by PJ McDermott
Nolanski made a face. “As I told you before, there are one or two underground cults that practice different beliefs, but I don’t know them, and I don’t get involved, so I’m afraid I won’t be of much help there.”
Hickory thought it strange that the ambassador wasn’t better informed. “I’m assuming you’ve been fully briefed on our mission—you know that this religious leader, Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth, is a person of interest to both the Space Corps and the Agency?” She rested her arms on the table and peered across at Nolanski.
Nolanski nodded. “Of course, but—”
“We’d be grateful for anything you can tell us about the Avanauri religion.”
Nolanski sighed. “The official doctrine preached by the Temple is that those who do good works such as helping the poor or donating to the priesthood will earn credits with Balor. If you earn enough credits, you’re rewarded by being granted a second existence after you die. As I said, those who fail in this life just cease to exist. They don’t believe in an afterlife.”
“I noticed there aren’t any graveyards. They don’t bury their dead?” said Gareth.
Nolanski pursed his lips. “The average lifespan of a naur is fifty-five Earth years. The dead are never mourned. If the passing is a painful one, their friends will rejoice that the pain has ended, and if the life was considered a poor one, then their relatives will feel shame. The common Avanauri believe that the essence of their being departs with death. There are no souls and no graveyards. Everything is recycled.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Does this Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth character preach the same philosophy?” said Jess.
Nolanski walked over to a cabinet and unlocked it. He took a slim leather satchel from a drawer and placed it on the table. “I’ve put together this portfolio for you. Everything we have on him is in there. It’s not much, but it’s what we have.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but I don’t get involved in their religion.”
Gareth snorted loudly. “Dangerous, is it?” he said.
“Shut up, Gareth,” said Hickory. She flicked through the notes briefly. There was a list of the miracles Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth had allegedly performed, complete with witnesses and dates. A second page listed the locations he was known to frequent. One of these was the “People’s Corner” which was within the boundary of the park she had spotted from her balcony. She handed them across for the other two to read.
“And there’s this.” Nolanski passed her a black and white snapshot of a lanky individual dressed in long robes addressing a group of listeners. The subject seemed to be staring at the camera the instant the image was captured.
“Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth?” Hickory asked and passed the photo to Gareth.
“Yes. Taken from the orbiting space station. That’s the only print on the planet, and I’ll destroy it as soon as you’ve all had a look. Can’t risk it being discovered and having the natives becoming worked up over sorcery.”
Hickory took the photograph from Jess and examined it more thoroughly. There was something about the way the naur held himself—a dignity and self-assurance that set him apart and seemed to make him taller than those around him. Unkempt, wispy hair grew in a narrow strip from the base of the skull to the middle of his forehead. His perfectly round eyes were, like all Avanauri, surrounded by dark pigment. The naur in the photo appeared to be the same one they’d seen in Harbor Town.
“These witnesses,” Jess said, tapping the list. “How reliable are they?”
“Solid citizens, every one, but their stories vary. I’m afraid they won’t be of much use except to provide background,” said Nolanski.
“I’d like to talk to them, nevertheless,” said Hickory. She placed the photo inside the folder and handed it to Jess. “Now tell us what you know about the political regime.”
Nolanski stared at the folder and then looked at Hickory, his mouth slightly open. He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Yonni-sèr-Abelen is the High-Reeve—the head of government. He’s a tough character—”
“Come on, Jeb, you know what I mean. Is he corrupt? Does he have the full support of his government? What’s his weakness?”
“Corrupt? They’re all bloody corrupt, but he comes from an influential family with powerful supporters, so he gets away with it. His only weakness, if you can call it that, is his preparedness to deal with the Agency. That’s seen in some quarters as a betrayal of the Avanauri traditional law and religion. I wouldn’t say he has the full support of his cabinet on this, no. And they’re the only ones who have the whole story of our presence here.” There was a sheen of perspiration on Nolanski’s forehead. His eyes flicked to Jess, Gareth and back to Hickory.
“So, is he generally liked—by the people?”
“He’s been in power for decades. I’d say most common Avanauri hold him in awe. He has the backing of the Temple. But there are rumblings from extremists unhappy about the modernization that’s been taking place and demands for a return to the old ways.”
“Rumblings?” said Gareth.
“Yeah, you know—rallies, people complaining, attacks on property—that sort of thing. It’s called rumblings.” A vein throbbed in Nolanski’s neck and he clenched his fists.
Hickory ignored the mounting frustration. “That’s been very useful, Jeb. Thank you. Just one last question. Is it safe to walk in the city? Tomorrow we’d like to do some exploring and talk with some of these witnesses to the Teacher’s miracles.”
“The people are usually polite and pleasant, to your face at least. There are around a hundred people from Earth wandering around Ezekan on any day. The citizens have become used to seeing the occasional “visitor” from Castaliena walking around. The authorities have set severe penalties for anything more than rudeness by the locals. Make sure you follow the conventions, especially when you first approach them.”
Jess took over. “Our SIMs will translate the Avanauri language accurately for us, and they’ve been pre-set to transmit rudimentary Avanauri to reflect our identities as travelers from Castaliena. This is adjustable, but we should keep it on the default setting unless we’re on embassy grounds.”
“I agree,” said Nolanski. “You don’t need to worry about breaking cover with our staff here or those government officials in the know, but for anyone else always keep your story in mind and you’ll be okay. Stay clear of any religious gatherings for now—just in case. They can get a little heated. And if you see a scuffle, please ignore it. I don’t want to have to fish any of you out of jail.”
They ate a light meal and turned in early, Nolanski saying he would be gone by the time they rose in the morning.
Eye Wintesses
Nolanski left them a map of the city with some ideas on places where they might eat, and the suggestion that if they needed a guide, young Kyntai, the stable hand, would be useful.
The boy seemed delighted to be of help and capered around like one of his animal charges. Hickory consulted the list of witnesses. “Kyntai? We need to see Sabin-sѐr-Adham, the weapon-worker. Do you know this person?”
“Yes, mistress. Everyone knows Sabin. His forge is in the smithing precinct. It is not far.”
When they arrived at his workplace, Sabin-sѐr-Adham was hammering at the blade of a sword, and a row of weapons leaned against a table awaiting his attention. The naur was almost as broad as he was tall, his sloping shoulders and bulging arms making him stand out even amongst his fellow smiths. Hickory stood two yards in front of him with her eyes lowered until he nodded his permission to approach.
He looked up and smiled at all three. “I am Sabin-sѐr-Adham, weapons master. Call me Sabin, if it pleases you.”
Hickory formally introduced her partners and herself. “You know each other, I think,” she said, indicating Kyntai.
The smith nodded to Kyntai then addressed Hickory. “What can I do for you, good folks? If you want sword sharpening, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few days. Seems everyone wants their weap
ons honed, and they all want it done today. If you need it to be sharpened more quickly, Ferrier-sѐr-Corrine, two streets back, will do a decent job and will charge a reasonable price.” He wiped his brow and peered at Hickory from under his muscular arm, and then looked away hurriedly. “Pardon my rudeness, my friend. Many visitors from your country pass by on the street, but none as close as you are now. It is a wonder to meet travelers from beyond the Scarf. Can’t say as I’d want to go on such a trip myself, but I know a few Ezekani who now say they want to visit Castaliena.”
Hickory smiled back at him. “No offense taken. My companion is in need of a weapon-smith, but there’s no hurry. We are here on a pilgrimage.”
Her SIM was working perfectly. It translated the blacksmith’s speech and transmitted it in English to the audio center of her brain. The process was so fast, it was as though he’d spoken in English. The reverse was similar—she thought in English, and the words were translated into Avanauri by her SIM. The SIM then sent the appropriate phonetic vibrations to her vocal folds, and the words emerged from her larynx. Hearing herself speak a different language, one she understood without having to think about, would take a bit of getting used to, she thought. “We came to see the one known as the Teacher. We hear he has much wisdom to share.”
Gareth handed his sword to Sabin, who examined the blade then placed it on the table with the others.
“Fair enough. You can collect it in two days’ time, young sir.” He nodded to Gareth, then turned to Hickory again. “So, you’re looking for Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth? He is a marvel, there’s no doubting that. He offers much in the way of good advice.”
Stepping alongside Hickory, Jess smiled sweetly at the smith. “They say he performs miracles.”
“Perhaps,” said Sabin, frowning. “I saw him do one strange thing. I cannot give you an explanation, so perhaps it was a miracle. I can tell you what I saw if you are interested.”
Jess nodded enthusiastically, and Sabin continued. “He was speaking at the hilltop in Silver Park—he’s often around that area. I went there, along with many others, to hear what he would say. In the middle of his teaching, a young girl came rushing up to her mother. Her arm had been sliced open from her elbow to her wrist. Blood was everywhere, and as you can imagine, the girl and her mother were in a panic. Nobody could hear the Teacher speak. He walked up to the girl and took her arm in his hands, and as Balor is my witness, she was healed.”
Sabin shook his head as though he still couldn’t believe what his eyes had seen. “The mother washed the girl’s arm and there wasn’t a scratch on her. Now, I know what you think, mistress, but I’ve seen many a wound in my time, and I swear the blood was pouring from a deep cut when I saw her first, and then not a mark.” He picked up the weapon he had been working on and thrust it into the forge. “Miracles, aye,” he said, shaking his head.
Hickory offered her thanks and said they would return in a few days for the sword.
They walked down the road apiece, discussing what the forge worker had told them.
“Pretty impressive, if what he thought he saw actually happened,” said Jess.
“It’s a big if, though,” said Gareth. “There are so many holes in his story you could launch a spaceship through it. Any cheap magician could pull off a stunt like that with a couple of willing stooges planted in the audience.”
“So you say, boyo, but Sabin is no fool. If he says the girl had a bad wound, I believe him,” said Jess.
Gareth snorted. “You’d believe anything, Mother—”
“All right, pack it in,” said Hickory. “I’m fed up listening to you two bickering.” She glared at them. “Let’s see if we can find a miracle that isn’t easy to counterfeit.” She scanned the list. “Kunja-sѐr-Elalel. He’s a peacekeeper, stationed at the entrance to the government administration building. Apparently, he and about a dozen others saw Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth exorcise a demon from a mad woman who had been wandering the city half-naked, screaming about the end of days.”
“Why did they think it was a demon, rather than her being plain crazy?” asked Gareth.
Jess said, “In the early centuries of Earth, madness was thought to be caused by possession. It’s probably the same here.”
“Yes, but you’re both missing the point,” said Hickory. “The woman’s name is Yamu-sѐra-Jahini. She had no previous connection to the Teacher, and she is supposedly now sane and spends her time worshiping at the temple. How can madness be cured with the snap of a finger?”
“Why don’t we split up?” said Gareth. “You and Jess can go to the temple to interview the woman, and Kyntai can take me to see Kunja-sѐr-Elalel.”
“Fine, but don’t get into any trouble. Keep your mind on the job. Remember why we’re here.” They arranged to meet back at the consulate for lunch.
The peacekeeper, Kunja-sѐr-Elalel, said he had known Yamu-sѐra-Jahini for ten years before the illness came upon her. “She was a modest, caring young nauri, very attentive to her family, and engaged to be married to a guardsman. I didn’t see it happen, but her father told me the demon took her without warning, throwing her to the ground one day. She could not speak, her eyes turned white and her mouth filled with froth. People were afraid to touch her because of the demon.” His chin dropped to his chest, and he stared at the ground. “I am ashamed to say she lay there for the rest of that day and the whole of the next. I saw the crowd standing about her just after it happened and I passed her by. She was raving, slavering at the mouth and shouting vile things. From that time on, she refused to eat or wash.”
He screwed up his nose at the memory. “I’m not a superstitious man, but the way she looked at me, I could see the wickedness in her eyes.” He shuddered.
“When did she meet the Teacher, and what happened?” asked Gareth.
“It was ten days later. He was speaking in one of the smaller temples in the administration quarter when she walked in. I saw her throw herself at his feet, pleading for help, and then the beast started to shake her around like a plaything, and she was cursing and swearing. The Teacher put his hand on her forehead and stared into her eyes. He said something like, ‘I see you, Yamu. Be at peace, for the demon is with you no longer.’ Something like that. I swear to Balor, it was as simple as I say. She wept and thanked him, and he told her to go to the temple and pray.”
Gareth thanked the naur and left him to his peacekeeping duties.
Kyntai asked about demons—had he ever seen one? Gareth switched his SIM from pidgin to standard mode, the better to communicate with the boy. “There are many strange and wonderful things in the universe that can’t be explained, but I’ve yet to shake hands with a demon,” he said.
When they reached the main road, a crowd pushed up around them, all heading in the same direction, and Gareth and Kyntai found themselves swept along. “What’s all the excitement about?” Gareth asked. Many in the crowd were angry, waving fists in the air and shouting. Gareth grew alarmed when rocks were thrown by some onlookers into the crowd, and when one caught Kyntai above his eye, he pushed out of the throng, dragging the boy after him.
“Let me see.” Gareth examined the cut, which had already stopped bleeding. “I think it’s okay, but you might have a black eye,” he said, then laughed at Kyntai’s expression. The boy, of course, had two permanent black eyes. “What was all that about?” Gareth asked, looking after the mob.
“Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth is teaching at the Silver Lake,” Kyntai replied, out of breath. “Some in the crowd are looking for a miracle, but others declare him to be a sorcerer. I think we should stay away.” He bit his lip.
“You think there will be trouble?” said Gareth, glancing sideways at him.
“The city protectors are sure to be there, but you are a stranger and those with dark skin are not always welcome.” His ears colored in embarrassment.
Hickory and Jess located the Shrine of Honor. It was surrounded by shrubbery and well-tended gardens in a small park just north of the smith precinct. The
shrine was a modest building in the style of the Temple of the four faces of Balor but without its grandeur.
Hickory whispered to Jess, “We’ve got company. Across the park to your right, behind the large tree. Don’t make it obvious, I don’t want to scare him away.” She smiled and stood back, raising her voice. “According to my notes, the Shrine of Honor replaces an earlier monument that fell into disrepair. It commemorates the fallen heroes of the war with Erlach.” She took a step back and glanced casually around at their pursuer who immediately looked away.
Jess took the opportunity to hide behind a bush while Hickory walked swiftly towards the entrance to the shrine. Their stalker looked up in time to see Hickory disappear through the doorway. As he hurried to catch up, Jess grasped the naur by his arms. He struggled and lashed out at Jess’s face, but she took him to the ground with a rugby tackle. “Why were you following us? Who are you and what are you up to?” she said, pinning him against the grass as Hickory arrived.
“Nobody—I’m nobody, and I wasn’t following you. Let me be!”
Jess glared. “All right, mister nobody. Tell us what you’re up to, and perhaps we’ll let you go. You’ve been watching us since we left the embassy compound, admit it. Don’t think to lie.”
“Please! Don’t hurt me—I’m nothing—nobody. I was paid to watch you, no more.” He tried to shake himself free, but Jess tightened her grip.
“Tell me your name,” she said.
“Mirda-sѐr-Sidhartha! My name is Mirda. I am Mr. Nolanski’s personal servant. He told me to follow you. I’m supposed to report back your travels. Please, let go!”
“Nolanski!” Jess said, turning to Hickory. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” said Hickory. “Maybe he was concerned about our safety.”
Mirda nodded vigorously. “He told me to send a message to him in Harbor Town if you got into trouble.”
Hickory hauled the naur to his feet. “I don’t think you meant any harm, but you’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt. Don’t try to follow us again.”