Past Imperative [Round One of The Great Game]

by Dave Duncan

  "He's gorgeous!” Eleal whispered. “You made him yourself, Sculptor? Oh, he is beautiful!” Then she took a longer look at that perfect face and swung around to stare down at Gim, who bent his head quickly.

  "I'm sorry,” she muttered. “I didn't mean ... Well, I did, but—"

  "I did not bring you here to admire art, Singer,” Kollwin growled, but he was fighting back a smile.

  "Oh, but ... Gim? Look at me."

  Gim looked up, redder than a bloodfruit in the dim light. He smiled a little...

  The likeness was exact! Or would be. He was not quite old enough, but the faces were already the same. Gim seemed taller only because he was wearing boots; otherwise he would be the same height as the god stepping out of the wall.

  "An older brother, Kollwin Sculptor? Or did you imagine him as he will be in another couple of years?"

  "My son was not the model. I never use models."

  She could only stare from the god's inscrutable smile to Gim's scarlet embarrassment and back again.

  "Tell her, Father. Please?"

  "I carved the blessed likeness long ago,” Kollwin said in his ponderous way. “The night I completed it I thanked the god and went up to the house and was told my wife was in labor."

  She dared another glance at Gim, and he was redder yet, but wearing an idiotic grin now.

  "Then the god?...” The god had fashioned the boy to the statue!

  "The carving is the older,” the sculptor said. “Gim takes after his mother and I was very much in love with her—and still am, of course. That may explain any resemblance you see, but we came here to give thanks, not to discuss art."

  Eleal was about to kneel, then saw that Kollwin had more dissertations to intone.

  "I think you are old enough to keep a secret, Eleal Singer. I will risk a word of explanation, if you will swear never to carry it outside this holy place."

  She swore, anxious to learn the purpose of a covert shrine. This was almost as exciting as escaping down a wall in the middle of the night and much less nightmarish.

  He rubbed his chin with a raspy noise. “I am not sure how much I may say, though."

  Gim was staying very quiet.

  "The Tion Fellowship?” she prompted.

  Kollwin's eyes glinted; his swarthy face seemed to darken.

  Error? “All I know,” she said hastily, “is that Trong Impresario and his son came, er, went to a meeting two nights ago. A mutual friend said they belonged to some club he called the Tion Fellowship. They did not mention it themselves.” But now she knew where they had come.

  The sculptor sniffed grudgingly. “The Tion Mystery is not a club! But, yes, they asked their brethren of the Narsh Lodge for aid. Of course we offered prayer and sacrifice on their behalf, both here and in the Lady's temple. Our pleas seemed to be heard.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking up at the god. “We know what happened, because we had one of our local brothers in the temple anyway."

  Doing what, she wondered? But of course special dedication to one god would not reduce anyone's obligations to worship all the others also. The ceremony had been public.

  Kollwin smiled—a slow process like sunshine moving on mountains. “We sent along someone who would understand the ancient speech, just to be on the safe side. The priests did not reveal everything the oracle had said, but they did not distort the holy words unduly. The goddess specifically directed that you were to be taken into her clergy. She insisted you be kept locked up and guarded for a fortnight. She said the rest of the troupe must contribute a hundred stars to her temple treasury, either by donation or service, and then should be run out of town as soon as possible.

  "So it seemed that the Lady had turned aside her anger and all but one of the troupe was free to leave.” The sculptor cleared his throat harshly. “Frankly, that one seemed of very little importance to us. The youngest, dispensable.... One cracked egg in a dozen is not a disaster. We thought the problem had been solved.

  "But Holy Tion did not think so! He looks after those who serve him, as we should have remembered. It so happened—and this is what I ask you not to repeat—that my son had begun his initiation into the Tion Mystery.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “The ceremony includes a period of prayer and fasting, which concludes when Kirb'l next appears. That night the skies were clear and Kirb'l appeared."

  "I saw him.” Eleal stole a glance at Gim. He smiled down at her shyly.

  "At the conclusion of the ceremony,” his father continued, “the initiate sleeps before the figure of the god. Here, on the floor, Gim was vouchsafed a remarkable dream, indeed a vision. Tell her, lad."

  Gim rubbed his upper lip with a knuckle. His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “I saw myself on a black dragon, riding to the temple.” His voice rose in excitement. “Just as it happened! I knew which window, and exactly what to do with the rope. It all came true! And I knew it wasn't just an ordinary dream! I mean, I've never even touched a dragon before! So I told Father and—"

  The older Sculptor chuckled. “He hauled my bedcovers off at dawn! Understand: Gim was not present when the actors came! He had not been told of the oracle, or of Eleal Singer. Yet here he was babbling about rescuing a girl held against her will in the Lady's temple! I knew then that the god had heard our prayers and issued instructions. We inquired and learned that there was a dragon trader in town, so we went to talk with him. And he did have a black dragon in his herd. And he knew you personally."

  This was something out of one of Piol Poet's dramas! “And?” Eleal demanded.

  Kollwin Sculptor chuckled. “And I think he should be in on the rest of the telling. Your soup must be ready. My wife will skin me. You know enough now to know who to thank."

  "It was the god who rescued you, Eleal,” Gim said modestly.

  Yes. But why why why?

  And which aspect of Tion had answered the prayers? Dropping to her knees, Eleal took a harder look at the image that so much resembled the young man now kneeling beside her. The enigma in the smile, she decided, came from the turn of the head and eyes—lips smiling in one direction, eyes in another. He held Tion's pipes, but a god who would steal a girl away from a goddess's temple by sending a dragon and a boy who had never ridden one before might well be the same god who was causing that boy to grow up as an exact replica of his father's masterpiece—Kirb'l, the Joker.

  Kollwin had somehow contrived to put her in the center. It was his shrine, so she waited for him to begin. One of the nice things about the Youth was that he spurned written texts. There were red, green, white, and blue scriptures, but no yellow.

  While she was preparing words in her head, Kollwin addressed the god. Even in conversation with mortals he sounded as if he were reading a text; his prayer was a monumental inscription. “Lord of art and youth and beauty, I thank you for the safe return of my son this night, for the trust you have shown in us, and for the chance to be of service. As always, I am grateful for the blessings of the day passed and the opportunities of the day ahead. Amen."

  Gim said, “Amen,” so Eleal did also. This intimate sharing of religion was unfamiliar to her, but obviously it was her turn now. She looked up at the god; his eyes smiled back with infinite patience and the same mysterious amusement as before.

  "Thank you, Holy Tion, for rescuing me from the most disgusting, degr—"

  The sculptor barked, “Careful! You must not blaspheme against the Lady!"

  Eleal took a deep breath and began again. “Then I'll just say that I am very grateful for being rescued.... Thank you, Lord.” She paused, the others waited. “And I promise to serve, er, the lord of art and beauty as well as I can.” She thought of the festival, and tried to imagine Uthiam mounting the steps in the great temple to receive a scarlet rose from the hand of the god. “And I ask you to look after my friends, because they have suffered because of me, and, well, I'd like them to do well in your festival. To your honor, of course. Amen."

  Gim said, “Amen."

  His f
ather coughed. “I am no priest, Eleal Singer—but may I make a suggestion?"

  "Please do."

  "If your trouble was caused by some offense you committed against Holy Ois, or against Holy Eltiana herself, then you might perhaps ask Lord Tion to intercede for you."

  "I didn't do anything.... I don't think it was anything I did,” Eleal said. “But yes. Please, Holy One, keep me safe from the other gods’ anger and whatever is prophesied. Amen."

  That had not come out quite as she had intended. Again Gim echoed her amen, but there was a distinct pause before his father did—Kollwin had noted the cryptic reference in her prayer. Gim was still too stirred up by his adventure to be concerned with anything else.

  "I already spoke my thanks to Holy Tion, Father, but I will do so again if you want to hear."

  The sculptor chuckled. “You are not a child that I need supervise your prayers, but I can understand if your heart is still full, and anything I can understand must be very obvious to a god."

  Gim needed no more encouragement than that. He raised his hands in supplication to the image. “Lord of art, I thank you again for the opportunity to serve you and for giving me such an adventure and bringing me back safely. All I ever want is to serve you, Lord, and I especially hope to serve you by bringing more beauty into the world in art or music, but I dedicate my whole life to pleasing you in any way I can. Amen."

  "Amen,” Eleal said.

  The sculptor bowed his head to the floor and said, “Amen” loudly as he straightened again. Then he clambered to his feet to indicate that the ceremony was over.

  Ambria Impresario had been known to complain more than once that the gods had given Eleal Singer exceptionally sharp ears. She knew that Kollwin Sculptor had whispered a few other words—quickly, softly—in that sudden genuflection. “Lord, remember he is very young!” She had heard. Gim almost certainly had not. Had the god?

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  ACT III

  ROAD SHOW

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  31

  "SO I HAD VISITORS,” T'LIN DRAGONTRADER SAID. “A very lovely lady named Uthiam Piper came to see me, with a distraught young man named Something Trumpeter. They both seemed to know my business better than I did. How was I ever going to get any work done in Narsh if people kept cornering me to pour out tragic sagas of young women adopted by a goddess?"

  His tone was amused. His expression was not. There was tension in that cozy kitchen. Dragontrader had refused to visit the family shrine. That was a very unusual act, which might be taken as a serious insult. The fact that the sanctuary was more than that—was the center of a mystery—might help a little, or perhaps it made things even worse, for he had probably declined a very rare honor.

  Eleal was no stranger to late hours and odd sleep patterns, but this was the middle of the night. The soup had been hot and delicious. Embiliina had insisted on tucking her into her chair with loads of blankets. She was feeling woozy.

  "What did they think I could do against a goddess?” T'lin said, rolling his green eyes. “Did they think I was crazy?” He was very large. Although he sprawled at ease, legs and arms spread, his size and beard and black turban were daunting in that kitchen. His sword lay within reach. “They did not even know where missy was. I threw them out, and they went away on the mammoths."

  Kollwin Sculptor had stripped down to a threadbare, well-washed yellow cotton smock and battered old leather leggings. He sat hunched forward on his chair, leaning meaty forearms on his knees, mostly scowling at the range but sometimes at the dragon trader. His arms and his feet were bare. Such informality was surprising and perhaps deliberate. Although he could not match T'lin for sheer bulk, he was a broad, thick man, and he was showing he was not intimidated by his visitor.

  Two enormous green eyes kept watch through the window. Dragons looked ferocious, but they were pretty harmless usually.

  Gim was still so jittery with excitement that he could barely sit still. His mother kept telling him to stop fidgeting. He, too, had stripped off his fleeces, losing half of himself in the process. In cotton smock and woolen leggings, he was all long limbs and grin. His resemblance to the god in the crypt was astonishing, but his bare arms showed that he needed to fill out yet; the divine artist needed a few more years to produce a perfect replica of the model.

  Eleal wondered sleepily what his trade was. His hand had been smooth and he lacked his father's brawn, so he was probably not a sculptor, and yet he retained the family name. He was certainly old enough to be apprenticed to something, though.

  "The next morning I had two more visitors,” T'lin said, “and those two they told me a god wanted me to get involved! How, I asked them, is a man ever going to earn a living in this city?"

  Gim grinned and ran a hand through his golden curls. Yes, he was even more handsome than Golfren Piper and he would make Klip Trumpeter look like a gargoyle. Eleal wondered sleepily if he had any talent for acting. Even now he would be a natural as the Youth in the tragedies! She must offer to give him lessons. That idea was amusing, except he seemed to have forgotten her altogether. He would be regarding her as a mere child, of course. She would have to demonstrate her maturity.

  What more could she do to impress him than climb down a wall in the dark on a rope?

  "Madness!” T'lin grumbled. “They wanted to borrow my favorite dragon for a kid who didn't know Whilth from Chaiz!"

  "What persuaded you?” Embiliina Sculptor asked quietly. She was the only one of the group who seemed at ease, playing the role of hostess beautifully, passing around homemade biscuits. There was no hint of worry in her eyes.

  Had Eleal's mother been as pretty as she? She had never had a chance to be motherly.

  T'lin grunted. “I needed peace and quiet to earn a living. Besides, I was sure the brat would break his neck and I could trust Starlight to come home to me."

  Gim grinned again.

  "Why didn't you ride him yourself?” Eleal asked.

  T'lin's green eyes registered horror. “Me? I'm much too heavy for escapades like that. Obviously Holy Tion had chosen a racing jockey for the task. To be honest,” he admitted ruefully, “and you know I am always honest, Jewel of the Arts, I did not expect such success. I thought it was suicide."

  Gim chuckled with delight.

  "What if the temple guards had caught him, though?"

  T'lin stroked his copper beard complacently. “Then I would have denounced him as a thief to get my dragon back."

  Gim's jaw dropped.

  A sour smile crossed his father's face. “You hadn't thought of that? You'd have been hanged!"

  "But it worked,” T'lin said in disgust. He fixed his cold green gaze on Eleal, and she started at his frown. “I came here to trade dragons and I have earned the enmity of the senior divinity of the city! I must leave quickly and never return.” He gripped the arms of his chair with his big hands. “The priests and guards will be scouring the streets already. Well, you have her, Sculptor. I have done my part. I must go!"

  For a moment Eleal toyed with the idea of staying in this cozy family kitchen forever—forsaking drama and travel ... becoming one of this kindly family.... It did have a certain appeal in her present condition, but she knew that it was not going to happen.

  "Not so fast,” Kollwin growled, eyeing her. “Now we need to know why! Why did Eltiana want this girl so badly? Why has Kirb'l Tion snatched her away? And what on earth are we supposed to do with her now she is here? Explain, Singer!"

  "My part is done,” T'lin repeated, but he settled back in his chair to listen.

  Four sets of eyes were waiting, five counting the dragon's, although he was having trouble because he kept steaming up the window. Two sets of blue, two green, one black...

  Eleal swallowed a yawn. She decided she must tell the tale with the majesty it deserved, although it needed Piol Poet to do it justice. She would have to stick to prose. She threw off the blankets and sat up like the Mother on the Rainbow
Throne in The Judgment of Apharos.

  "Are you feeling all right, dear?” Embiliina asked anxiously.

  "Quite all right, thank you. Dost any of you mort ... do any of you know what the Filoby Testament is?"

  T'lin and Kollwin said, “Yes,” as Gim shook his head.

  "Book of prophecies,” his father explained. “About eighty years ago some priestess over in Suss went out of her mind and began spouting prophecies. The others wrote them down. Her family had it printed up as memorial. What about it?"

  T'lin uttered his dragon snort. Eleal knew she could never guess what he was thinking, and yet somehow she felt sure that he was surprised by this mention of the Testament. He seemed displeased, and certainly wary.

  "Most prophecy is so thin you could drink it,” he growled. “Quite a lot of the Filoby stuff turned out to be hard fact—so I've heard. What about it?"

  "It is prophesied therein,” Eleal declared mysteriously, “that should I happenstance attend the festival of Tion in Suss this year, then the world may be changed."

  There was a thoughtful silence. The range crackled. Starlight's green eyes blinked at the window.

  "Does she often behave like this?” Gim asked.

  "No,” T'lin said, staring hard. “She's putting on airs, but she's telling the truth as she knows it. Carry on, Avatar of Astina."