Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  Konall grunted. ‘I said the drink was friendly, not the company. Don’t get overexcited. There is a limit to how much you deserve.’

  Brann smiled and clapped the back in front of him. ‘I already receive more than I thought I deserve.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Konall.

  The morning still held a chill as Brann and Grakk approached the location for the Council meeting that Ragnarr’s men had drawn from Ove. Brann was glad of the sharpness in the air, his head still pounding from Konall’s prescribed treatment.

  Grakk glanced sideways, smiling. ‘Konall successfully cleared the shit from your head, then.’

  ‘He told you what he said to me?’

  ‘No, you told me. Or at least, you garbled that small part of it to me shortly before you passed out. The boy had it right, though. Whatever else he told you, that was what most needed to be said.’ He stopped and fished a small vial from a pocket and unstoppered it. ‘Here, sniff this. Deeply.’

  In the instant Brann did so, his eyes widened and filled with tears and he coughed violently. But his head also cleared.

  Grakk’s grin was gleeful. ‘It is not as effective as a whole-body cure as the Lady Tyrala’s drinking concoction, but it will let you observe with clarity and assimilate what you see.’

  They entered a wide square, empty of any of the array of features that assaulted the eyes in many of the other open spaces they had passed on the way. At the far side stood a great cube of a temple, its massive black dome all the more impressive for the lack of distraction before it. It was the symbol above the tall double doors that drew Grakk’s attention, however.

  He whistled slowly. ‘Of course. An ideal meeting place for them.’ Brann looked at him in question, and received a wry smile in return. ‘The temple of the order of Akat-Mul.’

  Brann frowned, wiping excess tears from his eyes. ‘He who guides and guards souls on the path to the afterlife?’

  ‘He also who seeks to preserve life. The priests of this order are the foremost adepts in the study of healing, and the most widespread teachers of those who would wish to practise the craft.’

  ‘And yet they deal in death?’

  ‘Not in the causing of it, but in attending to the aftermath.’

  ‘I had heard that they also hasten it on occasion.’

  Grakk smiled. ‘Not so. You have heard the tales of sailors and warriors who know a little about a lot and address the deficit with imagination born of a suspicious fear of the unknown and an unquenchable taste for the salacious. There are men enough of the sort to be willing to take a coin to take a life without priests having to get involved. And those men and their ilk keep these priests busy enough in their existing activities without adding new duties.’ He looked at Brann. ‘Whatever your beliefs may be on higher powers and a life beyond our comprehension, there is no doubt that the attachment of gods to aspects of our lives not only creates a worship of those gods, but a devotion to what they represent. The greatest minds known to history, and the greatest advances in knowledge, have been within the temples dedicated to healing, cultivation, commerce, even engineering, to name only a few.’ He nodded at the temple before them. ‘Everything has its successes and its irredeemable situations, but by nature of it dealing exclusively with the sick and injured, this order has had to address death as the result of the inevitable irredemption of a proportion of cases. They have therefore also become skilled in the passing of the body after the passing of the spirit.’

  Brann understood. ‘So that is why this Council of Masters would choose to meet here? Because of the association with death?’

  Grakk’s head shook. ‘This is an order of discretion and tact, and so this is an order of mutes. Every priest below the more senior levels takes a vow of silence – even their teaching is conducted through demonstration and display. Someone senior within this temple, perhaps the most senior, will be in league with the Council to enable this meeting to be held in this place, even if its true nature is concealed, but what they seek here above all is the silence of those around them.’ He started forward. ‘Come, see for yourself.’

  Brann felt the wariness that had been absent when Konall had surprised him the night before return with force. ‘We are just going to walk in?’

  ‘Of course,’ Grakk said brightly. ‘Do you think they build these great edifices and not want anyone to come in and witness their magnificence? All are open to the devout to enter and pray at any time, which is fairly useful to the less-than-devout snoopers as well.’

  He moved off at a brisk walk, and Brann had to trot to catch him. He grinned as he tapped the tribesman’s arm. ‘Wait a moment. Did you say irredemption? Is that even a word?’

  Grakk didn’t miss a step. ‘Did you understand what I meant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it is a word now.’

  They reached the doors, one of which – despite being solid wood and three times the height of either of them – swung open silently and with ease at Grakk’s touch. They slipped inside and Brann found himself squinting as he was assaulted by colour and light. Noise, too, abounded: chimes set in high windows and catching the slightest breeze; voices muttering in fervent prayer, chattering in animated conversation or lifting in song, and even the strains of an instrument or two in distant corners or alcoves.

  His astonishment must have been clear, for Grakk grinned. ‘You expected a pious hush? Remember, the Order of Akat-Mul is dedicated to life, and their dealings with death are a consequence rather than their prime concern. Sure, some come here to end their lives, but while that is not unknown it is far from frequent; and while the priests will attend to the aftermath, they will always attempt to prevent it should they discover such intent.’ He gestured around. ‘The priests may be silent to maintain constant thought, awareness and consideration, but life is colour and noise, and the absence of each is a characteristic of the absence of life. So they encourage both. This temple is a celebration of life, and its perpetuation.’

  It was true. More startling even than the noise was what greeted his eyes. They had entered directly into a huge circular chamber, the walls and floor faced with smooth tiles reminiscent of the chambers of healers or cooks he had seen in Sagia – easily cleaned, and kept clean. Huge chandeliers, each of at least a score of large lamps, hung in a wide spiral that drew the eye all the way to the apex of the dome a dizzying height above, their light reflecting on the tiles, on images and scenes and patterns and words, all picked out in myriad colours after colours after colours. Brann turned slowly, craning his neck, and staggered slightly.

  He gasped. ‘All you see is that there is more yet to see than has been seen. And so your eyes cannot stop.’

  Grakk caught his arm. ‘Look at your feet, regain your senses. It is much to absorb.’ He tilted Brann’s head back down. ‘Then, once your world has stopped spinning, look at the people, and keep your head on the level. And focus – we have a job to do.’

  The reminder of their purpose sobered Brann’s thoughts. He scanned the area, and the plenitude of activity started to resolve itself into groups and individuals. Some prayed quietly, seated on pews that formed concentric rings around an effigy of the god, tall as a two-storey building and of slender grace, with one hand holding herb and threaded needle to symbolise remedy and the other resting on the head of a child to indicate care, all in the shining white of marble in striking contrast to the otherwise universal variety of vivid colour. Others stood in small clusters, singing bright songs of praise to, and appreciation of, life. Some small groups gathered to talk and laugh; Brann was close enough to one such group to be able to hear those involved swapping jests with delight.

  Grakk smiled as he saw where he looked. ‘The followers of this god believe that humour is the essence of a healthy outlook on life.’

  Brann watched the rosy face of a silent priest beam and nod as he listened to the side of the group. ‘There is a lot to be said for that.’

  Around the perimeter, seats and
divans allowed minor diagnoses and treatments to be carried out, while the open curtains on some of the alcoves behind revealed stone benches for more serious surgery. As he watched, four porters walked quickly and quietly to an alcove, the stretcher between them bearing a man emitting blood and groans in equal measure; an acolyte moved efficiently behind, cleaning spilt blood from the tiles in their wake. Above – Brann was more careful with his gaze as he lifted his eyes again – balconies in ring after ring rose high towards the great domed ceiling, the lower levels visible enough to show figures in the order’s rainbow-hued robes, some with hoods up and some down, as they moved between openings in the wall behind, their intent unknown but exuding an air of consuming and urgent purpose.

  Brann finally looked at Grakk. ‘It is certainly a busy place.’

  ‘The body is a complex entity. There is always something that can go wrong… or be made to do so.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s the truth.’ He looked about. ‘So what are we looking for? I’ve seen routes and escape routes; I’ve seen tight areas where we could be cornered and tight areas where we could form a defence; I’ve seen open areas where we have room to fight and open areas where we could be surrounded and overwhelmed. What else is there?’

  Grakk shook his head. ‘Always the fighting mind. You will have seen all that in the first moments after you regained your balance. But since you know the place, now look at the people. Look properly, with your mind as well as your eyes.’

  Brann started to stare around but Grakk caught at his arm and steered him to the side of the hall, behind a lustily singing group and before an empty alcove. The tribesman’s penetrating eyes rolled in mock dismay. ‘You could not be more obvious if I gave you my oculens to look at them.’ He sighed. ‘I knew I should have brought Sophaya. By now, she would have been able to describe any given person and be more wealthy to the tune of at least a couple of purses and several rings.’ His head wagged in sorrow. ‘But I have you, so I must make the best of this sorry situation.’ He grasped Brann’s shoulders from behind and pointed him to face past the group.

  ‘Pretend you are singing, and look past them to see the people.’ The fingers gripped tighter. ‘Pretend – just mouth words. I have heard you sing. We are trying to remain unobtrusive.’

  Feeling self-conscious, Brann worked his mouth, letting his eyes scan slowly across the crowded area before him. It was as he had seen, the activities he had witnessed, the people… He frowned. His eyes tracked back: something had seemed wrong, different. He tried to catch what it might have been.

  That was it. A man stood, unobtrusively minding his own business. And that was exactly it. He was not singing, or jesting. He was not praying, or marvelling at the wonder of the temple. He was not tending to the sick, or being sick. He was unobtrusive. He was nondescript. He was forgettable. And he was determinedly so.

  Grakk saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Exactly,’ he said softly. ‘He also looks. He also examines. And, unlike you until this point, he looks at people.’

  ‘The Council?’

  Grakk nodded slightly. ‘Most likely. Were he a religious newcomer or one here to witness the wonders of this city, he would look up and around, much as you did. A thief would have watched the people, but would already be in action – they do not loiter too long in one place. An official would be busy and, moreover, in a priest’s robes. He who scans faces so intently has a distinct purpose, and as we know of the meeting tomorrow, we would surmise, with a fair chance of success, that he is a scout, if you will. He checks for any signs of danger ahead of the arrival of his superiors, for anyone in the least suspicious, for anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘Just as well you pulled me over here, then,’ Brann said.

  Grakk’s eyes pierced him. ‘I do have my moments of sense, you know.’

  Brann smiled. ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now we leave. As surreptitiously as possible. And, to that end, separately, I would suggest.’

  Brann nodded. The swish of a curtain turned his attention to an alcove close to his left. His nerves on alert, he jumped slightly, but an elderly lady emerged with a heavy limp. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  He moved to her side, smiling what he hoped was disarmingly and offering his arm. She returned the smile and added her thanks, and together they moved slowly towards the entrance, chatting brightly. Brann forced his eyes to remain with her, straining against the temptation to flick a glance at the watching man.

  They reached the tall doors, the sunlight dazzling as they stepped past an entering group. Brann shook his head slightly as it struck him that it was almost quieter outside the temple, despite the bustle of the street, than it was within. At the sight of the lady, four bearers moved smoothly to the foot of the steps with a palanquin. She turned to Brann, reaching within her robe to produce a purse of pearl-studded silk. ‘My mother always said that manners and kindness should be rewarded above all else. I agree with her, and you have shown me both, young man.’

  Brann flushed and drew away. ‘I sought no profit, my lady.’

  She smiled gently. ‘Not in monetary terms, perhaps, but I am the fourth generation of my family to breathe the air of this city, and the lungs of this city gasp for trade and commerce. Everyone in this place seeks profit.’ She winked, startling him. ‘The years may have slowed my body and,’ she glanced at her ankle, ‘made brittle twigs of once strong bones, but those same years have also shown me enough of life to teach me to read people as well as ledgers. You sought to profit from this in your own way, and you have done so. But so have I, in gaining the arm of a handsome young man.’

  Brann smiled. ‘You seek to persuade me with flattery?’

  Her laugh was as soft as her touch as she stroked a finger down his cheek. ‘I seek with flattery merely to demonstrate that I also gained from this experience. You think an old lady enjoys such a pleasant experience every day?’ He could feel himself blush, and her laugh strengthened to a chuckle as her fingers reached carefully into the purse. Her face remained bright as she continued, but her tone grew darker. ‘Should you wish to continue to avoid attracting certain eyes, you should take this coin. I can see kindness in you, and for this I seek to repay you with counsel, but even the caring souls in this city would not consider holding a door for another without recompense, so you would be advised to take this coin.’

  He smiled and lifted it from her palm. ‘Thank you.’

  She turned and a servant came to take her hand, while another opened a small door in the side of the palanquin, but she turned back as she reached it. ‘I ask only one more favour in return, if my coin and my advice are sufficient to purchase this extra service.’ He raised his eyebrows in question. ‘Do not harm this temple, nor those who serve its ethos, I entreat you. Within those walls are those who stray from the self-aggrandisement that suffuses this city. Its existence is an essential respite for those of us who grow weary of a life of verbal skirmishes.’

  Brann inclined his head. ‘I assure you, my lady, I intend no harm to any of those who hold dear its values.’

  ‘I believe you, and I thank you.’ She waved a hand airily. ‘But much as I may have wished to be three-quarters of a lifetime ago and more, I am not your lady. I am Calantha, of the House Psomas. Should you ever need succour in either of the twin cities, remember that name.’ She winked again. ‘I shall not ask yours, as I prefer not to be lied to, particularly by those I find myself liking.’

  A raised finger raised the palanquin, and she stared calmly ahead as she was borne into the throng beginning to fill the square before the temple.

  Grakk walked past him, his voice a murmur. ‘Meet at the far side.’

  Brann walked in what he hoped was a casual amble from the steps and took a meandering path across the square. He was almost across when Grakk appeared at his elbow.

  ‘Becoming quite the ladies’ man, aren’t we?’

  Brann bristled. ‘She was a harmless old lady. And very nice with it.’

/>   ‘Not one person who achieves any measure of success in this city can be classed as “harmless”, young Brann.’

  Brann grunted. ‘That’s what she said.’

  Grakk grinned. ‘Then that was indeed nice of her.’ His voice became firm. ‘But we have plans to lay, so let us walk as we talk to allow you, on our return, to explain tasks and have your companions nod sagely in agreement.’

  Brann laughed. ‘We had better not waste time, then.’

  By their arrival at the inn, all aspects but one had been addressed.

  Grakk shook his head in exasperation. ‘How to get close? It is such a well-chosen location, inaccessible without discovery and easily defended by a few.’

  Brann caught his arm in excitement. ‘Perhaps too well chosen. We can use the characteristics of that location against them. Sometimes to be obvious is a better disguise when subtle would be expected.’ Grakk’s look urged him to waste no time in explaining. ‘It is something you said in the temple: an official would be in a priest’s robes.’

  Shortly before sundown, four priests of Akat-Mul sat huddled in their smallclothes in a basement storeroom, bound, gagged and terrified despite Hakon’s earnest reassurances of their safety.

  Brann pulled on a priest’s many-hued robe and watched as Grakk, Gerens and Sophaya did the same. That this religion venerated life in all its forms placed it amongst those that admitted women to the clergy – in fact, although the god himself was male, the reverence for maternity was so great that the highest position in the clergy was always filled by a priestess – so Brann had been able to include Sophaya amongst the three who would accompany him; the three best suited to dealing with a tight situation, should one occur.

  Hakon nodded to them and slipped through the door to return to the main public area where he would join Konall, Breta, Mongoose and Philippe in scattered positions and various activities but all ready to move instantly to the source of any outbreak of violence that they heard. Brann wasn’t sure how useful Philippe might be should fighting break out, but the young man had been so keen to be involved that he had allowed it and, in the meantime, his acting ability and speed of calm thought in tense situations might be useful should any of the other pretend devotees encounter a challenge to their cover.