The Guild

by Jean Johnson

  Alonnen scratched his chin, listening to her rambling reminisces. The faint glow had eased a bit and faded once she stopped talking about the concept of a female Patron Deity. Letting his suspicions simmer in the back of his mind, he focused on her current words. He had seen the extra Guild medallions while setting out the stacks of her freshly laundered things. At the time, he had wondered how it was possible, but with just a few descriptions of her troubles, she had outlined just how one youngish person—male or female—had racked up memberships in roughly thirty guilds.

  With that many guild associations under her belt and with her mind attuned to the thought of a Goddess of Guilds . . . Gods, this young woman might actually be the focus for manifesting an actual, real, tangible Patron Deity. . . . But he didn’t say that out loud.

  “I’d think that would be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done, marking everywhere you went with the symbol of a new Patron,” he said. She gave him a lopsided smile, one reminiscent of Gabria’s friend, the one who worked as a clerk in the Precinct his brother served and who rarely smiled fully at anyone or anything. He smiled back equally wryly at Rexei. “So, what’s the symbol, and how did you slip it past everyone?”

  Rexei tried not to feel too much pride in her cleverness, since part of it was simply because it was a good design. “I didn’t work out the final version until I was around fourteen, and by then, I was in the Tailors Guild and ended up chatting with a Brassworks master while filling an order for my master . . . and he realized I knew enough about brassworkings and glassworkings and such, he sponsored me to the local Consulate as a Gearman apprentice.” She shrugged, folding her knitting-covered arms over her flat-bound chest. “When I got in, the master Gearman who approved my apprenticeship caught me doodling it one day, asked me about it, and said it was perfect.”

  “Oh?” Alonnen asked, raising his brows. “How so? What does it look like?”

  She shrugged diffidently. “You’ve probably seen it by now. It’s a gear-toothed wheel, but the six spokes are actually made up of three crossed tools,” she explained. “A scythe, a hammer, and a paintbrush.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” Alonnen agreed, nodding slowly. “I remember seeing it a few years back in the Heiastowne Consulate—that was you? I thought the name of the creator was some chap named Targeter.”

  Rexei sighed. “That was the name I held at the time. The gear stands for our engineering knowledge, the hammer is for craftsmanship, the paintbrush for artistry, and the scythe represents our kingdom’s many resources. Master Crathan said it covered all the guilds he could think of and carved a stamp of it to use on all his Consulate paperwork. I think his fellow Consuls saw it, liked it, and started using it as well. By the time I was fifteen, the Masons Guild I had joined was already carving it into the motifs for the Consulate Hall they were renovating.”

  “So when did you stop being Rexei Targeter?” Alonnen asked, curious. “Or did you have a different first name?”

  The question roused a blush to her cheeks. Rexei shrunk down a little in the padded leather chair and tugged on her black woolen sleeves, half hiding her hands. “I had to quit the Actors Guild, so I just picked a new last name when I moved on.”

  As much as he wanted to respect her privacy, Alonnen could not help the rampant curiosity her shy, embarrassed shrinking evoked. “What happened that had you abandoning a guild you’d gained journey status in?”

  Her face heating even more, Rexei mumbled, “Th’ women wouldn’t leave me ’lone.”

  For a moment, Alonnen frowned in puzzlement. Then his confusion lifted. “Ahh, right. Randy older actresses, younger cute lad . . . Well, you’re quite good at acting. My brother would’ve given me a sign if he thought you were a young woman instead of a young man. He’s good at figuring out that sort of thing, weeding out the women in trousers from the men he’s had to conscript, but you still managed to fool him. I can see why you’re a journeyman.”

  He fell silent, thinking. Rexei watched him rubbing at his chin. The sitting room was warm, but she still huddled a bit in her chair, feeling vulnerable instead of chilled. Finally, he sighed.

  “Right, then. Can you put yourself together, mentally, so you’re back as a boy again?”

  She snorted at the question. “I’ve been a boy for longer than I’ve been a girl. It’s always been safer.”

  “Well, I’d say ‘you’re safe now,’ except you’re not safe now, you’re just safe here,” Alonnen shot back. “But the point is, you should go back to the temple to ask for your coat and cap. If you were a normal sort of Server apprentice.”

  Rexei shuddered and shook her head. “I don’t know if they were listening or not. I didn’t sound like an idiot when I . . . when I stupidly confronted that crowd all but on the temple steps. And I don’t need the coat. Not if I’m going to stay here.”

  “That might be so, and you’re more than welcome to stay . . . but if we, the regular sorts, don’t find a Patron Deity fast, the priesthood’s going to want to fill it for us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want whatever they come up with. Odds are, it’ll be a demon in disguise, but even if it isn’t, they’re a group of men that have never hesitated to kidnap, torture, and do many worse things to anyone they wanted.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Rexei asked, challenging him.

  He leveled a look at her. “I know you do. But we have two major problems on our hands. First and foremost, the threat of demon summonings. Now that Mekha is gone, we might have a chance to get some sort of scrying aids planted inside the temples, but to do that, we need someone to get inside with focus crystals. There are probably a dozen other things we could use, but I know how to make those. Still, to get past the outer wards, they’ll have to be smuggled inside and then activated. That takes a mage . . . and you’re the only one we’ve got who they won’t know is a mage.”

  Every time he said the M word, she shivered. Rexei tried to hide it by sitting up a little more, huddling into her borrowed sweater. “You said, that you know how to make them. But weren’t we talking last night with a bunch of powerful mages from outkingdom? I’d think they’d know tons of stuff we don’t about spying and scrying.”

  Alonnen hadn’t considered that. So used to doing things on his own, of struggling against the local ignorance of his fellow mages, plus the need to hide his actual location and the existence of the Vortex, he had not actually considered that. Blinking, he nodded slowly. “Yes . . . I suppose I could ask them. But that solves only one problem, if it can be solved.

  “The other thing we need is to make sure the rule of law doesn’t break down here in the Heias region. Those laws were decided upon by the Consulate, which means by the representatives of all the many guilds. If we can present the local guild heads with a Patron Deity they can understand, grasp, and focus upon, then we just might be able to get one to manifest—and what better Goddess than this Guildra you’ve been meditating upon?” he asked her.

  Rexei wasn’t too sure about the word meditating, but she supposed it did fit, sort of. Guildra was a concept she had clung to in the hopes that one day, someday, they could be rid of Mekha and lead far less fear-filled lives. Now that Mekha was gone . . .

  “For that matter, who better to explain the concept of Guildra to the others than you?” Alonnen added, gesturing toward her. “You’re practically Her . . . well, not a Patriarch since I don’t think anyone would want a system so similar to the last one, but I’m not sure what to call the highest priestess of the new system, if not a Matriarch.”

  His words stirred unnerving feelings of trepidation within her. She could see his points, but Rexei wasn’t so sure she wanted to follow Alonnen’s suggestions to their “logical” outcome. Rexei shook her head. “Actually, if we’re going to have a Patron Goddess of Guilds, Her priesthood should be arranged exactly like a regular guild. None of this ‘superior to you’ nonsense the old priests used,
and none of their fancy titles. No one guild should be ranked higher than another.”

  “Rule by committee is a terrible method,” Alonnen pointed out. “There is always someone who guides and rules during Consulate meetings. But I don’t think the other guilds would care to always be ruled by the Guild Master of the Gearmen’s Guild.”

  “In one of the towns where I stayed, they had three grandmasters of equal rank in the Weavers Guild,” Rexei pointed out. “Each one served a term of two years. We could rotate Guild Masters that way.”

  “Yes, but in what order?” he challenged her. Then sighed. “I suppose we could always call a quorum vote . . . So, what, the highest clergy would be a Guild Master of . . . Priests? Of the Worship Guild? Prayerful Guild? I’m Not A Bastard Meanie Guild?” Alonnen tossed out. It pleased him to see her grin at his silly suggestions, though she did duck her head a little in the effort to hide it. “See, there? That’s what we need. A fresh look at everything.

  “So, Longshanks . . . will you please come with me to the Consulate meeting this evening and discuss your ideas for a new sort of Patronage with the rest? You can consider it a part of your official duties as a Gearman, and thus a Sub-Consul, a representative of Guilds that cannot make it to the meeting. Only in this case, you’re representing a new sort of Guild that doesn’t exist yet.”

  She wasn’t quite swayed, but his words did make sense. “I’ll think about it. And . . . I might attend the meeting. But I won’t go straight to the temple. It’d be smarter to contact one of the other Servers who was working there and ask them to discreetly see if they can find out if the priests know I’m smarter than I pretended to be, while trying to fetch my coat and my cap for me.”

  “I suppose that could be done instead,” Alonnen allowed. “The priests’ll have to open up at some point for food supplies, if nothing else. As much as I’d love to get a scrying crystal in there . . . not at the risk of your life, no.”

  Studying him, Rexei wondered. And then she wondered if he would be offended if she asked. Since she had learned in thirty different apprenticeships that the only way to learn fast and far was to ask, she asked, “What are you thinking? About all of this. Mekha vanishing, the kingdom collapsing, a new God or Goddess, Guildra . . . everything.”

  He raised his brows at the question. Lacing his fingers over his chest, he tapped his pinkie fingers against the brushed-flannel wool of his shirt. “Quite a lot, actually. Even without the threat of demonic invasion, we’d still have to deal with the priesthood somehow. Some might be willing to disband and take up other livelihoods . . . but these are, one and all, boys and men who grew up understanding that the priesthood had the greatest power in the land.”

  “They could take anything, do anything, and they answered to no one but another priest . . . unless it was the combined weight of the guilds. But even then, not even the strongest of Consulates dared resist all that hard,” Rexei agreed, letting her head drop against the padded back of the chair. “I got the lectures when I became a Gearman.”

  “And ‘Gearman’s strength shall then endow,’” Alonnen murmured, eyeing her speculatively. Her head lifted up off the chair and her brows came down in a wary frown. He flicked a hand partly in dismissal and partly in acknowledgment. “You’re definitely mixed up in all this. I can see it.”

  Her mildly wary look shifted into a much more nervous one. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” he argued lightly.

  “No, I’m not,” Rexei asserted, sitting up a little.

  Re-lacing his fingers together, Alonnen shrugged. “Yes, you are.”

  “It’s coincidence, nothing more,” she tried to dismiss him. That only earned her a chiding look.

  “We have exactly one kingdom between us and Fortuna, and that’s not far enough away to escape the Threefold God’s sight. Even nations on the far side of the world have heard of Fate and acknowledge Them as the oldest and strongest of all the Gods.” Alonnen reminded her, “You are the Gearman in question.”

  “I’m just a journeyman!” Rexei protested, throwing up her hands as she sat forward. She dropped them onto her knees, so used to pretending to be a half-mannered youth that she didn’t bother with sitting decorously. “There are hundreds of master-class Gearmen all across Mekhana. Or whatever it is we should start calling ourselves, now. Mekha was nothing more than a False God, propped in place by false priests, refusing to die even though He was struck dead with the collapse of the last Convocation two hundred years ago. I refuse to call myself a Mekhanan now that He is gone. I want nothing to do with Him, not even my nation’s name.”

  “Well, if you believe the guilds should have a Patron Goddess named Guildra, then it only makes sense to call ourselves Guildarans or something, and thus Guildara for the kingdom,” Alonnen agreed. Then pointed a finger at her. “And no getting us off the subject. You are the Gearman of the prophecy. Which means, if we’re going to scrape together enough of what used to be Mekhana to be strong enough to stop demon-summoning priests, we’ll need your promised strength.”

  “That’s just it!” Rexei exclaimed, agitated enough to shove to her feet as she spread her arms. “I don’t have any! Strength implies standing your ground—I run from confrontations! Strength is all about facing down your fears. I bolt at the first sign of trouble and pick out a new name and a new life at the drop of a knitted cap! And I’d have done it last night, if there’d been any way to avoid your brother.”

  Alonnen remained sprawled in his chair, but he did dip his head in acknowledgment. “That’s fair. Your plethora of Guild apprenticeships are a clear sign of just how many times you’ve run. But Rexei, dear,” he told her, giving her a pointed, level look, “you’ve also stood your ground.”

  “When?” she asked, though even as she spoke, she recalled a few times from the last full day.

  “When you questioned me, for one. Admittedly, anyone who actually knows I’m a Guild Master wouldn’t have dared contradict me or demand answers before obeying—and even now that you do know it, you’re still saying no to me,” he said a touch tartly. He softened it with a wry look. “Not that I’m going to object. It’s good to hear a flat-out No every once in a while, and several sessions of Why per week, for that matter. But from the sound of it, you said you had to stop playing a dull-witted Server on the temple steps so that you could stop a riot. If you truly had no strength to stand your ground, no strength to insist that everyone hold it together and act in a lawful manner, you’d have scuttled off and fled. Right? . . . Right?”

  Defeated by his logic, she sank back down onto her chair again, elbows braced on her knees. The position always reminded her of how tightly she bound her breasts and of the padding wrapped around her waist. It was comforting, yet restrictive at the same time. Sighing, she scrubbed her fingers through her short-cropped locks. “I don’t even have the courage to say the M word out loud.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’ve had a choice,” Alonnen shot back. At her skeptical look, he rolled so that he slouched on his elbow and his hip instead of his back. That left him angled just enough to give her an earnest look. “I am the Guild Master of the Mages Guild, Rexei. I have to be able to say the M word, and say it so comfortably and easily that it puts other M types at ease,” he half teased. “As the Guild Master, I cannot be afraid of who and what I am. Besides, I only ever say words like mage and mages while I’m in the Vortex, within its protections. I’m not a fool. Outside of the dam’s vicinity, I’m just the Guild Master of the Lubrication Guild, a subset of the Hydraulics Guild. But if Mekha is gone . . .”

  “Don’t risk it,” Rexei found herself ordering. He blinked at her, but she lifted her chin, standing her ground on that point. “If what you implied is true, that the Convocation of the Gods was indeed restarted, and that Mekha was . . . I don’t know what happened . . . but one hopes by the pricking of our thumbs that He was revealed as a False God and struck down by the
other Gods and Goddesses. If all of that, then m-mages might be safe,” she managed to say without tripping too much on the M word. “But we also don’t know what it takes to bind a demon, or even if they will bind a demon. The priests might just go back to snatching up our kind and sucking the energy out of them again, and you’d be the juiciest goose in the butcher’s shop.”

  He tipped his head, acknowledging her point. “That may be an actual problem . . . and that may be why not every town with a temple in it has reported seeing its prisoners being released. I could almost wish they would turn to demons instead of our fellow mages . . . but Guardian Kerric of the Tower has repeatedly seen prophetic scryings of a Netherhell invasion. Demons fighting warriors and mages and everyone else.” He sighed heavily, slumping a little more in his chair. “And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else, save that most of the visions seem to have the invasion starting from here.”

  Rexei frowned in thought. She rubbed her forehead, then stroked her palm over her short, dark locks. “That prophecy you gave me to read . . . you mentioned something last night when you handed it over about ‘the others.’ I presume the Guardians we spoke with think that the demonic problems will spring up in several nations?”

  “This one and five more to come, yes,” Alonnen said. “The first verse of one of the prophecies seems to have come true in Guardian Kerric’s homeland, and we think the second was about Guardian Saleria. She’s off at the Convocation of Gods and Man, though, and there’s no easy way to chat with either her, Guardian Dominor, Guardian Serina, or Guardian Rydan right now. If we’re the third verse, then the fourth of eight will probably be Mendhi, far to the east and south.”