by Fiona Patton
“That’s a very big if, Bey-Delin,” Pashim sneered back at him, drawing a bark of laughter from Aurad that caused him to cough violently into his cup. One well-placed glare from Neclan cowed the master musician, however, and the Council returned their attention to Pashim.
“No enemy force has ever managed to cross the northern terrain successfully,” she continued in a lecturing tone. “It’s mountainous.”
“No enemy force has ever crossed the Deniz-Siya Sea with the numbers Incasa’s people are predicting either,” Reese replied. “And we don’t have the God-Wall at our flank to protect us.”
“Yes, the Northern Trisect is young for a metropolis as a city counts the years,” Aurad agreed in a light tone. “Much younger than the Wall.”
“Yes, and old as its people count the food in their bellies,” Reese snapped, refusing to be mollified. “We provide most of the meat that feeds the Western Trisect. And we have a small, transient population, mostly farmers bringing their herds to market and no militia to speak of,” he continued as Pashim bridled again. “If the Northern Trisect were to be attacked, without help from the Warriors of Estavia, we would soon fall, and that would leave the Western Trisect docks vulnerable with the enemy behind the sea chain.”
“It also leaves the northern aqueduct vulnerable,” First Cultivar Adrian added in a serious tone that cut through the growing tension between the two rural beys. “Which I’m sure I don’t need to remind anyone here provides most of Anavatan west of the Temple Precinct with clean drinking water.
“One of my priests serving at the aqueduct’s Havo-Cami has some small prophetic ability and has had a dream of approaching danger. The aqueduct cannot fall into the hands of the enemy. If there’s even the slightest possibility of a threat to the north, it must be protected at all cost.”
“Can the seers at Incasa-Sarayi speak to this possibility?” Jemil asked.
All eyes turned to the junior oracle who straightened with an attempt at a languid gesture.
“At this time there is no one stream that flows more strongly than any other, Sayin,” she answered. “We’ve seen that Volinsk will move south. We’ve seen that Skiros will move north, and that the Yuruk and Petchan raiders will move east in some form of concerted support to these two main attacks. However, the details have not yet been made clear. Obviously, our enemies’ battle plans are not yet fully realized.”
“But there is a stream that speaks to this particular threat against the city’s drinking water?” Bey Kahet of the Western Trisect insisted.
“The aqueduct has made a brief, insubstantial appearance in vision as water in darkness,” she admitted. “Once.”
“Once is good enough for me. Can Estavia-Sarayi speak to its defense today?”
All eyes now turned to Kemal, some anxious and some hostile. If Estavia-Sarayi promised a full contingent of reinforcements to the Northern Trisect, everyone knew that they would have to be taken from somewhere else.
Kemal decided to err on the side of bluntness.
“No,” he answered.
“Estavia-Sarayi recognizes the importance of the aqueduct and the goods provided by the Northern Trisect,” he added as both Reese and Kahet bridled. “And we are prepared to send reinforcements to the garrison at Gerek-Hisar.”
“How many?” Reese demanded.
“I don’t know, Sayin,” Kemal replied, using the title Reese’s position merited with no hint of sarcasm. “Our command council met early this morning but they’ve sent me with assurances, not specifics.”
“I have an audience with Marshal Brayazi this afternoon,” Reese said stiffly. “Will she have specifics for me by then, or am I just wasting my time?”
“If your audience was called to address this issue, Sayin, likely she will.”
“And will we also have specifics,” Bey Pashim demanded. “The God-Wall may protect the villages, but it does not protect the western fields and, despite Bay Reese’s contention that they provide the bulk of the capital’s meat, Ekmir-Koy sends its full share of provisions to the citizens of Anavatan.”
“Everyone’s needs are being addressed, Sayin,” Kemal answered in as patient a tone as he could manage. “We’re moving swiftly to provide all the Gods’ people with a full defense. The numbers will be in place when and where they’ll be needed. The enemy is not yet upon us. We have time.
“And to that end,” he continued, “I am charged by Estavia’s temple with bringing a new concern before the Assembly which will require the full assistance of everyone here, but most particularly the Western Trisect.”
As the gathered turned to him, surprise and suspicion in equal measure in their eyes, he took a deep, inward breath. He and Marshal Brayazi had discussed their strategy regarding this momentous announcement, but talking about it and putting it into practice in front of twenty people with their own personal agendas was another matter entirely.
“Incasa-Sarayi will be particularly oblique,” the marshal said as they headed for the gatehouse towers at a brisk walk, “unless they’ve had a directive from Incasa Himself, in which case they may attempt to steal your thunder. Don’t resist it. If they seem to be on our side, don’t lead; follow. That way, they’ll take the heat for it.”
Kemal gave a disbelieving snort. “If there’s going to be any heat, I doubt Incasa-Sarayi will lead,” he observed. “They’ll just stand back and let it hit me full force. While toasting a piece of bread and cheese,” he added in a sour tone.
“Very likely,” the marshal agreed. When he gave her an unhappy glance, she just shrugged. “The main thing is to get them to agree to pay for it, Ghazi. I know that seems like a petty detail,” she continued as they made their way into the dark entrance tunnel, “but right now Hisar has no followers to do the work and no priests to bear the expense. Those beys are tighter than armor on a pig and, since it was Estavia’s directive, they’re going to expect Estavia-Sarayi to pay for it. Remind them that a new God is clearly the responsibility of every temple, village, and Trisect on Gol-Beyaz.”
“Is It?”
The marshal sighed. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But It ought to be.” She passed under the raised portcullis, and, as the two Sable Company sentinels on guard before the gate came to attention, she turned. “Make them understand, if you can, that if we take control of Hisar’s new temple, we keep control of Hisar. That should get them thinking and maybe take enough heat off you to keep Incasa-Sarayi from making toast.”
His expression doubtful, Kemal saluted, then headed wordlessly across the public parade square as the rain began to fall in earnest. When this was all over, he determined, Brax was definitely going to take on this duty a lot more often.
“Or Spar will,” he added in a dark mutter. “That would serve them all right.”
The Assembly’s reticence to accept any responsibility for Hisar’s new temple was much as he’d expected, but with help from Bey Neclan, who’d clearly seen the hidden threat behind Marshal Brayazi’s words faster than the rest, he’d been able to squeeze a tentative agreement from them: they would look at plans and budgets. For now. The Western Trisect Bey was not happy but, once he’d been reassured that no part of the public docks was being considered, only the naval, he grudgingly fell into line as well.
As the Assembly broke up, Kemal made his way out as quickly as possible, passing Neclan deep in conversation with the Citadel’s Chamberlain. As she stabbed one disapproving finger at the blazing chandeliers, he noted, not for the first time, that he was grateful to be a priest of Estavia and not of Oristo.
As he made his way back through the dripping orchards, a fine shimmer of wings buzzed around the Citadel dome, then sped past him so close it ruffled his hair. It coalesced into Hisar in His golden-seeming hovering just in front of him.
Kemal gestured toward the Assembly Hall with his chin.
“You heard?”
Hisar started slightly at being addressed so directly, but recovered quickly. “I heard.”
&nb
sp; “Then you should go thank Her.”
The young God frowned. “Thank who?”
Kemal favored Him with an expectant expression. “Estavia? For initiating the building of your temple? It’s customary when someone does something nice for you.”
“Oh.” Hisar chewed at His lower lip. “I’ve never actually talked to Her before,” He admitted. “I don’t think She likes me very much.”
“Well, there’s nothing like good manners to change an elder’s opinion.”
“I suppose.” The young God’s expression suddenly brightened. “I know. You could thank her for me. You talk to Her all the time.”
With a spray of metallic brilliance, It changed back to Its dragonfly-seeming, then changed back almost at once.
“Um. Thank you.”
And then It was gone, heading for Its new temple site.
Kemal just shook his head. “You’re welcome,” he muttered then, turning toward Gol-Beyaz, he placed his hand against his chest.
“Thank you.”
A few steps behind, Senior Abayos-Priest Neclan took her own leave of the Assembly Hall after assuring herself that the extra candles in the Assembly Chamber would be snuffed out at once and, striding through the rain, she made for Oristo-Sarayi, purposely ignoring the curious expressions of the local merchants and tradespeople.
Chamberlain Kadar of Oristo-Sarayi met her at the temple’s entrance.
“Is it true what they’re saying, Sayin? Is Estavia-Sarayi building a temple for the young God?”
Handing her dripping cloak to a delinkos, Neclan pursed her lips in irritation at the speed with which her own people could newsmonger. “It’s true that Estavia-Sarayi has decided to build a temple for the young God without speaking to the rest of us,” she allowed. “And it’s true that they’ve chosen a site, again without speaking to the rest of us. And furthermore, it’s also true that they expect us to help pay for it. Was there anything else you wished to know to be true, Kadar?”
The warning tone would have cowed anyone but her own chamberlain. Kadar merely raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to pay for it, Sayin?”
“Oristo-Sarayi will offer an appropriate amount of money and labor after we are consulted regarding the actual construction.” She turned. “Gul, raki, lemon, and a small bowl of steamed rice in my meditation room in five minutes.”
The delinkos bowed. “Yes, Sayin.”
“Hisar requires a solid footing on the shores of Gol-Beyaz to bring It into line with the rest of the Gods when It reaches maturity,” Neclan continued, returning her attention to Kadar. “And the site chosen may be the only site possible under the circumstances. Its proximity to Estavia-Sarayi, however, is entirely too close. It will bear some direct supervision.”
“Will you be calling a Consultation, Sayin?”
Neclan considered it, then shook her head. “No, we all have enough to do as it is. Send messages to each of the chamberlains informing them of the temple’s decision. Although they will have received news of the building from a dozen different sources already,” she added with a peeved expression. “Tell them we’ll be discussing it at the regular Weekly Consultation, so anything else of a pressing nature should be passed along at once.”
“Yes, Sayin.”
Spinning on her heel, Neclan swept from the hall, leaving Kadar feeling some small sympathy toward the Battle God’s people.
Across the city, Hisar joined Spar and Jaq on a wide stone pier jutting into the strait, heedless of the rain that splattered down around them. The young God swiftly outlined all that had transpired at Assembly that morning, smiling as His narrative drew an approving nod from Spar. Then, stretching out on His belly, He ran His fingers along a tower symbol He’d found a week ago etched into the pier, before glancing about with a sleepy expression.
Before them, the ground was rough and strewn with rocks and chips of masonry, sloping steeply down to the water’s edge where the ancient stone bollard that had once held the southern end of the sea chain had been refitted with a new iron ring and fastener. The air smelled of fish, lake weeds, rot, and wet dog.
Hisar wrinkled His nose. “This is where my temple’s gonna be?” He asked in a disappointed voice. “It’s awfully smelly . . . and small.”
Resisting the urge to frown at the young God’s ungrateful attitude, Spar fished a piece of dried meat from the pouch at his waist. “The site goes all the way back past those buildings there,” he answered, gesturing at the collection of small warehouses behind them. Twisting off a bite of meat, he tossed the rest to Jaq. “And maybe we’ll take over Lazim-Hisar, too. Would that be big enough for you?”
Hisar craned his neck around to stare up at the great watchtower looming behind them. “It is big,” He agreed. “It looks like I look in your dark place.”
“It’s a good site,” Spar continued, tossing a lock of sopping wet hair off his face. “It’s right beside the western docks. Since you’ll probably get most of your new followers from there and the Tannery Precinct, they won’t have far to come.”
Dry, despite the red bead about His neck, Hisar raised one golden eyebrow at him. “So, I’m gonna be the God of Lifters and Beggars?” he asked, mirroring Spar’s dockside accent.
“Most of them are unsworn. And you couldn’t want for any better, besides. We think on our feet. That’s important when you’re new.”
Hisar looked down at the ground where Spar had kicked off his sandals as soon as they’d sat down. “You go barefoot a lot,” He noted. “So does Brax, even when he practices. Is that what you mean by thinking on your feet?”
“No. Shoes are just uncomfortable sometimes. We weren’t raised to wear them and bare feet are better for climbing. Shoes make your feet soft and weak. If you suddenly had to go without them, that would make you weak.”
Hisar gave him a sly grin. “And weak followers make the Gods weak, right?”
Spar cast him a sour look in reply. “Right. For the sworn.”
“You’re sworn.”
“Than I guess if my feet were weak, it would make you weak. Good thing they’re not weak.”
Hisar nodded, then glanced shyly at the tunic Spar was wearing. The youth had bought it that morning at one of the secondhand clothing stalls in the permanent open air market before Ystazia-Sarayi. Considering and discarding a dozen different colors, he’d finally settled on an oversized mustard-yellow tunic decorated with a pattern of fine, pale green threads. Once they’d arrived on the pier, he’d stripped off his sodden blue tunic, folding it carefully, before pulling the new one on over his head.
“Is that my color?” Hisar asked, trying to hide the eagerness in His voice.
Spar scowled down at it. “For now.”
Hisar’s face fell. “Don’t you like it?”
“Not really. But it’ll do. We can’t use real gold, can we? Your followers’d starve for the sake of their clothing.”
“So why’d you buy it then if you don’t like it? I could be a different color.” The young God turned red then blue then brown to demonstrate. “Does it really matter?”
“It matters. The Gods have all settled on different colors and their priests wear clothes that match.” Spar glanced down at his folded blue tunic with a frown. “Mostly. Even if you change your own color, people have seen you as gold. They like to feel part of something and wearing the same clothes makes it easier for them, so right now this is as close to gold as we can get.”
“So you wear a blue tunic to feel part of Kemal and Yashar’s family?”
“Yes.”
“But not black like Estavia’s seers, even though you’re a seer?”
“No.”
“ ’Cause you don’t want to be part of them?”
“I’m not part of them.”
“You’re a part of me.”
Spar paused a moment, then nodded. “Right. Like you said, I’m your First Priest so when I’m acting as your First Priest—like when we’re here—I’ll wear a color that turns me sallow and m
akes me look like I’m dying of drink. For you. At Estavia’s temple I’ll still wear blue. At least until I turn sixteen,” he added. “After that I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’ll probably still be living there for a while.”
Growing bored with the conversation, Hisar rolled off the pier, shaking Himself as he’d seen Jaq do so often once His feet had hit the ground. He prowled about for a bit, circling each one of the warehouses, until He came to a small shed tucked up against Lazim-Hisar.
He cocked His head to one side as a familiar tingle worked its way up His spine.
“Spar?”
“What?”
“There’s a tower symbol in here. Feels like a big one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I can’t see a way in; the door’s locked and there’s shutters on both the windows.”
“Check around the back for a hole or a loose board.”
The young God did as He was told until He spotted a piece of wood swinging slightly ajar. He prodded at it experimentally and it swung away to reveal a small, dark hole in the wall. He peered through it, feeling the tingle in His chest growing stronger.
“Spar?”
“What?”
“I found a way in.”
“And?”
“And it’s dark.”
“Can’t you see in the dark?”
“Well, sure I can,” the young God answered peevishly. “But if you came over here with a light, then we could both see in.”
“I’m not carrying anything to make a light with.”
“Come over anyway. Unless you figure you’ve forgotten how to break into somebody else’s place,” He added disdainfully.
Grinning at the blatant attempt to manipulate him, Spar jumped off the pier, joining Hisar a moment later. Waiting until Jaq’d had a good long sniff without showing any signs of alarm, he crouched down and studied the dimensions of the hole with a critical air. “I think I can just make it,” he decided. “Just.”