With an unearthly scream, Baruvalman stumbled the other way. Holokai jumped back to keep the pitiful god from crashing into him. Baru slipped, fell. All his remaining arms went flailing, but his chest struck the muddy ground. With a sharp crack, a long fracture of red light ran across his torso. Slowly the two halves of his body slid apart, revealing what seemed to be cables of red light and darkness, linguistic viscera.
With a baby’s face, Baruvalman looked down with horror. He was trying to scream, but the shrill cries had become rasps.
Filled with horror and pity, Leandra knelt beside the broken god. He reached out to her. But the instant her skin touched his, the world shifted and Leandra felt as if she might stumble. But then the ground steadied and Baruvalman vanished. Or, more accurately, Leandra could no longer perceive Baru as she had. Rather than the flabby, many-headed body, she saw only a miniature cathedral of crimson prose.
To her surprise, Leandra discovered she was fluent in his red language. The god’s linguistic structure was as apparent to her as the segments of an orange are to anyone who removes its peel.
The spell that was Baruvalman was broken, she saw that now. Too many of his essential passages had been corrupted. Leandra knew how, with only a few casual actions, she could break the god into subspells that she then might preserve for her own use.
Shocked, Leandra drew her hand back. The world again spun around her, and then she regained her prior perception of Baruvalman: an agonized, broken god screaming with mortal terror on the ground. Above him stood Dhrun and Holokai, both of their expressions taut.
Leandra’s heart was racing. She did not understand what had happened, but she did understand the broken god’s suffering and fear. Maybe he could be saved. But likely not. With sudden clarity she saw what she had to do.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said as soothingly as she could. “Baru, listen to me. The pain will stop soon.”
The wide, terrified eyes of Baru’s old warrior face found hers.
“It’s all right, Baru. I’m here.”
His expression relaxed. He stopped trying to scream.
“It’s going to be all right. We’re here.”
“Baruvalman,” he mouthed, “is a humble god, a good god.”
“Yes, you are. Now … here … give me your hand.”
He reached out for her.
Wearing her most reassuring smile, she reached into him and, as gently as she could, shattered him.
It didn’t take long, and once his bright sentences melted into nothing, she set off again down the street. They couldn’t be late.
* * *
Francesca checked her subtexts again and avoided Ellen’s eyes. They were standing before a third-story window overlooking the Lesser Sacred Pool. Presently the plaza was adopting the evening sky’s crimson and deep blues. Beyond the pool, the Palm Steps descended before a panoramic view of terraced Chandralu. If Francesca leaned out of the window, she could have seen—to her left and through the green thorns and crinkle-paper flowers of a bougainvillea vine—the dark heights of the Cloud Temple.
The room belonged to a wealthy rice merchant from the northern part of the main island. The owner had departed for his estates several days ago and left behind only a few servants; who, while dedicated to their employer, had not been above accepting a stack of Francesca’s silver rupees for the use of the room.
Francesca had written several subtexts onto the window that made it appear empty even when she was standing in it. A Numinous spellwright searching for a subtext might glean her deception, but to anyone else she would be perfectly hidden.
Francesca had considered hiding places close enough to the pool to cast an eavesdropping subtext on Leandra and the smuggler, but the two of them would take precautions to prevent spellcasting in their vicinity. If either detected a subtext, the encounter would shed more blood than information. So Francesca had played it safe.
“In summary,” Ellen said while proofreading the tricky paragraphs in the subtext, “your husband uses more entrapment games than we do to bring down neodemons. Likely it’s not terribly useful to us. Rory explained that the situation in Lorn has become complicated since Argent began to reform the inquisition; it’s forced many neodemons into more clandestine worship. Rory thinks that Nicodemus will be able to convince Argent to dissolve the inquisition again.”
“He’d better,” Francesca grumbled. “Their last inquisition touched off two skirmishes with Dral and killed the God-of-gods knows how many innocent Lornish.”
Ellen paused but then spoke with more animation than usual. “Funny thing about all this, when Rory and I were comparing notes about Lornish neodemons, the Lornish knight just sat there quietly, stared off in the distance and then smiled at the oddest moments.”
“How peculiar,” Francesca mumbled.
“I couldn’t figure out what he was about. Every other Lornish knight I’ve known has been rather stuffy.” She turned a golden Numinous sentence this way and that in her hand. “You don’t think he came to certain … conclusions about my intentions?”
“I can’t imagine why he would,” Francesca said as she finished checking the subtext on the window and then went to the screen door to examine the spells she had cast about it. They were mostly barriers to entry.
Ellen did not reply. In the ensuing silence, Francesca was, for the first time, embarrassed around her student.
“Magistra?” Ellen asked.
“Mmm?” When Francesca looked back she saw that her student was still twisting the Numinous sentence this way and that. Francesca went to her. “Is everything all right?”
Ellen sighed and then edited the sentence she was holding back into the subtext. “Do you think I’m very foolish for having such a sudden … interest in Rory.”
“No, not at all.”
“But there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“There might be,” Francesca said, a flush of guilt.
“I’ve made a fool of myself?”
“Not in the least.”
“Rory’s made a fool of himself?”
“No…”
“Your husband is uncomfortable with the idea?”
“Well, not uncomfortable exactly.”
“There’s another woman?”
“Well, not another woman exactly.”
“Then there’s another woman inexactly?”
“Not exactly a woman.”
“But…” Ellen blinked. “Oh.”
Francesca walked over to her.
Ellen let out a dry laugh. “That would be my luck, wouldn’t it?” She nodded. “The Lornish knight?”
“I’m not supposed to know.”
“Wrangled it out of Lord Nicodemus?”
“He’s no good at secrets.”
“Well…” Ellen sighed. “The knight was more courteous than I would have been. If someone had fawned over my man, I would have scratched her eyes out.”
“Didn’t you once? Back in Thorntree?”
“In my defense, she was a neodemon of revenge. And it was more her skull I was opening. The eyes just happened to be in the way.”
“Understandable. Ellen, would you like a hug?”
“You’ve never hugged me before, Magistra.”
“Your stoicism in the face of disappointment is stoking my maternal instincts.”
“Don’t those usually involve someone being gruesomely and draconically devoured?”
“Age softens all of us; hugging becomes an acceptable substitute.” She opened her arms.
Ellen pretended to shudder. “If you really must. But I have to warn you, it’ll be like hugging a post.”
Francesca stepped in and wrapped her arms around her student, gently patted her on the back. Ellen, as promised, became postlike.
“See, it’s not that bad.”
“I’d rather be gruesomely devoured.”
“Oh, honey, that can still be arranged.”
Ellen snorted with amusement.
> Smiling, Francesca released her and in the corner of her eye saw a lone figure dressed in brown robes reach the top of the Palm Steps. She recognized Holokai’s bald head. “It looks like Lea’s crew is showing up. You had better get back to the compound.”
Ellen turned to look out at the shark god. “You’re sure I shouldn’t stay?”
“You’re not going to escape helping the twins with Lolo that easily.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I don’t.”
Francesca disarmed the barrier spells on the door and slid it back so that Ellen could walk out into the narrow hallway. “And, Ellen, don’t worry about Rory.”
Ellen nodded and continued down the hall. But just before she reached the stairway she said, “Magistra,” and looked back. “Thank you.”
Francesca smiled despite another twinge of guilt that she should be so much closer to her student than her daughter. She turned back to the window.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Leandra surveyed the Lesser Sacred Pool as the day darkened into dusk. Chanted evening prayers echoed out from the temple behind her. A reflection of sunset-bright clouds quavered on the water.
The Lesser Sacred Pool was more of a wide, slow-moving stream than a proper pool. Several underground channels that carried water from the crater lake to the city filled the pool. An elegant pavilion floated on the glassy surface. Several hydromancers were performing evening ablutions. During the night they kept vigil and continued to strain water for the hydromantic texts that had come from the crater lake.
Every civic stream in Chandralu began in a similar pool where hydromancers could extract both impurities and spells. The recovered aqueous texts were then concentrated and stored in vials or carried back to the lake.
Leandra had always thought it inefficient that the hydromancers should spend so much time casting their spells in the crater lake and then collecting them again in the streams. Several hydromancers had told her that during the cycling from lake to city and back again, many of the hydromantic spells reacted with each other to form more powerful texts. To Leandra that sounded like throwing grapes into the ocean to make them into wine. But however they did it, there was no arguing with the hydromancers’ results; every day, they churned out gallons of bizarre and wonderful textual fluids ranging from explosives to medicines to the world’s most powerful disspells.
And the hydromantic disspells were the reason for meeting the smuggler at the Lesser Sacred Pool; if things got hot, with either steel or text, the hydromancers would dampen the situation.
Sparse foot traffic flowed around the pool. Most headed down the Palm Steps to see the shadow plays performed in the Bay Market.
Leandra glanced back and saw the Cloud temple-mountain looming high. The faithful were gathered before the temple, some chanting, others praying silently. All wore the flowing gray or brown robes of penitents. It was traditional to pray for forgiveness at the Cloud Temple at dusk, but this crowd seemed unusually large. Leandra supposed the day’s ominous news had inflamed religious sentiments. Just then she spotted Holokai, disguised in the crowd by gray robes, walking toward her.
Leandra waited while he stood beside her, as if casually observing the pool. “Searched the whole place twice,” he murmured. “No sign of the smuggler. Maybe he won’t show, hey?”
“That would be unfortunate. What about the payment? The catamaran?”
She had sent Dhrun to the family compound to fetch their remaining jade. Additionally, she had dispatched Holokai to ready the catamaran.
“I gave Lieutenant Peleki his orders. As to the payment, I saw Dhrun. She said she’s got it secure and nearby. She’ll be patrolling the top of the Palm Steps.”
“So then,” Leandra said, “nothing left but waiting.”
“Lea, can I ask you a question?”
She looked at the shark god, hearing in his voice a note of anxiety. Or, was it guilt? “Yes?”
“You don’t think … you don’t think that divine sickness that killed Baru is catching?”
Not guilt, then; fear. “I don’t know. Have you felt different?”
“No … it’s just … never saw a god come apart like wet paper.”
“Poor, simple Baru.”
“What do you think it means, the divine sickness? Do you think it really could be from an ancient demon?”
“It could be. But we don’t know for a fact that a sickness caused Baru’s condition. I could get a firmer grasp on a thrashing dolphinfish than he ever got on reality.”
“And then you just … took him apart?”
“I’m not sure if that happened because of something inside Baru or because of Thad’s loveless spell. Maybe it’s both.”
Holokai eyed her. “Hey, Lea, you okay with what happened to Thad?”
She looked at him and tried to show him how much she had wished things could be different. “I am, Kai. Are you?”
He studied her for a moment longer and then nodded. “If you are, then, yeah.” He nodded again.
“Good. Now, you had better get back into the crowd.”
Holokai looked at the pool and the bay beyond. Then he walked back into the crowd around the Cloud Temple.
Leandra examined the Palm Steps and admired the view of the city dropping steeply away. She could see the Sea Temple in shadow, the hazy blue of the bay beyond. Through the prophetic godspell, she had sensed that most of her future selves felt varying degrees of stress, determination, satisfaction. It was a good sign. There was little in her immediate future that might cause fear or pain.
Just then a man walked up the steep Palm Steps. He had a dark handsome face, a white headwrap and blouse, red lungi. He was carrying two small leather folios, and when he saw Leandra, his smile showed perfect white teeth. The smuggler.
As she had on the beach, Leandra had the sense she had seen him before though she knew that was impossible. She nodded to the smuggler as he walked around the pool to stand next to her.
Flatly he asked, “No blackrice liqueur this time?”
“Nor tetrodotoxin.”
“But hopefully as much mutual benefit? Are you satisfied with your godspell?”
“It’s come in handy now and then.”
“Then I expect we should do more business.”
“You came alone?”
“Alone but I can summon enough help to make you regret any treachery.”
Leandra looked around the empty pool and saw only the hydromancers on the pavilion, a few pedestrians on the Palm Steps. She didn’t doubt the smuggler but wondered where his support was hiding. “You have something new to sell?”
He glanced at the folios in his hands. “I might. Perhaps you have something you could sell to me in return?”
“I might.”
“Information about the Cult of the Undivided Society?”
She nodded.
“Information I would find valuable?” he asked.
“Perhaps we can trade in kind. Perhaps you know something of why thugs are attacking weak deities in Chandralu and claiming to be members of the Undivided Society?”
“They’re not?”
“So you know nothing more about the Undivided Society?”
“Nothing more than the empress is offering gold for information about them.”
“Pity. So then, what might you have to offer me?”
“A godspell that will allow you to sense all deities within ten miles and, with a little effort, manipulate their attention. You can make yourself invisible to the Ixonian Pantheon, or you could focus a neodemon’s attention on your enemy.”
“A godspell of misdirection?”
“Precisely.”
“That would have been useful a few years ago, but I am afraid the situation has changed.”
He snorted. “You aren’t good at hiding your interest.” He gestured around him. “These islands crawl with divinity. Manipulating what they can see would be raw power.”
She bobbed her head from sid
e to side as if weighing the evidence for and against. Bartering, whether for lychee fruit or godspells, was always the same.
The smuggler nodded. “Perhaps you’ll tell me what you want these godspells for? I could fetch texts suited to your purpose.”
“As I mentioned, if you ever discover my identity, I would be forced to destroy you. And, as you can no doubt understand, you are more valuable to me breathing.”
“Then I propose that I sell you this godspell”—he held one of the folios—“and we become partners on your information about the Cult of the Undivided Society. I will give you four tenths of the reward for selling the information to the empire.”
“Why, what generous terms you’re offering.”
“I would be taking the bulk of the risk.”
“Spoken like a true merchant. But I repeat myself: You’re not fully aware of the environment we are trading in.”
“Oh?”
“Once I tell you about the cult, you won’t want to sell the information to the empress. You will want to take what profits you can and run from Chandralu while your neck still connects your head to your shoulders.”
“And why should you become so worried about my neck?”
“A war with the empire is coming, as you have surmised. Should you survive, I could make you rich by buying information from you.”
“Make me a spy?”
She nodded.
“For whom?” he asked.
“Like you give a damn.”
He studied her face then laughed. “I guess I don’t. But knowing my employer would help my political position.”
“My concern for your political position rivals my concern for your toe jam in terms of its smallness. What I am concerned about is making us both wealthy.”
While he thought about this, Leandra felt through her godspell. More clearly than before, she sensed that while most of her future selves were dealing with some shade of anxiety, nearly all of them felt the elevating satisfaction of her new loveless state. But, oddly, it seemed as if there were fewer possible futures she could perceive. Was this another side effect of the loveless? Or was she in a situation that was likely to produce only satisfying futures?
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