by Scott Rhine
The answer rang harsh but true in all their ears. The youth was slack-jawed. “They never told us.”
“Of course not. No parent likes to appear flawed in his child’s eyes. Your king learned his lesson, so there was no real harm done,” Jotham reasoned.
The youngest priest bowed, accepting his reply. The accountant was not so easily pacified. Smugly, he asked, “Our own sage leader on this mission has claimed that the holy scrolls are incomplete and contradictory. Yet the scrolls themselves say they are infallible. How is it possible for both to be true without him being a liar and a heretic?”
Jotham brooded for a moment. The accountant was hoping that either the Imperial would be unable to reply and be proven false, or that the answer would disqualify the senior priest and put him in command. “Have you been to Wrensford?”
“You know we have.”
“Was it on your map?” asked Jotham.
“No. It’s too small to make the temple maps. Harkan led us there because he has been there before,” the accountant said, puzzled. “If you’re going to claim that the map is incomplete, you’re wrong. The town no longer exists.”
“That seems to be your solution to many doctrinal difficulties as well. But bear with me, and you’ll see the answer yourself. In each case, with the scrolls and your mission, you must rely on the guidance of one who has first-hand experience.” The accountant nodded impatiently. “Cardinado appears on your map. What does it look like?”
“A black dot with a thin circle around it.”
Jotham feigned surprise. “But where are the houses, the streets, the people?”
“Don’t be absurd. It’s just a map, there isn’t room for all that,” the accountant complained.
“What if the map were as big as the city itself?” Jotham persisted.
“Not even then. It changes every day. One would just finish a copy before having to start again on the revision,” said the accountant.
“So the map is just a simplified representation for people who want to be able to find a place for themselves. No amount of drawing on a flat piece of parchment can substitute,” Jotham reasoned.
“I suppose.”
“You agree that the essence of Cardinado is too complex for even the best map. A map will only show you the general way to find something you are seeking. You’re responsible for the walking. Why should the ancient scrolls be any different in depicting the Truth, which is surely more complicated than your small town?” announced Jotham. Everybody around the fire made a small ‘o’ of revelation with their mouths except the accountant.
“You are unclear,” he insisted.
“I offer the reluctant pupil another example. Do you have a floor plan, an architectural drawing of your temple? Of course, a drawing was necessary to build it and had to be complete. But do you hold your services standing on the parchment, or inside the actual building? Can you see through the windows on the page to the people standing outside? Yet this is not a contradiction to one who has been there and has common sense.”
All were nodding except the accountant. “This does not answer my question.”
Jotham sighed again. “Then we’ll do this the easy way for you. Your superior will ask his question and then we will know what seems contradictory to him. His explanation will then serve as yours as well.”
The last priest became nervous. “There are so many. How can I pick just one?”
“Sometimes a small candle can illuminate many dark corners if you walk about the room with it,” Jotham said helpfully.
After several minutes of thought, Harkan said, “In the book of Othran, it states that Efrose was the first Son of Semenos. Yet in the Tome of Ugurut Jabar, it states that Semenos never knew a woman. How did he…” Brent stopped eating altogether and stared. “… manage to make the woman pregnant without… you know?”
Jotham started laughing uncontrollably and continued to the point of tears. Once he regained some composure, the Tenor apologized. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I suppose it started as a wicked joke, but over the years it just got out of hand. Your question is well posed as a puzzle, for the Tome is really a book of riddles, where only the gods know all the answers. All of your writings are correct in the specifics. Efrose was a child of Semenos, and one of the few of the ancient blood born in the Dawn Era. But your teachings were corrupted surrounding one key fact. If you search manuscripts that are old enough or the original Tome before the languages were unified, you’ll detect one word in particular which differs.”
“Such a thing would have been noticed by now,” the accountant insisted.
The eldest priest disagreed. “Not if you change the way you teach the ancient languages. Not if the information wasn’t stressed in current dogma.”
Jotham raised a knowing finger. “Ah, you’d be surprised what men can get away with by rewriting history.”
“What was the word?” Harkan demanded.
“The gods dislike when we reveal their secrets directly. Instead, I’ll give you another puzzle. Can you name a single female member of the Dawn race?”
The camp was silent for several bits. “He’s stalling, evading the question,” mumbled the accountant.
“The question was not yours,” warned Jotham, raising a finger. “Remember what he asked, and the answer is plain.”
Understanding was rising slowly on Harkan’s face.
“Nonsense,” chided the accountant. “It just demonstrates how unimportant women were in the Great History.”
Harkan, almost unwilling to believe his conclusion, spoke it aloud. “Semenos is a woman? She was the mother of Efrose, not the father.”
Jotham nodded. “You have discerned the right of it. They changed the translation of one simple pronoun to alter the course of your kingdom. It happened during the succession battle of Queen Hester. She had three daughters, but only one son, her youngest. The oldest daughter wanted to make sweeping changes, including the introduction of women into the army. Her justification was an obscure passage in the histories where Semenos slew the demon Galartha.
“The Traveler wanted to help your priests avoid a civil war. All the Traveler asked was, ‘Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you could claim Semenos is a man?’ And the scribes agreed. He never actually lied, merely incited others to do so. Semenos was furious for decades, but the other gods wouldn’t let her exact revenge because they thought it was so funny.”
“This is blasphemy! Don’t listen,” said the accountant, covering his own ears.
“No. It makes perfect sense! It explains why we don’t allow women in the priesthood, but how the Oracle of Alampur has always been a woman. They are no less holy, and no less worthy. But a woman might have exposed the truth to the public, undoing years of wrongful oppression,” Harkan declared.
“We must spread this word to all the villages. This wrong must be righted,” said the eager, young priest.
“This is insanity. What has this man done to bewitch you?” asked the accountant, barely above a whisper.
The others ignored his ranting. “We’ll start at the nearest village; there’s one just inland of here. Then, we’ll spread our news throughout the land,” said the old priest, planning his campaign out loud.
When his fellows had gone too far in their heresy and passed beyond redemption, the small accountant slunk from the camp and ran toward Cardinado as fast as his legs could carry him. He left so fast that he never realized that his original question had been answered; his superior was both correct in his own eyes and a heretic in the eyes of the church.
After their meal and a fond goodbye, the other two Sons walked inland toward the next village, glowing with the fire of revelation.
Chapter 20 – Heretic in Chains
It was nearly nightfall as Jotham and his young apprentice came within sight of Cardinado’s city gates. With the sun already over the horizon, the residual, red light wouldn’t last long. Reflexively, the tall man slid the patch into place over his brown e
ye. The city defenses weren’t much: a chest-high wall made of cubit-thick field stone. No doubt the wall had been constructed more to keep cattle in than to keep human invaders out. The Temple of Semenos was the biggest building on the square in the center of the town. By the light of the Compass Star, Jotham could pick out a large mosaic in the shape of a stylized tree just beneath the peak of the roof. He pointed out the building’s outline to the boy.
“We drop the ox there and then move on toward the north.”
“Why are all the people waiting in lines outside the gate?” asked the boy, concerned with more immediate issues. Jotham squinted and saw guards questioning and searching each person wishing to enter. Suddenhe closed his eyes and looked like he was meditating or smelling the air.
“They’re all around us. If we try to turn around now, they’ll have us for sure.” Using the ox as cover, Jotham dug two small parcels out of his pack. The first had an assortment of low-value, southern coins and a few herbs recognizable as poisonous in the wrong dosage. The second was a small, leather folder laced shut. Inside were two useful documents. The first give him the rank of Captain in the army of Bablios and the second instructed officials to answer any questions he asked. These had once been his tools in gaining cooperation from the citizenry with his investigations. They could also be employed in a pinch to gain free passage anywhere in the southern kingdoms. He no longer worked for the Prefect, but no one had ever asked for the letters back. In this situation, however, possessing them could be fatal. Jotham discretely tucked the bundle behind a rock they passed, pretending to check the animal’s hooves.
“What…?” the boy began.
“Hush. Forget you ever saw that.” They moved toward the rear of the line as if nothing unusual had happened. When Jotham made out the form of the accountant among the guards, his heart beat faster. Calmly, he removed the holy symbol from around his neck and dropped it around the boy’s, hiding both symbols under Brent’s baggy, homespun jerkin. He whispered to the boy, “The flare is now yours. In exchange for this payment, I would ask a favor from you.”
The accountant had just spotted the ruddy, broken-horned ox and was gesturing wildly for the city guards. “Anything,” said Brent.
“You’re now my personal, legal counselor,” Jotham said.
Watchers began pulling in from the edges, closing the trap. It would be dark in a matter of seconds. The priest could feel time slow as every detail spoke to him. The boy looked puzzled. “But I don’t know anything about the law,” he protested.
The large Imperial put an arm on the child’s left shoulder. “I know enough for us both. You need only agree that the price is fair for the service and clasp my shoulder for the relationship to be official.”
Boots beat a rhythm on the highway. Someone drew a single sword.
“You won’t need to say a word. Please?” Jotham asked urgently. The boy nodded and returned the clasp.
Five spears lowered toward the priest. “Art thou Jotham the Thief?”
“No,” he answered. “I am Jotham the Tenor. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else.”
“Grab him!” ordered the deep-voiced man with a sword. The watch commander had a large, metal breastplate embossed with the shape of a tree. His dark-red hair and beard gave him a fiery appearance, and his bear-like physique gave him an air of authority. Even the man’s arms sprouted thick hair.
Jotham raised his hands in surrender, releasing his own staff. “Am I being charged with a crime?” he asked as they herded him away from the crowd.
“My job is to hold you for the Lord Mayor tomorrow morning,” the man with the sword rumbled.
“The boy, too,” demanded the accountant, ring into the scene.
The watch commander reached for Brent with his empty, left arm, and Jotham said loudly, “That young man is my lawyer.”
Several people laughed, but the red-headed man stopped. “Is that true?” he asked Brent, fixing him with a piercing gaze.
The boy nodded. “Absolutely. He paid me and everything.”
“Children can’t represent people,” insisted the accountant.
“I believe the only requirement stated in the royal compact is that he be born in and currently dwelling in the kingdom. No age, height, or weight requirement was ever stipulated,” Jotham interjected. The commander moved his head back to the other contestant in the match to see if the latest volley would be countered.
“This is ridiculous. Follow your orders to the letter or face the consequences,” threatened the accountant.
The man’s shrill voice made the watch commander wince. As they bound Jotham’s arms behind him, the priest said, “If you arrested a man’s lawyer for consorting with criminals, people could never get a fair trial. No one would want to defend even the innocent.”
Several people in the crowd muttered agreement. A number of frontier mayors from the turbulent years had lost their titles over miscarried justice. The new emperor had even been known in one extreme case to force an unfair mayor to assume the punishments of his victims. The watch commander looked from the boy to the accountant and back again. He sheathed his sword in exasperation. “The warrant said nothing about him. If you demand that I obey the letter of the writ, the boy must go free. But the charges explicitly state that the ox is stolen. Confiscate the beast and the pack that it is carrying.”
“But my food’s in there,” the young lawyer protested.
“Anything touching the ox belongs to the church as well,” insisted the accountant.
“You can sleep in my office, young sir. We’ll provide breakfast for you there. We don’t want to be accused of leaving the man’s lawyer too weak to defend him.”
Brent looked at the Imperial for approval. Jotham said, “I’m always willing to assist in the search for Truth.”
“He accepts,” the boy interpreted.
The watch commander laughed and tousled the Brent’s hair. “If only the church were so easy to work with.” The Sons of Semenos, triumphant, struggled to drag the ox to the church pens on the town square. The rest of the armed procession led the docile priest to a root cellar, where they barred him inside and posted a guard.
The commander’s quarters were warm and dry, and several thick blankets were brought into his office to convert it into temporary living quarters. Something else at the gates demanded his immediate attention, so the hairy commander left Brent alone. The worried boy stared at the ceiling for two hours before falling asleep.
At dawn, a supply sergeant woke the boy, poking his head into the room from outside. “Uh, the Lord Mayor wants to know if it’s okay to delay your client’s hearing until after lunch. Something important came up last night.”
ht="00" width="29">“Sure,” Brent mumbled. Noticing how full his bladder was, he asked for directions to the privy.
The sergeant politely pointed the way, and then said, “The commander wanted me to get you something at the inn across the street, but we’re pretty short-handed at this garrison.” He tossed the boy a rectangle of white stone about the dimensions of two thumbs joined in prayer. The light stone was etched with the ideogram for food and two numbers.
“That’s a meal ticket,” he explained to Brent. “Take that to any inn that has our tree on the sign, ask for anything you need, and we’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you. This is too kind,” said Brent, gratefully.
The guard waved the thought away. “We have extra since we’re not at full strength right now. Normally, we don’t give those out to civilians, but seeing as you won’t eat much and you’re irritating the high and mighty clergy, the boss won’t mind.”
The boy felt he had to know one more thing before he let the helpful man go. “Why doesn’t the commander like the Sons of Semenos?”
The sergeant stepped inside and pulled the door shut. “Boy, never say that to anyone. Everyone likes the Sons, get it?” Only after Brent nodded did the man continue in low tones. “I’ll admit that they can be a real pain i
n the commander’s a… behind when he’s trying to do his job. They don’t understand military priorities or even common sense most times. But the number one reason the boss gives others the benefit of the doubt is his red hair. Neither his father nor mother had red hair, so the church purity board decided that he was the child of some unholy coupling. His mother was in jail for a week until her red-headed brother showed up to defend her. I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence, you understand?”
Brent nodded and thanked him again before the sergeant disappeared into his daily duties. When the boy came out of the latrine, he noticed a flurry of activity in the town square. There was an awful lot of hammering for this early in the morning. Locating the nearby inn’s kitchen, he showed the white stone and filled his pockets with as many apples as they would hold while the cook poured him some fresh milk. After he wiped his mouth with an enthusiasm that made her smile, Brent asked, “What are they building out there?”
The cook, a clean, plump woman with rosy cheeks, leaned close and confided, “They’ve caught one of those southern spies again. He claims he found the evidence in the middle of the road, but his feeble lies won’t save him. We have rules around here about spies. He’ll be on that scaffold by midday. Short as you are, you’d better find a spot now if you want to see. This’ll be wonderful for business. I’ve already got my people making extra meat pies and bringing up more ale. People always get hungry and thirsty waiting for an execution.”