by NS Dolkart
“You’re willing to let her die with us?”
“We’re not riding to die, Malkon, we’re riding to win. She has a bigger risk of dying if we fail.”
“My sister won’t let her come with us, not if Bandu is going with Phaedra.”
“God Most High will provide.”
Criton was right: God Most High did provide. When they stopped in the village near Bandu’s house two days later, there Goodweather was.
“Father! Uncle Malkon! What are you doing here?”
“I want you to join us,” Criton said. “We’re going to save the world.”
Goodweather looked more awed than surprised. “Phaedra said it would end unless we did something. She didn’t say she was here with you!”
“She’s not,” Criton admitted, dismounting. “Phaedra is trying one way, we’re trying another. This is too important to have just one plan for dealing with it.”
“Oh. All right. Can you give me a ride home, and I’ll ask if I can go with you?”
Criton shook his head. “Our way is dangerous. If you ask, they won’t let you go. Phaedra’s going to convince them to try her way and won’t even tell them about mine. Is she there now, or has she left already?”
“I don’t know. She was there when I came here to bring the dogs back, but she looked like she was in an awful hurry.”
“It’s good if she gets there a bit before us, so she can try her way before we try ours. Still, if you want to come, we should go now and send someone to let them know you came with me.”
His daughter looked torn. “They’ll be really angry.”
“I know. But they’ll be angry at me, not you. We can say I didn’t give you a choice.”
That gave her pause. “You are, though, right?”
Criton smiled. “Of course. Do you want to come with us?”
“Yes!”
“Then let’s go!”
He helped her onto his horse and climbed up behind her, ignoring Malkon’s disapproving look. “Now we’re ready to go south,” he said. “Let’s go chop down that tree.”
35
Narky
Narky stood in the library, still wearing his nightrobe, watching as the other priests filed in. They stared at him – how could they not? – but said nothing. They all knew something big was happening, and the mood was ominous.
Narky didn’t even know what to say or where to begin. It was too dangerous to tell them that the Lord Below had given him orders, and yet if people came to believe that Ravennis had cast him aside for good it would put Ptera and Grace in mortal danger. How could he thread that needle?
His succession was another problem. Father Lepidos was the obvious choice, but his rivalry with Ptera would also make him a humiliating one… and any further humiliation had the potential to endanger Narky’s family. Lepidos would make a good enough leader for the church – certainly, Mother Dinendra had trusted the man enough to elevate him in Ardis – but Narky suspected that choosing him would mean Ptera’s downfall.
To choose Ptera instead would carry its own dangers, primarily because it would reek of nepotism. Those who had begun their careers as priests of Elkinar might well rebel against her leadership, and such a schism would be disastrous for the Church of Ravennis. Yet Ptera had taken on Narky’s duties before, when the Dragon Touched had held him prisoner, and her political skills had saved the church. She had studied under the Graceful Servant herself, had stood toe-to-toe with King Magerion, and knew what struggles Narky had faced in the position. On the merits, she deserved the mantle as well as anyone.
If only Ravennis had chosen Ptera for him, his fellow priests would have accepted the God’s word without question. But He hadn’t, and Narky was a terrible liar. If he said that Ravennis had appointed Ptera His high priestess, would people really believe him? For that matter, would Ravennis forgive him for that kind of presumptuousness? Or would it only endanger Ptera further?
The priests were all here now. They were watching him.
“I… have news,” Narky said. “Ravennis visited me last night.”
He paused there, unsure of how to proceed. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath.
“Everything I’ve told you is true,” he blurted. “The prophecy He sent us is true, and all my doctrines and teachings – our Lord Below didn’t have a problem with any of them. But He doesn’t want me to stay as His high priest. He told me to choose my successor and go.”
There were gasps and stares, and glances toward Lepidos and Ptera. Narky took a deep breath, feeling paralyzed. Nobody asked where he was going – they were waiting to hear about the future of the church.
“I think next time, it makes sense for our leaders to form a council and choose the high priest together. But Ravennis told me to choose this time. He gave me that honor. Ptera has led the church before, and she gained King Magerion’s respect when she did it. I trust her to be your high priestess.”
He felt all the frowns like a stab in the gut. Ptera stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified, and he knew that he had miscalculated. Damn. He should have asked her what she thought before he sent her to gather everyone. He should have demanded that Ravennis choose for him. He hadn’t expected such an obviously negative reaction, not so quickly or from so many of them. Had he just caused a schism in his own church? Or worse, had he doomed his wife to lead a totally unified, entirely resentful, potentially murderous clergy?
He had thought Ptera was widely respected – he knew she was – but he could see how angry they all were on her rival’s behalf. Gods, he should have known. Lepidos had been the easy choice, the obvious choice, and yet he, the disgraced high priest, had chosen to elevate his own wife on his way out the door. No, nobody hated Ptera – but they could hate Narky through her.
Damn. It was too late to take it back now. He had thrown his family to the wolves, and now it was up to Ptera to find a way out of this mess. He couldn’t even stay to help.
He said his goodbyes quickly, and fled. On his way out, he spotted a sacrificial knife lying on the altar, and swiped it. It was a silly precaution – there were plenty of knives around if his former subordinates chose to murder his family, and that step wasn’t likely to come within the first few hours anyhow. The priests weren’t plotting Ptera’s murder just yet; they were only angry. It would take time for them to settle on that solution if they ever did.
Still, it made him feel safer.
The years of priesthood had turned Narky soft, or else maybe he’d always been soft. His first week as an ex-priest nearly killed him. He’d never had to survive alone like this, not since his flight from his hometown, and even then he’d had money with which to buy food. Now he had nothing, no money, no friends, not even proper clothes. Word of his disgrace traveled faster than he could walk, and the change in people’s reactions to him was at once astounding and familiar. Once more, doors were slammed in his face. Once more, he was a bearer of bad luck. The Black Cursebringer, not the Black Priest.
It was a shock to have his fortunes change so quickly, but not because he was surprised. He’d always expected this, even when the expectation had made no outward sense. His shock came from the stark suddenness of the change, predictable though it might have been. It was like jumping in a half-frozen river: he’d been bracing himself for ages, and it still didn’t help him a whit.
He’d never flattered himself that people would be kind to him as a deposed high priest. Narky had never had any friends here, only followers, and those followers all belonged to Ravennis, not him. Ptera still loved him, probably, but in exchange he’d put her and Grace in mortal danger. Whatever her feelings, her duty now lay with the church, and with the son who must be protected from his father’s disgrace.
Narky was alone, truly alone. He shied away from people whenever he saw them – there was nothing to protect him from violence now, nothing but his wits. Who was to say that no enterprising farmer would take it upon himself to kill this cursed wanderer? For that matter, what was t
o stop Mageris from sending men to murder him? The king had always hated him personally. Now was his chance.
So Narky fled. He hid in barns among the animals and in fields among the grasses, their stalks only tall enough to hide him if he crouched. He lived by stealing, and wished he had Bandu’s skill at finding food wherever she went. Better yet, he wished he had Bandu with him, and Criton, and Hunter, and…
Never mind.
He considered going north to the Dragon Touched and throwing himself at Criton’s feet, but had to reject the idea. If he went to Salemica, Criton would give him food and a place to stay and turn this test of faith into a faithless dependence on his friend’s goodwill. He would keep Narky from doing what needed to be done.
It was a shame, because Criton might have been able to help him find Phaedra. Even if she never came to Salemica, the unofficial king of the Dragon Touched would have resources that could help Narky track her.
For that matter, Bandu would have been even more helpful. That woman could find anything she looked for, no matter the distance or the weather or who got in her way. But recruiting her help would be a disastrous choice, even if he could track down where she was living. If Bandu was with him when he found Phaedra, she could stop him when it came time to do what his God had demanded. Phaedra might let her guard down, for all that she knew Narky was a murderer, but Bandu never let her guard down.
As far as Narky knew, Hunter was far away in the world of the fairies – and thank the Gods for that. Hunter would have defended Phaedra to the death, and it wouldn’t have been his death. Narky had seen what the man could do with a weapon.
There was no one else he could go to, no one else he could ask for help. He’d only ever had four friends in the world, and now he had to kill one of them.
He cried as he walked, thinking of Phaedra and of the injustice his God had visited upon him. Why should he have to kill the one person he respected most in the world, far beyond himself, beyond even his wife? He had never thought that life was fair, but this was too much, even for a man who’d driven the God of Justice out of Hagardis.
Narky had never considered refusing an order from Ravennis before. Ever since Ravennis had spared his life and marked him with the scar that he no longer bore on his chest, he had been nothing if not a loyal servant. But this? This might be too much.
No single person had influenced Narky’s life so much. It was Phaedra who had read him the account of a Laarnan priest when he’d only barely recovered from his first encounter with his God, Phaedra who had taken the time to teach him when everyone else had just wanted him to shut up. What few social graces Narky had, he owed to Phaedra. She was greatly responsible for his friendship with Criton, and even for his relationship with Ptera. Whenever he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, he always tried to imagine how Phaedra might advise him.
The thing about Phaedra was that she wasn’t dogmatic. She was always trying to learn more, always willing to consider new facts, never afraid to say that she had been wrong. It defied Narky’s every instinct to believe what Ravennis had told him, that it would impossible to convince her to spare the underworld from her misguided plan. Narky was admittedly terrible at persuasion, but if there was one person who could look past his demeanor and instantly grasp what he was trying to express, it was Phaedra. Whatever the Lord of Fate said, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that she was unpersuadable.
Could it really hurt to try?
Either way, he had to find her first. He was no tracker and was too afraid to ask people if they’d seen her lest they report his whereabouts to Mageris, so instead he made his way toward the great tree on the horizon. If she had this disastrous plan to unify the Yarek, she was bound to end up there eventually.
He passed Anardis and kept going. The Yarek seemed to grow larger and larger as he went, its terrible bulk taking up an increasing amount of room on the horizon. Eventually he judged himself far enough from Ardis to travel along Atel’s roads without fear of assassination – or, rather, still with the fear of assassination but without its reasonable expectation. At one point he had to drop face down in a ditch to avoid a company of riders, terrified that Mageris had sent them after him. He never got a good look at them, and he rose with a face full of mud that hardened as it dried, turning his beard stiff and brown. Not that he cared about his appearance – if anything, there was a strange satisfaction in knowing that he looked as abandoned as he felt.
And then, at last, he found her.
It was just past sunset when Narky crept into a barn to sleep and found Phaedra there reading, a lamp at her side and a codex in her lap. She didn’t even notice him at first, quiet as he had learned to be, and when she finally looked up she yelped and shrank away. Narky stood, momentarily paralyzed. His God was watching, he knew. The knife was already in his hand, its blade hidden in his sleeve.
Phaedra scrambled to her feet, leaving the book open on the ground and lifting her lamp high. “Keep away from me,” she cried as she rose, but then she recognized his face and her eyes filled with wonder. “Narky?”
He didn’t know what to say. Oh Gods, he didn’t know what to say! The knife was huge and obvious, well suited to slaughtering cattle – could she see its outline even through his sleeve? What could he possibly say to distract her from it?
“Hi,” he said.
“Oh God, Narky, what happened?”
He looked down at the ground. Behind the walls of their enclosure, some piglets snorted.
“It’s not important. I left the priesthood and… came looking for you.”
“Why? Did Criton say something to you? Did you come to try to stop me?”
“Yes,” he said. “But Criton didn’t – hold on, what would Criton have said to me?”
“Never mind. If Criton didn’t talk to you, though, why did you come to stop me?”
“Because whatever you’re planning on doing down here, it’s a mistake.”
“I’m saving our world from the skyquakes, Narky. I’m unraveling the mesh before it tears us all to shreds.”
Oh.
Phaedra frowned at his stunned expression. “What did you think I was doing?”
But Narky couldn’t answer, because it was all coming together. If Phaedra unraveled the mesh, the Yarek would reunite, and its roots would pierce the underworld. It would slay Ravennis and devour every soul that dwelt in His domain, and every soul that ever descended to that place thereafter. That was why Ravennis had sent him – that was what He had meant by “sacrificing the underworld to the Yarek.”
What Ravennis hadn’t said was that if Phaedra did nothing, only the underworld would survive. This whole world would be sliced to pieces, and Narky and his family, Ptera, Grace, his friends and all those they loved, would perish. How could Narky even begin to fathom such a thing, let alone decide that he preferred it that way?
“Narky?” Phaedra repeated. “What did you think I was trying to do?”
He swallowed. “Ravennis came to me. If you go through with this, the Yarek will end the underworld. It’ll grow even bigger, and stronger, and it’ll eat it. Everyone who’s ever died, and all of us too, everyone who dies afterward, will get eaten by the Yarek when we go, instead of getting the afterlife Ravennis prepared for us. He sent me to… tell you not to do it.”
Phaedra glanced down toward her book, clearly thinking this over. “I’ll admit,” she said, “I hadn’t even considered the underworld. But I don’t – I mean, I think it should be all right. I’m hoping the Yarek will repent to God Most High and live here in peace, and if it does, it shouldn’t do too much harm to the underworld. I’ll have to remember to tell it to be careful down there too, once the worlds have combined. It’ll be fine, Narky. I know it’s risky, but I’m almost sure it’ll be fine.”
“Phaedra. Ravennis is the Keeper of Fates.”
“He also has obvious reasons not to want this world saved, even if it can be done.”
Narky couldn’t deny that, and didn’t care to tr
y. His God had always been sly and manipulative, and there was no doubt that a shattered world would mean an entire world full of souls all going to Ravennis. Who knew how much power that would give Him?
But if Narky didn’t exactly trust Ravennis, he trusted the Yarek even less. He still remembered how Castle Illweather had tried to kill him and its other captives, even after the elves had promised them their safety for eleven days. It had tried to kill its elves too, and only some ancient curse had stopped it from succeeding. The very notion of that monster repenting was absurd.
Yet Phaedra believed that it could. If she could do that, despite all the evidence that it was a true monster, how could Narky ever convince her otherwise? Ravennis was right: he would not succeed.
He could see now why the Sephan scroll had come to him: it was to prepare him for this moment. He was being given the choice, right now, between the world and the underworld, between this life and eternity. If he let Phaedra go, the Yarek would devour the underworld, and what remained of this short life would be all anyone had. If Phaedra died tonight, this whole world would be destroyed, but the underworld would remain. Ptera and Grace would live on with Narky forever in the world below. Phaedra would live on eternally…
There was no dilemma here after all. He had thought Ravennis was commanding him to murder his friend, but he had misunderstood the situation entirely. Ravennis had given him the chance to save his friend, to save all his friends. It was Narky, not Phaedra, who could save the world.
Finally he understood why it was he who needed to perform this task. Ravennis had chosen him, Narky the coward’s son, both because Phaedra would not think to protect herself against him and because he was willing to do the right thing no matter how low, cruel, or dishonorable it seemed. He had shot a man in the back to save Hunter – he would not refuse to kill Phaedra if it meant she and everyone would live on eternally when this world was gone.