Also available in The Secret of Ji series:
Six Heirs
Forthcoming:
Shadow of the Ancients
The Eternal Guide
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Pierre Grimbert
English translation copyright © 2013 by Matt Ross and Eric Lamb
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
The Secret of Ji 2: The Orphans’ Promise was first published in 1999 by Les éditions Mnémos as Le Secret de Ji, volume 2: Le serment orphelin. Translated from the French by Matt Ross and Eric Lamb. Published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2013.
Published by AmazonCrossing
www.apub.com
ISBN-13: 9781477808863
ISBN-10: 1477808868
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013908851
CONTENTS
MAP 1
MAP 2
MAP 3
Author’s Note
PROLOGUE
BOOK III: THE JUDGMENT OF ZUÏA
BOOK IV: DIVINE KNOWLEDGE
SHORT ANECDOTAL ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE KNOWN WORLD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE TRANSLATORS
Author’s Note
At the end of the book, the reader will find a “Short Anecdotal Encyclopedia of the Known World,” a glossary that defines certain terms used by the narrator and provides supplementary details that don’t appear in the story, without giving the story away, of course—far from it!
Therefore, the reading of the “Short Anecdotal Encyclopedia” can be done in parallel with the story, at moments the reader finds opportune.
PROLOGUE
Praised be Eurydis. May her teachings serve you well.
Before the gods, my name—the one I was given when the sun rose on my first day in this world—is Lana Lioner of Ith, daughter of Cerille and Lioner.
Quite a big name for such a small thing, as Maz Rôl had the habit of saying when he wanted to tease me. And yet, he was the one who lengthened it further by adding the title, Maz. Fortunately, people simply call me Maz Lana, even if this invented title draws avowals of respect and deep admiration that I don’t deserve; only the gods are worthy of that kind of esteem. But this is hardly the subject that preoccupies my thoughts right now. I could always debate this question with a circle of students, if I am ever given the opportunity to teach again.
I am a descendant of Maz Achem d’Algonde of Ith, who carried out the duties of ambassador for the Grand Temple to the Grand Empire of Goran between the years 760 and 771 of the Eurydian calendar. The post was very important and was held in high esteem by the Temple’s administration, and was typically seen as a step on the way to being anointed an Emaz. But despite his title, my ancestor’s name is rarely spoken without a certain malaise.
When my parents spoke about an ancestor from one of their lineages, it was always with praise, pride, and nostalgia. There were several Maz in our bloodline, as well as a few Emaz, and they all left their mark on the history of the Holy City. There were war chiefs as well, fierce soldiers and ambitious conquerors from a past just as distant as it was grim. They were all alluded to with respect, and the paths they followed, however wrong they may have been, followed the dominant mores of the era.
My great-grandfather Maz Achem was the only one mentioned as a necessary link in the chain, a piece connecting these prestigious ancestors to the more recent generations, a piece which would have been happily removed if it were possible. We never spoke about his actions, his life, the trace he left in the world, and especially avoided his relationship with the universal quest for Eurydis’s Moral.
Of course, as a child I hardly thought twice about it. But growing up, this omission began to intrigue me, and I eventually questioned my parents. Although still young, I could easily tell that my question put them ill at ease. Which merely piqued my curiosity, for I had gotten used to getting all the answers I wanted. There was no subject of conversation that was off-limits in our household—a principle I held dear and that I continued to apply with my circle of students.
After some hesitation, my father answered me, choosing his words in such a way that they were neither disrespectful nor scornful. That’s the impression of Achem that his story left…
Although he had dedicated the greater part of his early life to studying and teaching the Goddess’s Moral, as was his duty, during his later years, Maz Achem had changed drastically. He had become a dissenter, a reformist guilty of several immoral acts. The first of which was the abandonment of his post as ambassador to the Grand Empire—a decision he made without even announcing it to the Temple, and which he never explained.
Upon his return to Ith, he seeded disorder in several gatherings of Emaz, going as far as to persecute the great priests in their own temples. This conduct alone would have been enough to discredit him, but what drove him to these extreme acts was even worse—on the verge of sacrilegious. He absolutely insisted that others listen to him. But all the Emaz had already heard enough. Achem was asking the great priests to make a profound modification in their interpretation of certain precepts of the Moral of Eurydis. However, he himself recognized his inability to present any convincing argument. If he indeed had reasons, Maz Achem never provided them.
Of course the Emaz priests refused, encouraging him to return to ideas more in line with those of the Temple.
He persisted in his efforts, though, embarking on a campaign of public speeches in which he presented his theories, even though they had already been judged as antithetical to the Moral by the wisest of our wise, despite Maz Achem’s esteemed position.
Faced with his obstinacy, the Emaz had no other choice but to declare him a heretic—the highest dishonor—and to revoke his title of Maz, something that has only occurred four times in our history. Their punishment at least had its anticipated effect: Achem ended up abandoning his futile and harmful crusade and left to settle in Mestèbe, where he died a few years after, never again attempting to corrupt Eurydis’s teachings.
My father had nothing else to add. He asked me if I had learned something from the story, as if he had just told me a simple religious fable. I said I had and made a vow to never betray Eurydis’s Moral, which is what he expected of me. Still, I was perplexed.
Up until then, everything that I had been taught rested on these three values: Knowledge, Tolerance, and Peace. The three virtues of the wise ones. The three steps to climb to reach the Moral.
During my ancestor’s era, hadn’t the Emaz disregarded one of the first two? Weren’t Achem’s ideas, as a Maz and high figure of the Temple, worthy of interest?
I immediately regretted this disrespectful thought and tried hard to forget it. Unsuccessfully.
By following my curiosity, I disturbed Peace. But in turning a blind eye to my doubts, I insulted Knowledge and Tolerance.
Why had Maz Achem been silenced?
I decided to find out.
Braced against the open sea off the Lorelien coast, only a few leagues from a nearly nameless village, there is a small, uninhabited island. An island like the dozens of others that dot the Median Sea with barren beaches, rocky landscapes, and shorelines made jagged by untiring waves. An island that is only recorded by the occasional eccentric or overly meticulous cartographer as a simple speck on a few rare pieces of parchment, which, after time, could easily be confused for an indiscernible smu
dge.
However, this island, ignored by most men, fascinated a handful. Among them was the Judge Zamerine, the secret spiritual chief of the Lorelien messengers—and even more secretly, the uncontested master of all the Züu priests in the Upper Kingdoms.
“How much longer?” Zamerine asked the captain.
The captain, an old fisherman, jumped. It was the first time the Judge had spoken to him. Up to that point, he had only dealt with the youngest Züu, the Judge’s footman, no doubt. While the fisherman got along just fine with the younger one, the Judge seemed difficult. Worse, his cold, scornful stare was impossible to hold.
“Uh… two centidays, maybe; long enough for the dawn to clear,” he answered nervously. “With this headwind, I can’t do better than that.”
“That is much too long.”
The fisherman didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t his fault, blood of the Gods! Their damned island wasn’t going to float away! It would still be there, even a hundred years from now!
Of course he kept these thoughts to himself. First of all, he had been paid—well paid even—for this trip to Ji. Next, and above all, his two passengers made his skin crawl.
The Judge’s eyes never left the rocky mass that was their destination. His frozen stare didn’t show the slightest emotion. And the footman kept his eyes on the fisherman. As if ready to derail any plot the fisherman might be planning. Or as if he were planning one himself.
The fisherman didn’t let his imagination go any further, and he let himself be absorbed in the contemplation of a distant flock of graceful swans, flying above the waves. One more look at either one of his passengers and he would have thrown himself overboard.
I don’t know which one brought about the other, but my curiosity for my ancestor Maz Achem grew at the same time as my interest in the history of the Holy City. I studied the chronicles with Maz Rôl, my teacher, but researched Achem alone and in secret. Keeping my personal studies secret may have been the only lie I ever told my parents. I suppose I should regret it, but I can’t. Everything I discovered was fascinating.
The records of that era describe Maz Achem as a model of virtue for the entire Eurydian world. At least until 771. After that date, he was only mentioned for his heresy. I looked for the event that could explain his transformation. Logically, he must have experienced something out of the ordinary, some painful experience; nothing else could explain why he changed so much in so little time.
My research opened up a new mystery. The first accounts of Maz Achem’s strange behavior, although vague, appeared after his return from a diplomatic mission in Lorelia, which kept him out of the Holy City for more than fifty days, five full dékades.
Despite my efforts, I could never find anything about this mission: the goal, the result, or even who was part of it. My quest was going to come to an end just as it was getting interesting. However, Eurydis must have heard my prayers because some new hints were exposed a few years later, after I had more or less given up.
During a didactic course from Maz Rôl on the Uborre Dynasty of Goran, I learned that the Emperor Mazrel had lost a son on a strange mission to a small Lorelien island. The date matched up with Achem’s travels. My hope rekindled, I delved back into my research, this time in the Goranese archives. I summoned my courage to leave Ith and travel to the capital of the Grand Empire; the knowledge was worth it.
I finally got a piece of the truth. In the Eurydian year 711, compelled by a certain Nol the Strange, diplomats came from most of the kingdoms of the known world for a meeting in Lorelia. Maz Achem and the Goranese Prince Vanamel were among the attendees.
They all disappeared under strange circumstances, before reappearing two moons later, without being able to recall what had become of those who were missing or what had happened. The whole affair was known only to the royal courts and then faded into oblivion along with the deaths of those involved.
I was far from being satisfied. The story wasn’t detailed enough to help me understand Achem’s transformation.
I resolved to attack the problem from a different angle.
I would study his forbidden teachings.
Zamerine walked respectfully along the island’s shore, as if he treaded on the sacred soil of Lus’an itself. Few of his fellow followers had ever had this chance, a fact that added to his satisfaction.
Over the past several moons, Ji had become a central concern for Zuïa and her Judges. Never, in the history of the cult, had so many of the Goddess’s messengers been solicited to deliver her sentence.
In his own way, Zamerine rejoiced at the opportunity to bring justice. He savored the pride he felt in contributing to the Great Work. The only thing he was missing was the satisfaction of a job well done. The men Zamerine had dispatched to Ji to finish the job had never returned. Nor had a single one of the pathetic men who went with them, for that matter. But that only bothered him a little. His messengers had perished serving their Goddess. For their work, they would indulge in the delights of Lus’an for eternity. A Züu messenger couldn’t hope for a better destiny.
Losing a few men from the Guild was not a problem, either. No one would miss them. Not even their so-called brothers, those who had survived and made no effort to protect the bodies. Zamerine felt nothing but contempt for these thugs.
He turned back toward Dyree, his assistant. With their boat destroyed, the Guild brothers had been stuck on the island since the evening before. They would have bowed down before him if he had asked. Instead, he quickly extinguished their hope of a quick rescue. Zamerine let them know that he didn’t intend to bring them back to the continent, since they had proven to be inept. They were all quick to promise him eternal loyalty, which was always useful. As such, he was able to get a detailed account of the previous night’s events, without having to pry it from them, which saved him precious time.
His assistant appeared at his side to tell him that the daggers of the deceased were nowhere to be found. It was a great sacrilege to leave a hati dagger in the hands of anyone who wasn’t a messenger, so Zamerine told the brothers, as a final condition for their rescue, to return the sacred blades.
Since it took a while for the accusations to surface about which of the brothers was to blame, Zamerine had taken a walk. But he couldn’t waste any more time. So he simply said, “Kill them all, Dyree.”
Dyree slid toward the small group, and two men fell to their knees.
“Wait!” one of them yelled. “It was Micaeir; it was him! He has the daggers!”
The accused man fled without even putting up a fight. He crumbled to the sand before he could take ten strides, his last two with a hati in his chest.
Zamerine himself killed the one who had ratted him out for having hid this information for so long. He gave the others the benefit of the doubt.
Dyree gathered up the daggers, and they left. The old fisherman was the color of the pale moon, and dumbstruck. Zamerine briefly wondered what he would do with their old captain, but quickly forgot this insignificant detail. Two more important tasks were at hand for now.
The first one, unpleasant as it was, was to inform the Accuser that some of the heirs, the guilty, had still not received their sentences.
The second was to fix that. He celebrated his chance to hunt. It had been years since his last time. His only desire was that his prey lived up to his expectations.
Achem had written a great number of speeches, lectures, and collections of his ideas; I was sure of it. However, I had difficulty obtaining even a few of them, all the more so since I had to act discreetly. The writings in the Holy City’s libraries were uncensored, even if judged to be conflicting with the Moral. It was held that the study of erroneous theories could just as well help novices progress toward the three virtues. And that it was best to discuss these ideas under the guidance of an experienced Maz as soon as possible, rather than leaving the youngest students to face them alone.
It was different for texts whose author was himself part of the T
emple. Those were much too dangerous. And so, the few copies of Achem’s writing I found all issued from private archives, which I could never have consulted without Maz Rôl’s influence and reputation as a virtuous teacher. I dove into reading them. It was readily apparent to me that my great-grandfather was completely healthy in mind and was aware of his acts. He expressed his ideas with intelligence, reflection, and knowledge; he must have been a great Maz.
It was only the theme of his lectures that was troublesome.
Ith had been peaceful for more than eight centuries. Although the city’s history had always been tied to the cult of Eurydis, a great number of other religions made a place for themselves there, and the Grand Temple accepted them all. There were certainly a few squabbles at one time or another between hotheaded novices, but nothing too serious.
Achem suggested a less-tolerant, more aggressive cult. According to him, the universal quest for the Moral was far from reaching its end. All the Maz had to precipitate things. To convert with all their might.
The first objective was the dissolution of the demonist cults, by force if necessary. According to Achem, peaceful Ith had to declare war against the followers of the K’lur, Prias, and Yoos cults; against the messengers of Zuïa; the girls of Soltan; the Valipondes; and dozens of others.
At the time, none of these cults were represented in the Holy City. Achem proclaimed it was Ith’s moral duty to charter boats, recruit soldiers, to form an army. “It’s in our people’s blood,” he reminded them. Maz Achem wanted a crusade against Evil. He called for war, at the same time lamenting its tragic consequences. This was the cost of the Moral, and it needed to be pursued with urgency.
What happened on the island of Ji? What did he live through that so transformed him?
A tragic event delayed my search for a while. Within a few days’ span, both of my parents fell fatally ill. As for their agony, it endured for a moon, nearly three dékades.
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