by A. C. Ellas
They made excellent time due to the tendency of those they encountered to clear out of their path. Most of them drew sun circles on their chests as Rak and Ioli passed. A few were bold enough to spit. Rak ignored them all, though he was keenly aware of the anger, mistrust and downright hatred directed toward the dark servants. Arriving at the Hall of Justice was both a disappointment and a relief. He dismounted from Vyld and gave the avtappi a pat as he stared glumly at the doors to the Hall.
Ioli came up beside him, his fingers flashing, “I remember this place. I hope it’s a different justicer on duty today.”
“Only if our luck changes,” Rak muttered. He sensed more than saw the palace guards forming up about them, so headed up the shallow granite steps toward the ancient, highly carved and decorated edifice. Stern stone visages stared eternally at the sky, graven hands uplifted in the act of balancing truth against belief, justice against law.
The Hall of Justice served as the main entrance to the rambling complex of the Temple of the Twins, which included the city gaol, the city courts, the city library and the hall of records. Prisoners were taken directly from the gaol to the courts and sometimes back again without ever leaving the temple grounds or even being taken outside. That put a crimp on most escape plans. Rak had been held in the belly of this very temple for a few days while the justicers had pondered his status.
He pushed through the double doors, one of bright silver steel and the other of dull black iron. The tiles of the hall were patterned in alternating squares of cream and charcoal. Statues of Alethian, God of Law and Logic, and of Dykaea, Goddess of Justice and Truth, stood to either side of the justicers’ high seats, placed on a raised dais above the floor where petitioners stood. Rak glanced at the left-hand seat first. The Justicer for Day was Sinare. He looked next to the right-hand seat. The Justicer for Night was one he didn’t know.
Although he was tempted to turn around and come back some other day, any other day so long as it was a day when Sinare was not on duty, Rak continued forward, but he veered to the right. He would rather petition Dykaea than Alethian. His presence in the hall didn’t go unnoticed. The petitioners already there moved aside and whispers sprang up in his wake. Rak reached the polished table set for petitioners to lay out their notes and stopped. He inclined his head. “Justicer, we are requesting an examination of our memories of the night before last.”
“And what is it you seek?” inquired the priestess.
“Proof that we had naught to do with the murder of Lady Kazia.”
“Very well, please come with me.” The justicer stood and motioned for them to follow. Rak and Ioli did so, trailed by their guards. Rak hid a scowl as Justicer Sinare also stood and followed them into the relative privacy of an examination chamber.
The examination chamber was a small room just large enough for the chairs placed within. Two chairs stood side by side, facing a semicircle of another four chairs. The female justicer took one of the two chairs facing them and said, “Nyxion, I am Justicer Ruesela, priestess of Dykaea. Please be seated.”
“I am S’Rak, high priest of the Thezi sect of the Brotherhood of Dark Servants.” He sat down across from her. Ioli sat beside him, to his right, taking an end seat rather than the second center seat. Sinare sat beside Ruesela, the seat opposite him remained empty. Rak almost smiled at that. “This is my assistant, S’Ioli,” he added gracefully.
“May I touch you?” Ruesela asked formally.
“You may,” Rak replied, then concentrated on his mental plea that the justicer be allowed to read his memories. Her fingers were light and cool as they pressed against his scalp, and then, he could feel a feather-like flutter across the top of the inside of his head. It was a very strange sensation, not painful, but not entirely comfortable, either. It didn’t last long at least.
Ruesela sat back with a sigh. “High Priest, I am unable to penetrate the barriers set around your mind. Do you mind if my counterpart tries as well?”
Rak pursed his lips and shot Sinare a glance. Yes, actually I do mind, he thought, but aloud, he said only, “He has my permission to try.”
Ruesela turned to Ioli. “May I touch you?” Ioli nodded, so she set her fingers on his head.
Sinare cleared his throat, drawing Rak’s attention. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Rak tensed as Sinare touched his head. The feathery feeling returned, but this time, it did hurt. It felt as if each feather brushing over him were edged with razors. He clamped his jaw on the scream that wanted out, refusing to give the justicer or the palace guards the satisfaction of knowing he hurt.
Sinare withdrew after far too many attempts at battering through Rak’s shields. “Perhaps there are drugs that can help me crack your shields, but I am unable to as matters stand at this moment.”
Ruesela was done with Ioli as well. “He is innocent; I was able to determine that much. His shields are almost a match for his superior’s, but some things get through.”
“Permit me to verify,” Sinare said, and Ioli nodded. The Justicer for Day set his hands on Ioli’s head.
A moment later, Ioli’s eyes widened as he blanched. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his fisted hands came up in a defensive posture. The palace guards stirred in alarm, but Sinare backed off before Ioli actually started hitting.
“Sorry, young dark servant, I am a priest of Alethian, who is of the House of Day, so some side effects are unavoidable. If I could examine your mind without giving you pain, I would. I confirm that you are innocent. I wish that we could read your full memories to determine your superior’s guilt or innocence, but your shields, like his, won’t permit that. Your God defends your minds too well.”
“We were both petitioning Zotien to permit your probes,” Rak said flatly. “The Storm Lord does as He wills. If I had to guess as to why you both failed, it is because Zotien guards His secrets and His high priests most jealously.”
“You are probably correct in that surmise,” Ruesela said, “but it does leave you with a problem. We cannot tell the watch or the crown that you have been cleared of suspicion in this crime. Your assistant, yes, but not you.”
“I understand,” Rak replied after a moment. It was no more than he’d expected when he’d agreed to do this, so a negative result hardly surprised him. Even if he weren’t a high priest, he was the sacred dancer. If the Unmaker learned that, She would redouble Her efforts to kill him at the very least. If there were no dancer to stand opposite the Lord of Night in the sacred dance, the underpinnings of creation itself would start to unravel. “Thank you for making the attempt.”
“I will send for you if we find any means to crack your shields,” Sinare added.
Rak nodded sharply, once. He stood and offered Ioli a hand up because the younger priest still appeared dazed and worse for wear. “Come, siflion, let us return to the palace and get what sleep we may.” He spoke in Okyran pointedly, because although Jisten spoke the language, none of the other palace guards could, nor could the justicers. They walked out side by side, followed by their keepers still.
* * * *
This is going even worse than I’d feared, Jisten realized glumly. They were back at the palace now. Rak and Ioli were grooming the avtappi. All of the avtappi, for there were a good half dozen spare mounts here now. Jisten had tended to his own, of course, enjoying the quiet time spent in company with Zala. Her belly was starting to widen as her pregnancy advanced, but she could still be ridden so long as he didn’t push her. Sedrael and Kala’ithyk also had bonded avtappi, but they’d handed their mounts over to the eager hands of the stable boys, because their avtappi weren’t stabled in barn twelve with the rest of them, but in barn five, which was reserved for the mounts of the palace guards.
Rak hadn’t spoken a word to him since they’d left the palace to see the justicers. The silent treatment was starting to get to him. However, every time he approached the high priest, intent on saying something, anything, just to get a response from the Loftoni, the mark on
his arm would burn and throb in a painful reminder. It was past noon by the time Rak and Ioli returned to their suite. Both men marched into their respective bedrooms and closed the doors in the faces of their guards. Jisten felt a pang of loss that Rak chose not to invite him in, but he settled down at his post and watched as Sedrael and the other guards pulled out a pack of cards, dealt them out and began a complex, time-consuming game.
In the late afternoon, just after the guards changed shifts, though Jisten elected to stay, hoping to smooth things as much as he could for the new set of guards, Rak emerged from his bedroom. The high priest was already dressed in what Jisten had come to recognize as the daily working uniform of a dark servant. Once more, Rak had elected to wear a knee-length tunic over breeches, eschewing the robes that Jisten preferred he wear. Jisten wondered if there was a subtle message there or if he was reading too much into it.
Rak accepted a mug of café from Tebber, who knew his master’s habits well enough that he’d been at the bedroom door waiting with the tray minutes before Rak had actually emerged. “Thank you,” Rak murmured to his servant. He took a long drink of the beverage, glanced at the guards then proceeded to pace, his attention clearly elsewhere.
Jisten found himself wishing the priest would speak, even if all he was willing to do were express his displeasure further. But Rak ignored them utterly. All of them. Ioli came out of his room to be greeted by the café-bearing Tebber just as Rak had been. The young priest smiled, nodded his thanks, sat down at his desk and started to write. He didn’t so much as exchange a finger-wiggle with the pacing Rak.
At sunset, the high priest turned toward the chapel.
Jisten motioned the guards to stay put. “May I observe the evening rite?”
“If you wish.” Rak didn’t sound angry any longer. Just resigned.
“Thank you, S’Rak,” Jisten said. He didn’t want to argue or to have Rak angry at him, but the danger was clear.
Rak swept into the chapel with Ioli, but he didn’t bar the door. Rak began the rite as the sun finished setting.
If Jisten thought that the mark on his arm hurt before, it was nothing compared to the agony it gave him upon entering the chapel. Rak didn’t rush the rites. If anything, he appeared to be taking his time, savoring each syllable of the prayers. Part of Jisten wondered if Rak was prolonging the service to torment him. Jisten first clenched his fist on that side. Next, he clutched the mark with his other hand. A fine sweat beaded his brow. Finally, he left the chapel.
“Capt’n, what happened?” Largo asked. “Is something wrong? I thought you liked the rites.”
Jisten shook his head at him. “It’s nothing.”
Orste snorted, walked over to the chapel, opened the door and poked his head in. Lightning shot out of the chapel, missing the man by scant inches.
“Don’t do that again,” Jisten stated, even as he wondered what, precisely, Rak was doing. It wasn’t really any of his business, and the chapel had only the one door, but he still wondered what the high priest was up to. “If you want to watch any of the rites, ask S’Rak first, otherwise give the priests their privacy to worship as they must. The chapel has only this one door.” He wondered if any of the guards could attend the rites. Would he be endangering them?
Ioli staggered out of the chapel with a dazed expression. Largo caught him before he could trip and fall. “Easy there, what happened?”
Ioli sank into his seat then wrote a quick note that he handed over. He’d learned to carry scrap paper and a marking stick for communication with the Koilathans.
Largo took it and read aloud, “S’Rak has summoned the Lord of Night, seeking His instruction and will in these matters. Our Lord did not appreciate Orste’s interruption.”
“We could have used Zotien’s presence a while ago,” Jisten said bitterly. No gods available when their baby had been murdered or when Virien and his men had raped him.
Ioli shrugged, his fingers flashed, “No altar, no easy summoning.”
Chapter Thirteen: Sun Temple
Єnatεra Atεlio, Thamεros Fεngari
9th day, 2nd week, Thameros’ moon
Rak rode out into the city after the conclusion of the evening rite. He had sent a message to the king, indicating that he would not be attending dinner but giving no reasons for his absence. Ioli had also elected to skip the meal with the court, so Tebber had brought trays from the kitchens. They all agreed that it was better to eat plain food in peace than fancy food in a hostile environment. Rak wondered if the king would realize that or if his father would demand an explanation later.
Ioli had elected to remain in the suite; he still had a headache from that tree branch and wanted to rest and maybe finish his most recent report to Okyro. As a result, only two guards were trailing him—Jisten and Orste. He saddled Vyld and continued to ignore Jisten as the captain saddled his own mount, Zala. The silver-grey mare had been the first avtappi to bond to someone not in Zotien’s service in living memory, but she hadn’t been the last. His brother, Prince Jethain, had an avtappi as well, as did a select few of the Koilathan palace guard. Rak suspected that these guards would eventually end up in Zotien’s service.
He mounted Vyld and rode out, not caring if the two guards who dogged his steps were ready or not. The two men followed him quickly enough, Jisten to his right and Orste to his left mounted on Rexon, one of a pair of twin avtappi, which the guard had ridden often, though they lacked a full bond. Rak stared straight ahead, at the world framed by the inward pointed ears of his avtappi.
Just in case the citizens weren’t dissuaded by Rak’s armor and arms or by Vyld or by the guards trailing him, Morth was accompanying them. The thansymi paced the stallion, flashing fangs to good effect. So although the townsmen glared daggers, no real ones appeared. Insults and jibes he could ignore, but his show of strength limited even those to anonymous whispers.
Vyld came to a halt in the forecourt of the Temple of Light. Rak slid from the saddle and touched the avtappi’s shoulder, murmuring, “Stay.” Beside the avtappi, Morth sat, whining his unhappiness. Rak touched the hound’s head in reassurance. “Sa’sa, Morth. I am welcome here.” He turned to the guards and said coldly, “I wish to speak to Ylion Forael. Alone.”
“Orste will wait out here, and I will come with you,” countered Jisten. Rak scowled then walked up the marble steps, leaving his friends behind as he entered the hostile, alien environment of the Temple grounds. The discomfort hit as he crossed onto sanctified ground. It occurred to him that this was the perfect place for someone to attack him. He strode up the steps a little more quickly. Jisten followed him easily, now an unwelcome presence at his back. This change saddened him greatly.
He paused in the foyer of the temple, inclining his head to the young sun priest on duty at the doors. “I am here to see Ylion Forael.”
“The Ylion said that you might stop by. Come with me.” The sun priest’s tone was cold, his words clipped and his shoulders rigid.
Rak followed him down the corridor, and before long, they reached Forael’s office. Rak looked at Jisten. “I wish to speak to my opposite privately. I am not going to commit murder in there.”
“I’ll wait out here,” Jisten said.
“Thank you,” said Rak. He knocked.
“Enter!”
Rak stepped into the office to find Forael sitting at his desk and reading intently. Rak closed the door. “I hope your paperwork is not as endless as mine?”
“Ah, Thezomeh!” Forael said, clearly delighted at the sight of Rak. “Night or Day, paperwork is endless. Perhaps I should say Night and Day?”
“Yes, the second is correct,” said Rak dryly. He sat down. “Ylion, have you heard the news?”
“Dark doings... and handy dark servants to blame. Too convenient,” Forael said.
“I swear to you, I did not do this. Nor did any of my people.”
Forael nodded. “I would have believed you without the oath. A Thezi does not murder, much less brutally, and
a sacrifice has to occur on your altar in order to raise power, right?”
“That is correct. But nobody believes me when I tell them that, not even Jisten. This Vrathis, he claims that he has evidence. But he will not show it to me. All he showed me was Zotien’s sigil and a glyph I have never seen before, I am not even certain it was a glyph as opposed to a random splatter.”
“The detective plays close to his chest. Had it been a sun sigil, I would be under suspicion,” Forael said. “Such is the way of investigators.”
“No, I doubt that. I would be accused of planting misleading evidence instead,” said Rak wryly.
Forael inclined his head. “Perhaps we would share a cell together. My re-institution of daily sunrise and sunset services has not set well with some of the nobles.”
“That is true,” mused Rak. “What do you know of Vrathis? Is he honest? Or will he try to create false evidence?”
“Is that why you came to see me?” Forael asked.
“Not really,” Rak admitted. “But you like a slow, sideways approach to things. You have told me this.”
“Ah, I have learned directness from my cousin?” Forael smiled. “Or perhaps it was the rabbit stew which has loosed my tongue. Too bad our sundogs are not very good at catching them.”
“That was a good stew,” Rak agreed. “But nothing compared to the stew of lies I fear Jisten is delving into. I saw a book in his office, entitled A Survey of the House of Night. He was reading it when I walked in and covered it up quickly.”
Forael’s eyes widened. “Sun scorch it! He left it out?”