missing, but the ones we had were too damaged to tell which one exactly. But now, I’ve figured it out. This page here is the one missing from the damaged copy, and more than that, I know for a fact that the page was stolen from the book on purpose. That the book was damaged on purpose.”
“You do? How could you have learned that?”
“I’ve exchanged correspondence with a colleague in Trel. He assured me that the page was taken on purpose. By Trin Cavahl herself.”
“By the merchant? Why would she do that?”
The queen pointed to the page, lifting the book toward Null. “Here, read the page.” She tapped the right side of the book. “It’s this one here.”
Null read the page and then frowned at it as a chill went through her.
“‘Fate and Death. Death and Fate,’” she read aloud, picking the passage that had raised her hackles. “‘Two sisters of a sordid sort, linked not by blood, but still invariably. From creation to extinction. The fools had it wrong. It was not Life and Death that must be forever wed. It was Fate and Death. From the moment Fate met Death as a child, she and Death were two forces opposed and intertwined, one dependent upon the other, each the other’s foil: Only Death can end one’s fate, and only Fate can combat Death.’”
“Does it mean something to you, Null?”
Null shook her head. “No, it’s probably nothing, but… this god of Death, it’s mentioned all throughout the spellbook Mycah gave me. So is the god, Fate.”
“What? What do you mean? Why would they be mentioned in Mycah’s spellbook?” The queen’s voice was more demanding than Null would have expected.
“I… I don’t know,” Null said. “They’re just more gods, aren’t they? Why wouldn’t they be mentioned all over something written by a cultist?”
“No, Null. They may be gods, but these two are not typical. They’re mentioned almost nowhere in Trellish doctrine. What does the spellbook say?”
“Oh, here, let me read it to you.” Null set her saddlebag on the table and removed the spellbook. She flipped through the pages until she found the passage that mentioned both of them, then offered it to the queen.
“I don’t understand,” the queen said, barely glancing at the page.
“What?”
“This is a diagram of an elk.”
Null turned the spellbook, shocked that she had been so careless… but then, realized she had not been careless at all. The passage she desired was right there on the page, a personal account of one of the author’s supposed experiences with the god Fate.
“You… you don’t see the text?” Null asked, holding the spellbook a little way away from herself.
“It’s a picture, Null.”
Null blinked, worried for a moment that she was more sleep deprived than she’d thought. When she looked at the page again, the words were still right there in front of her. How could the queen not see it? “No… no, it’s all right here… you… you really don’t believe me?” She flipped to another page, and held it up for the queen to read.
Rin Tepa gave her a skeptical glance. “It’s blank.”
“Nothing at all?” Null asked.
“It’s a blank page, Null.”
Null turned to the page and read aloud, “‘The first god I ever saw was Butcher. I saw him and his children often, yet always from afar. He was called Smith, then, and he was well respected. Ever that was the word… well respected. Yet in the circles to which I was born, amongst the shattered remnants of the Cult of Death, the same clandestine group I would later reshape into the Butcher’s Cult-’”
“It says all that?”
“Yes.” Null patted the page, astonished. “It must be some sort of spell. I cannot have imagined all of this.”
“No, you’re right. I believe you. You did not make that up.”
“Do you think it’s magic?” Null asked.
“I couldn’t tell you,” the queen said, “but it’s as good an explanation as any. Mycah must have put it there in case it fell into the wrong hands.”
Null nodded. It would explain why Beda had seemed so calm, considering the content of the text. She must not have seen anything, if she’d been able to read it, surely Beda would have destroyed it… Except she did see something, Null thought. She listed several of the spells. Null flipped frantically through the pages. In her hurry, she couldn’t find any of the spells that Beda had listed, but she wasn’t certain what that meant.
Null felt a hand on her arm. “Null, did you hear me, girl?”
Null looked up at the queen and blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if that was the passage you wanted to show me?”
Null glanced at the spellbook with a frown. Had she been looking in the wrong place, or had Beda seen something different than Null herself? If she gave the book to the queen, would Rin Tepa see the same list of spells as Beda? Null was liking the spellbook less and less every second.
“No,” Null said at last. “No, sorry. That wasn’t the passage.” She turned back to the page she’d wanted initially. She started to turn it toward the queen, then blushing, realized again that the queen still would not be able to read it. “I’ll… I’ll read it aloud.”
“Go ahead, Null.”
Null nodded. “‘I was eight when they took me to the cottage,” she read. “Not every member of the Cult was called, but many were. Even still, they told me I was special, and I believed them. The stories said that Fate was kind, but I did not find her to be so.’
“‘Our stories said that she was the first of the gods. The master of the pantheon. The greatest of the gods. Not the Whore, not Just, not even our patron Death, but Fate. This pale and wizened thing before me.’”
Null glanced up from the page. “See?” she said. “It mentions both of them. Fate and Death.”
“Keep reading.”
“‘My fating was a simple one, or so I thought. I was destined to protect our lady upon her rebirth-’”
“Rebirth? It says that? It says rebirth?”
“Yes, Queen. It says rebirth.”
“‘I was to be Death’s Guard,’” Null continued. “‘They never told me what it meant, or at my age, that I would wait for an eternity. There were others who had been fated around me. My mother. A cousin. The neighbor girl with the buck teeth and the broken nose. Many of them were promised they would play a role in Death’s return. Many were promised they would be the one to bring her back.’
“‘All their fatings came to nothing. I watched each die, never having accomplished what Fate had claimed they would, never having witnessed the Return. Only one fact kept me from believing that Fate was just another tyrant like Just. The Cult was loyal to her, but she demanded little. Only a handful of times did she call on me, always to complete some minor and uncomplicated task. Things seemingly insignificant in the wider world. I had begun to fear that I too would waste my life.’” Null lowered the spellbook. “It goes on like that for a while, Queen.”
“Fascinating…”
“You think it means something?”
“I don’t know, Null. It’s hard to say. But… my correspondent in Trel… he told me that our merchant believes she is to become Death.”
Null laughed. “Now that’s a silly thing to believe.”
“Yes,” the queen agreed. “The Faithful can come up with very odd things.”
Null glanced at the book in her hand. “Queen, isn’t the Return something the Atherahnians believe? About the Butcher?”
“Yes, Null.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the belief that Butcher will be reborn, and that he will return to rule again.”
“But he speaks of it here as though it really applies to this other god. To Death.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think the High Cleric could believe it? Do you think that’s the reason he asked for the book?”
“It’s two passages from disparate texts, neither of which we have reason to trust. It’s surely a coincidence.” She shook her head, then rolled her eyes. “That blooder. He’s put us to chasing our tails, and we’ve fallen for the bait.”
“Queen?”
“The Cleric, Null. There is no way he could believe this, and if he did, what use is Teachings of a Whore? He could get another copy anywhere. He wants the original just to annoy us. To keep me busy with nonsense while he puts an army at my door.”
The queen stood, her knees cracking, and Null offered her an arm. Rin Tepa looked older now than she ever had, but she waved the help aside.
“Come along, girl. I’m hungry and I’m certain that you’re tired. We can return to the books later.”
“Yes, Queen.” Null put the spellbook in her saddle bag and then looped the bag over her shoulder. The queen was dismissive, but Null was fascinated. All these mysterious secrets, locked away in a book only she could read… it was almost exciting enough for her to believe.
As they descended the steps, the coals crackled in their iron braziers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
There had been no scouting for Bell’s squad of scouts. Instead, the Grand Legionnaire seemed to keep them around like a prop in a chapel yard play. Bell couldn’t understand her interest in him and his fellows, they were simple scouts. Although, that wasn’t entirely true. Not for Bell and Skibs; they were members of the High Cleric’s personal guard. Bell tried to ignore the politics of the priesthood. He just tried to do good where he could and how he could, but politics always caught up with him. He hadn’t applied to be a member of the Cleric’s guard; tired of his posting at the prison, he had only wanted to become a scout, but the posting had been offered and it had been difficult to turn down such a prestigious position.
At this moment, he wished he had. The first horn had been blown only minutes before: disperse march, form ranks. Time had not been given to rest, as soon as Dekahn’s walls were in sight, the army had readied for attack. As seemed to always be the case, Marl had arrived with orders as the horn’s blast echoed through the hills. Bell was to report to the Grand Legionnaire and his squad to the front lines. Scouts positioned at the front without their commanding officer; it was more than an odd situation.
Bell crested the rise overlooking Dekahn. The Grand sat atop her horse, looking down on her ranks of soldiers, with Marl, the hornsman, and half a dozen messengers beside her. By her form, it was clear that the Grand had earned her position over years of experience. Thick muscle knotted her arms and legs, which made her look shorter than she was. In a fight, Bell wouldn’t underestimate her, nor the five-foot broadsword strapped to her back.
And she was Drennish, like himself.
Drennish first, then priests, then peasants, his grandmother had often said. That was the supposed order of things, and according to his grandmother, their shared Drennish history was supposed to mean something. Before her passing, his grandmother had been a dignified First Magistrate, but not all of her beliefs shared that same quality. As far as this supposed history went, all his grandmother could tell him was that the Drennish had always been priests, as if that were justification enough for their superiority. It was almost funny. In his grandmother’s world, the peasants wanted to be merchants, the merchants wanted to be priests, and the priests wanted to be Drennish. And of course, each group looked down on the one below them.
Being Drennish had never mattered to Bell. In fact, it seemed to only matter to his grandmother. Taehrn seemed to have a better view of things. Well, not a better view, but perhaps a more accurate one. Class and standing were all that mattered to Taehrn. High Cleric, Grand, Legion, and priesthood, in that order. Bell often wondered if Taehrn even considered anyone else. Trin was right about some things, there was a hint of cynicism in Taehrn’s worldview. Does he even think of the First Magistrate? Or Steward Ivan?
In a way, Taehrn was right; standing was most important, if only because it is what most of Trel believed. By taking Drennish off his grandmother’s list, he had an accurate portrayal of how the Trellish viewed themselves. But Bell was not so certain of that list and its metric for superiority.
Seeing Bell, the Grand Legionnaire frowned and motioned for her attendants to make room. “Legionnaire Bell,” she called, “it is good of you to join us.”
Marl’s mount sidestepped from the Grand, but Bell stopped a few yards behind, forcing the Grand to turn her horse. He hadn’t done it to show disrespect, but thought it would be uncomfortable to look up at the Grand while standing between two horses.
Bell saluted. “Of course, Grand.” Unsure of what else to say, or even why he was here, Bell stopped himself from saying anything more. He had only spoken with the Grand twice before, once outside of Trin’s tent, and again that same night in the command tent. Both times the conversations had been brief, the first awkward as he had foolishly invited her to dinner, and the second direct, as the Grand had moved straight to business, telling him that he was to march with her to Derlin; an order which had not been the full truth. They hadn’t stopped at Derlin like she had said, instead, they had continued past, meeting up with the larger host in the middle of the Fields.
She hadn’t told Bell why he and his squad were here, and he was starting to become suspicious. Trin thought that Taehrn’s interest in her was why she and Jem had been drafted, but now Bell was wondering if it was due to the Grand’s interest in him. Before that, the Grand had never even glanced at him, which made it all the more strange, but Bell and Skibs had been sent by the High Cleric himself. That would not have gone unnoticed. But why me and not Skibs?
The Grand studied him, perhaps waiting for him to say more. He didn’t.
Finally she spoke, “You are a member of the High Cleric’s Owl Guard.”
“Yes,” Bell nodded.
“What do you think of the High Cleric, Legionnaire Bell?”
Marl glanced at him, a brief look, but enough to tell him that his words were being measured by more than Cyleste alone.
“Uh…” Bell hesitated.<
br />
The messengers stared straight ahead, looking as if they were listening, but desperate to appear as though they weren’t.
“It is hard to say, Grand. I speak with the High Cleric rarely. Most of my orders come from Steward Ivan.”
The Grand frowned, her eyes drifting from Bell’s feet to his forehead. “Marl,” she said, “see to the preparations, but wait for me to give the command.”
“Yes, Grand,” Marl said.
“Come, Bell, let us take a walk.” Despite her words, the Grand Legionnaire did not dismount from her horse, instead, she sidled up alongside Bell and then pointed with an open palm to an empty clearing a short distance away.
Bell set off toward her suggestion.
“Do not hedge with me, Bell Cobbren,” the Grand said as they walked. “The First Magistrate is not here. I will not hold your words as treason against you. Tell me what you think of the High Cleric.”
For some reason, the Grand’s firm tone reminded him of Trin. “Of course,” Bell said. He paused to consider his thoughts. “I spoke true, most of my work comes from the steward and I do not share many words with the High Cleric. When in his presence, he seems to ignore me, speaking mostly to Ivan, or the deacons or parishioners. The words we do share are often minor, probably because I am the newest of his guard.”
“And yet, he put your name forward as officer for your squad. Why is that?”
With the Grand towering above him, Bell felt minuscule. He had considered the question many times himself.
“I don’t know really,” Bell said. At her disapproving frown, he added, “But I can guess if you’d like.”
“Please do.” Her tone was cold, not simply dispassionate as it had been on their last two meetings.
“I believe it is because I lack combat experience. I have had scout’s training, and I served for many years in Trel’s stockades, but I have not seen any real fighting aside from subduing prisoners. Skibs served for many years on the border with Settin, so he at least, has fought brigands and highwaymen.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 47