Iralin nodded approvingly, presumably happy that she did not have to explain more. “He’s set himself up as High Priest in the temple and constructed a device that removes the ability to work magic from everyone who gets inside its field of influence.”
“Is that’s why Klara went into a coma? Jem got close to the device.”
“She needn’t be that close.”
“How far does the effect reach?”
“We don’t know. Its creator claims it will eventually spread out and cover the entire world.”
Iralin’s answer left Tevi temporarily lost for words. “Why would he want to do that?”
“Who knows? I’m afraid the witches who’ve reported back to us aren’t of the highest calibre.”
From the remarks Jemeryl had made about her companions, Tevi recognised the description. “He kept Jem prisoner and sent her assistants back?”
Iralin’s expression was sombre. “The story we have is that she agreed to stay of her own free will. She’s gone over to his side.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Nor do I. The witches only arrived back in Lyremouth a few hours ago. They’re tired and even less informative than normal. Tomorrow might bring a clearer picture, but in the meantime, I thought it best to get you on your way to Jemeryl”—Iralin paused—“and out of Alendy’s reach.”
“You think he might want to harm me, in revenge for what Jem has supposedly done?”
“Not revenge. Although I admit I was surprised at how quickly he accepted the witch’s story.”
“He doesn’t trust her. A sorcerer who’ll pick someone like me as a lover is capable of anything.” Tevi spoke with raw irony.
“Perhaps he does think that way. Whatever his reasons, I fear he might want to use you as a hostage. He’ll certainly try to stop you joining Jemeryl. Speaking for myself, I’m sure Jemeryl has stayed in Kradja as part of a plan. And I’m equally sure she’ll appreciate your help with it.”
The carriage drew onto the docks and stopped by the gangplank to a merchant ship, riding high in the water. In the light of the setting sun, the crew were visible on deck, making ready to cast off.
Iralin handed a purse to Tevi. “Here’s money and a warrant to help you on your way. It’s made out for a Wess Tanaislanda. Keep your real name secret until you’re outside the Protectorate. I think that would be a good idea.”
Tevi took the purse and stepped down from the carriage. “Thank you.”
“Safe journey and good luck. Tell Jemeryl I’m counting on her.”
*
Tevi reined in her horse at the top of a crest and considered the town of Kradja, several miles distant. The huge dome of the temple dominated the smaller buildings around it. Midday sun shimmered on the sand-filled air, casting a golden haze over the scene. The dome seemed to be floating on a sea of light.
The guide stopped beside her. Siashe belonged to the desert nomads although he had abandoned his people’s traditional way of life for the more lucrative trade of escorting pilgrims and traders across the desert. He had confided in Tevi that herding people and goats both presented problems, but the people were harder to feed, watch, control, and keep together. They were also less appreciative. The plus side for people was that once they got to their destination, you could say good-bye and never set eyes on them again. The goats, you were stuck with for life—with the plus side being that if you got sick of the sight of one, you could eat it.
Tevi surveyed the whole panoramic scene. The ground was covered with dust, sand, and rock. The scant vegetation was coarse knotted shrubs and stubby cactus, more brown than yellow. The only greenery was the tops of palm trees in Kradja. A line of broken cliffs filled the horizon. Far in the distance to the east, Tevi could see a hazy smear on the sand. She pointed to it. “Another oasis?”
“Liaraja Yalaish deh,” Siashe said in the sibilant desert language.
Tevi gave her best attempt at repeating the sounds.
Siashe laughed and patted her shoulder. “Close, my friend.”
“What does it mean?”
“The tears of Yalaish.”
“Who’s Yalaish?”
“The great mother of all.” Siashe glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the caravan had caught up. He urged his horse on. “For my people, she’s the first god who gave birth to the world. When she saw what she had brought forth, she wept. The oases are where her tears fell to earth. As long as the world exists, they will never run dry.”
“You built the temple for her?”
“My people do not build temples. But since the temple is there, some of her worshippers make use of it. You will find a shrine to Yalaish inside. She’s the very fat woman.”
“Who did build the temple?”
“The followers of Harretha.”
“Harretha?”
“God of prophecy. Centuries ago, a band of travellers camped at the oasis. Among them was a priest of Harretha. He came from…” Siashe waved his hand vaguely. “Somewhere else. That night, in his sleep, the priest was bitten by a snake. While he lay at the point of death he had many visions of the future.” Siashe shrugged. “He recovered and built his temple, dedicated to Harretha’s incarnation as a snake.”
“They just took over your oasis.”
“It wasn’t the most important one.” Siashe pointed. “There. To the north. Do you see that peak? At the foot of it is where the first of Yalaish’s tears fell. That’s the most sacred oasis. No temples are there.” He grinned. “And never will be.”
“Never is a long time. There’s a new god in Kradja. Stirring things up. Getting people excited. There’s no saying what might happen.”
“A new god blows into Kradja every time the wind changes. They come. They go. It makes no difference. Yalaish was the first. When the temple has crumbled into dust she will still be here. The last. This new god will be forgotten when the next one arrives.”
Tevi jerked her thumb back at the pilgrims on the wagons behind. “Do you want to tell them that?”
“No. Because they wouldn’t believe me. Besides, I don’t want to talk people out of travelling to Kradja. Otherwise, I’d have to go back to herding goats.”
“And getting fat on the ones that looked at you sideways.”
Siashe laughed. “Ah yes. Those ones are always the troublemakers.”
“Nothing wrong with troublemakers. They’re good for business.” Tevi held out her hands with their tattoos. Siashe had seen them before, but it emphasised her point. “I’m betting there’s going to be a shake-up in Kradja. And where there’s change, there’s trouble. I’m betting, before long, there’s going to be plenty of work for a hired sword. Besides, I don’t have a trade like goat herding to fall back on.”
“I don’t think you need to worry, my friend. No matter how things go in Kradja, you’ll never be short of work. People will still be following your calling when they’ve forgotten what goats are.”
Tevi smiled. She and the guide had got on well, the only two in the caravan who were not on fire with talk of the new god, but she had not revealed her true reason for going to Kradja. The rest were only too eager. On the journey across the desert, Tevi had heard enough to make her seriously question everyone’s sanity. All were convinced that by removing magic, the new god would bring about a paradise of peace and prosperity. However, this was the only thing they were agreed on and none had any concrete ideas about what real difference it would make to their lives, let alone be able to explain why it would be such a huge improvement on what they already had.
By the time the caravan reached the outskirts of the town, the pilgrims were hysterical with excitement. Most jumped down and vanished into the crowd, long before Siashe called a halt in the central market square. The few who waited were the old and infirm with enough common sense to know their days of jumping from moving vehicles were over—a couple lacking this common sense had been left in the street behind, lying in the dust.
Tevi looked around. She had
been in Kradja many years before. The buildings were the same as she remembered, but the mood of the market was not. Fewer goods were on sale, and the biggest crowds were gathered around street preachers haranguing the assembled masses from any available vantage point. Waves of people ebbed and flowed across the space. The air was crackling with tension. The eyes of passers by were jittery, half crazed.
“So here we are, my friend.” Siashe had manœuvred his horse next to Tevi’s.
“Yes. You did well. We made good time.”
“Do you know where you’ll be staying in town?”
Tevi frowned. She wanted to go straight to the temple and search for Jemeryl, but getting herself established in suitable lodgings would be sensible. After her long journey from Horzt, a few more hours would not matter.
“No. Can you recommend somewhere?”
“That’s why I asked. I’ll be staying at the Four Winds House. It’s cheap, safe, and the owner is an old friend of mine. I’ll show you the way, if you want.”
“Thanks.”
When they reached it, Tevi discovered the Four Winds House was in a poorer district of town, but the area was quiet, peaceful after the fervour of the market. Like all the buildings around it, the inn was constructed from mud bricks. It was arranged in the form of three dirt courtyards, surrounded by single-storey rooms.
Tevi and Siashe stabled their horses at the rear and went in search of the owner.
“Raf,” Siashe called out, spotting a portly, middle-aged woman backing out of a doorway.
The woman turned round. “Ah, Siashe, my friend. It’s good to see you back. And you’ve got company.”
Siashe made the introductions. “Tevi’s a mercenary who’s just come in with me, from Serac. Raf’s a total scoundrel, but you can trust her, because the only thing she cares for is money. Pay her and all is well.”
“And Siashe is a lying turd who can’t be believed.” Raf laughed as she spoke, clearly not in the least offended. Like Siashe, copper-coloured skin and fair hair revealed her nomad origins, although the softened vowels of her accent were less pronounced.
Siashe was not deflected. “No, I mean it. Money can be counted and added up. It always makes sense. Someone who’s motivated by money can be understood. Predictable. But Kradja attracts madmen, like a dung heap attracts flies. They think their god is sitting on their shoulder and wants them to do whatever wild idea gets into their head. They do not make sense and you never know where you are with them from one second to the next.”
“Will you listen to him.” Raf was still laughing, but then she became more serious. “But maybe there is something in what you say.”
“The new god?” Tevi asked.
Raf nodded. “I don’t like it. This High Priest is—”
Siashe interrupted. “This new god will be just like all the others. Remember the fuss when the Cyclians first arrived?” He turned to Tevi. “The Cyclians believe the world repeats the same cycle endlessly. They have three gods. Koneath the builder, Toqwani the destroyer, and Rashem the reclaimer. Continually, Koneath builds, only to have her work destroyed by Toqwani, and then Rashem gathers up the debris, extracts the raw materials, and gives them to Koneath to use over again. It’s a spectacularly pointless religion.”
“What does Koneath build?”
“God-type things—stars, mountains, people,” Siashe replied. “The Cyclians arrived here a couple of decades ago. At first, some people let it go to their heads, and decided that if they worshipped Toqwani, it gave them the right to smash anything they wanted. I was a child then, so it all seemed like fun. Then a few people were murdered and everyone got upset. But the Cyclians calmed down, and the next god arrived, and it all went back to how it had been before.” He turned back to Raf. “This new god will be exactly the same.”
“I’m not so sure. This isn’t just a few hotheads getting excited. There’s new force in the land. All the witches have lost their power—the healers and the soothsayers.”
“I’ve heard the High Priest claims he’s going to destroy the Coven.” Tevi was interested to see what response she got to this.
“Yes. That’s what worries me,” Raf said.
“You don’t want to see an end to sorcerers?”
“The sorcerers, I’m not bothered about. I won’t waste tears, either way. It’s not going to happen, though, is it? The Coven is too powerful. But this High Priest might do enough to provoke a war. If a swarm of Coven sorcerers attack us, there’ll be nothing left of Kradja but dust.”
“You seriously think the people would follow him into a war with the Coven? Everyone’s gone mad?” Siashe’s scepticism was clear.
Raf poked a finger into his shoulder. “Don’t scoff. There’s something at work in the temple. Go see for yourself. The idol is taking over people’s minds. It has the town buzzing like a hornets’ nest, and that’s not something to laugh at.”
“Very well. We’ll get ourselves settled and then go to the temple.” Siashe looked at Tevi. “What do you say? Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure.”
*
A flood of people was pouring into the main hall of the temple. Tevi overheard excited mutterings.
“Hurry. He’ll be here soon.”
“The High Priest. Is it true?”
“Yes. Soon. Hurry.”
She wormed her way closer to Siashe. “It looks like we picked the wrong time. With all these people, we aren’t going to get anywhere near the idol.”
“True, but we might as well listen to what this High Priest has to say for himself.”
“Fine by me.”
The temple walls were made of thick, ancient stone that swallowed some sounds and amplified others. A circle of high windows allowed in a soft light. The dim, cavernous space of the main hall would have been cool after the desert sun, were it not for the heat generated by hundreds of bodies. In the centre, a golden idol was seated on a raised plinth. A circle of red-cloaked soldiers held the masses back from the immediate vicinity, but there was still competition among the worshippers to get as close as possible. They stood tightly packed together, staring up at the idol.
Tevi and Siashe found a spot with a little more breathing room at one side. The atmosphere was excited, volatile—dangerously so. Although the crowd was currently jubilant, Tevi sensed its mood could shift in an instant.
The sudden burst of angry voices came as no surprise. “I know you! You’re one of those damned Nolians. What are you doing here?”
Tevi looked around. A few yards away, two people had a third backed up against a pillar. The man singled out was trying to edge away while babbling. “No, I’m not. I’ve renounced Nolius. I saw I was wrong.”
His accusers were not placated. “Filthy scum.”
More heads turned, attracted by the aggressive tone. Already a ring was forming, hemming the man in. Even if he evaded the first two, he would not get far. A woman shoved him back roughly against the pillar.
“No. Please. I’m not a Nolian anymore. Not now.” His expression slipped into panic.
The man’s pleas were ignored. The crowd had turned feral, feeding off the overcharged atmosphere in the hall. Another onlooker swung at him, a full-force punch that connected with his head, and then the ring of people closed in, blocking their victim from Tevi’s view. His voice sounded again, this time as a scream. The level of violence was escalating and he would be lucky to escape with his life.
Tevi took a step forward. What should she do? Going to his aid would risk her mission to find Jemeryl, and she would be hopelessly outnumbered. Yet Tevi could not stand back and do nothing. Fortunately, she was spared the need to intervene. Before Tevi could act, three red-cloaked soldiers appeared, barging their way through the crowd.
“What’s going on?”
“Nolian bastard,” were the only words Tevi picked from the various responses.
The soldiers manhandled the last couple of attackers away and reached the victim. He looked dishevelled
and terrified, but not yet badly hurt.
“I’m not a Nolian. I’m not.”
“Yeah, well. It don’t matter what you are. The High Priest has said he doesn’t want any Nolians hurt.” Judging by the soldier’s tone, she was not in complete agreement with the High Priest on this matter, but regardless of her personal opinion, she was still going to see the ruling enforced.
Under the harsh gaze of the soldiers, the mob shuffled back and the ex-Nolian made his escape.
“What’s going on?” Siashe whispered in Tevi’s ear. “The Nolians are harmless. Nice people mostly. Why pick on them?”
“I guess their beliefs don’t fit with the new religion.”
“I can’t see what makes them worse than anyone else. Nolius is a god of reincarnation. His followers believe he bestows magical ability as a reward for good deeds in past lives. Sorcerers are people who were very virtuous in their previous existence.”
Tevi laughed. “Do you think they’ve met many real sorcerers?”
“Have you?” Siashe’s tone was rhetorical. He clearly assumed the answer would be no. Many people never encountered even one sorcerer, face-to-face, in their entire lives.
“Well, you know…” Tevi hedged. She had been close to making a slip.
Fortunately, Siashe moved on. “If they want to pick on a religion, why not one of the sex cults?”
“Kradja has sex cults?”
“Of course. Everything ends up here. They’re a real pest, accosting you in the street. Trying to get you to go to their orgies.”
“I’d have thought that would make them popular.”
Siashe grinned. “Think about it. What does it say if you have to join a cult in order to get anyone to knock boots with you?”
Tevi opened her mouth, but at that moment a wave of sighs swept across the temple floor. A man dressed in white robes now stood partway down the stairs at the rear of the hall. Tevi did not need the muttered comment to know this was the High Priest.
She studied Ciamon—Jemeryl’s adolescent lover—surprised by the rise of uncomfortable emotions. She had not expected such a strong and immediate antipathy. Yet Jemeryl had spoken of him warmly. Tevi frowned. Was she jealous? Should she not trust Jemeryl’s judgement and give him the chance to prove himself? Of course, it was possible he was holding Jemeryl in Kradja against her will, in which case she could feel free to dislike him as much as she wanted.
The High Priest and the Idol Page 7