The High Priest and the Idol

by Jane Fletcher

  Fumbling a little in haste, the woman arranged the poles in a star, using the crystal claw mountings as clasps where the poles crossed. To finish, she slipped the silver rods through holes in the middle of each pole and into the talisman, like spokes on a wheel fixing the stone in place. She stood up, holding the device out before her. The assembly process had taken just over three minutes and the resulting pentagram was two feet across.

  Weilan had watched his assistant critically. Tevi imagined that he was not an easy person to work for. Now he carried on with his explanation. “As I said, there are four of these pentagrams. The team needs to surround the idol with them. I’ve allowed for mishap. As long as three pentagrams are in place, they’ll be sufficient to propagate the Illaniam field. The Basid array will then extinguish any sixth-dimensional confluences.”

  “How close will we need to be to the idol?” Jemeryl asked.

  “Within thirty yards would be fine.”

  Jemeryl frowned. “They’ll never let us carry them that near the idol.”

  “Lucky if they let us through the temple door.” Tevi voiced her own objection.

  “As my assistant demonstrated, you can assemble the pentagrams when you’re inside the temple. The sacks are small enough to conceal under your clothes.”

  “Shall we sing a few songs and wave flags while we’re doing it?”

  Weilan glared at Tevi. “I leave any additional artistic displays to your discretion.”

  Jemeryl patted Tevi’s leg. “We’ll sort something out when we’re there. Maybe we can break in at night, or your priests might provide a distraction for the sentinels.”

  Tevi did not think it would be quite so easy, but she had faith in Jemeryl.

  Alendy now took the lectern. “The last thing is to announce the remaining members of the party. Would Ashkinet and Larric stand up.”

  Like everyone else in the chamber, Tevi looked at the two named sorcerers, although she remembered them both. She and Jemeryl had conducted a series of meetings with the many volunteers. The pair chosen had been a joint decision, ratified by Alendy.

  Ashkinet was in her mid thirties. She was originally from one of the nomad tribes, although she had moved to Lyremouth at a young age and joined the Coven. Presumably she had not left due to any serious disagreement or rejection, and still felt a connection to the region of her birth. In the meeting, she had made it clear she was keen to help for the sake of her family. She was quiet and serious, with none of the rough humour Tevi had come to associate with the nomads.

  Larric was far more outgoing. He was also younger, barely into his twenties. It was obvious that he admired Jemeryl greatly and was familiar with the work she had done with Bykoda. He even made a conspicuous show of being friendly to Tevi, either due to innate amiability or a respect for someone who had ridden a dragon. It was also obvious that he was ambitious and hoped the mission to Kradja would boost his career in the Coven.

  Once everyone had finished studying the party members, Alendy signalled for them to sit. “For the final arrangements, I’ve commandeered a fast ship and crew that will be ready to leave on the dawn tide tomorrow. Our hopes go with you.”

  Chapter Ten—God of Destruction

  After twenty days, Jemeryl was still unsettled by the sight of Tevi with blond hair, a thin face, and blue eyes that were level with her own, even though it was her own magic that had wrought the change. The risk of them being recognised in Kradja had made the disguise necessary. Jemeryl suspected that her partner was finding it no easier to adjust to the new appearance she had given herself.

  Jemeryl had cast a transforming spell while they were on the ship to Serac, to give them a chance to get accustomed to their new forms before they re-entered the region affected by the morphology. To minimise the adjustment, she had left their gender and approximate ages unchanged, but the new bodies still required getting used to.

  Tevi was currently sitting opposite her in the wagon. Jemeryl studied the set of Tevi’s shoulders, the way her hands moved as she talked, a twitch of her eyebrows. The familiar mannerisms on the unfamiliar body were disconcerting. The disguise could not be undone until the idol was destroyed and the ability to work magic returned, but if everything went to plan, that would not be long. Kradja was less than a mile away. The caravan had nearly finished its journey across the desert.

  She and Tevi were in the second to last wagon, with Larric and Ashkinet beside them. The rest of the seats were packed with zealous pilgrims and aspirant warriors, eager to join the new holy army. The floor well between the rows of seats was piled with baggage. As transport went, it had been one of the worst journeys Jemeryl had ever endured. Dust and heat had made the cramped conditions all the more unbearable.

  However, what had really tested her was the incessant, inane babbling of her fellow travellers. The nearer they got to Kradja, the worse it had become. If Jemeryl still had the ability to access the higher dimensions, she would have been desperately tempted to cast a spell of silence on them, regardless of what Coven rules said about the treatment of the ungifted.

  Suddenly, as if her wish had been answered, a hush fell on the wagon. Jemeryl broke from her contemplation of Tevi’s appearance. The cause was easy to spot. The final few hundred yards of the road into Kradja were lined with a row of gibbets, each one exhibiting a rotting corpse. The bodies were sun blackened and pecked by birds, their desiccated lips pulled back into an obscene parody of a smile. Jemeryl felt her stomach make a dry heave. She clamped her hand to her mouth, fighting back the nausea. One of the other passengers was not so successful, although luckily he was able to get his head over the side of the wagon first.

  “Unbelievers,” a stony-faced pilgrim muttered.

  The word was taken up by others, as if no other justification of the executions was needed.

  Sentinels were stationed around the bases of the gibbets. Jemeryl did not need Tevi’s professional opinion to know that the military quality of Sefriall’s soldiers had fallen yet lower. They lounged around, jeering at onlookers, acting and sounding like a rabble. Nothing but the red cloaks marked them as a unified force, and even these were of varying style and hue. Sefriall must be recruiting anyone who volunteered to join her army and be running low on supplies to equip them. Any enterprising merchant with a stock of cloth and red dye would be doing a lively trade.

  The wagons rolled on into Kradja, exchanging the last of the gibbets for crumbling terraces of mud brick houses. The streets were busy. The drone of chanting came from small groups clustered on corners. Not all chanters were concentrating on their prayers. Many directed anxious sideways glances around, while others, their eyes hard and hostile, tracked the new arrivals. More inhabitants scurried along, heads down, as if not wanting to attract attention.

  Jemeryl had little previous experience of the town to make a comparison with, but surely the air of fear and watchfulness was new. Tevi had spoken of a pot about to boil over. This was a plague house. The inhabitants were gripped by the same desperate hope and gnawing fear, while all the time waiting to see who would be the next to succumb. Underlying it all was the pall of sickness.

  Nearer to the centre of town, the state of the buildings improved, but the mood of the population was unchanged. The passengers disgorged into the central market square as soon as the caravan stopped.

  Tevi tapped Jemeryl’s arm. “Come. Let’s see the idol.”

  “Oh yes. I can’t wait,” Larric added.

  Their voices aped the fervour of their fellow travellers. Jemeryl forced herself to smile and nod enthusiastically. They had to act like pilgrims, although she would have liked nothing better than to find a quiet room where she could shut out the insanity and the sickness.

  Signs of Sefriall’s takeover were obvious, even before they entered the temple. The number of sentinels on duty had trebled, and the walls were daubed with a design made up of three linked circles enclosed inside a larger one. Many of the pilgrims swarming over the temple grounds wore similar m
edallions. Jemeryl guessed it was a symbol of the Cyclian gods.

  Banners carrying the same circular sign decorated the main hall. The once vacant alcoves around the perimeter now held statues. The repeated images were of a pregnant woman in green carrying a hammer, a man with a red cloak and a scythe, and someone of indeterminate gender dressed in blue, holding a burning torch. Doubtless these were representations of the three Cyclian gods.

  The alcoves also held paintings and tapestries, silver incense burners, offering bowls, and other works of art. These ornaments were all of a far higher workmanship than the statues themselves which, once Jemeryl got close enough to examine, looked to have been roughly hacked into shape and slapped with paint.

  Tevi, at her shoulder, asked softly, “Why didn’t they bring back the original idols? There were enough of them when I was first here. These look like someone knocked them out in a rush.”

  “Ciamon must have destroyed all the other idols when he took over. Besides, nobody is looking at them. They can’t compete with the glamour.”

  This was certainly the case. Ciamon’s idol still claimed the centre of the floor, surrounded by the enraptured hordes. However, Sefriall had put the mark of her gods on this as well. Now a scythe lay across the idol’s outstretched arms, and a red toga had been draped over its torso. Hung around its neck was a medallion in the form of the Cyclian symbol.

  “Sefriall has turned Ciamon’s god into Toqwani,” Tevi whispered.

  “Looks like it.”

  “I wonder what the pilgrims will make of it. This wasn’t what they thought they were coming to.”

  “Do you think any of them had a clear enough idea to know what to expect? They just want something to get fanatical over. The glamour is all Sefriall needs.”

  Larric’s eyes had also been fixed on the idol. He now sidled closer and spoke in an undertone. “So this is what magic feels like to the ungifted.” He grimaced. “It’s odd. I know it’s just a projection, but I can’t duck around it. And I sort of like the feeling, though I don’t want to.”

  “I know what you mean.” Even standing some way back, Jemeryl could feel the waves of love and joy washing over her. Surrendering to the happiness was so tempting.

  Instead, Jemeryl retreated further and looked around. The main hall was full of people, both worshippers and sentinels, surging back and forth in constant flux. Despite the crowds, getting within thirty yards of the idol ought to be easy enough, although assembling the pentagrams without attracting attention would be impossible.

  “What are you thinking?” Tevi asked.

  “That breaking in at night is going to be our best bet.”

  “Maybe.”

  “My other thought is that I’d really like to get out of the crowds and find a nice quiet room somewhere.” Jemeryl linked her arm through Tevi’s. “Is there anywhere in town you’d recommend for lodgings?”

  “Four Winds House would be fine.” Tevi’s lips formed the familiar smile, which looked so strange on her new face. “It’s not as if Raf’s going to recognise me.”

  *

  “I’ve sorted out a room for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This way.”

  Raf’s eager expression gave Tevi a bad feeling as she and the others followed the innkeeper across the courtyard. The number of people flooding into Kradja had clearly put a strain on lodging houses, and Raf was making the most of it. Whereas before, the inn had been mostly empty during the day, now dozens of guests were loitering in the shade.

  The room turned out to be what Tevi remembered as being a storage cupboard, with barely enough space for the two narrow mattresses on the ground. Tevi eyed them critically. It was good that Larric and Ashkinet got on well together, since they were about to get a lot closer, and while snuggling up to Jemeryl was nice, if they both breathed out at the same time, the one on the edge would end up on the floor.

  “It’s a bit cramped but you won’t be sharing with anyone else and you’ll be together.”

  Tevi nodded. Apparently, her former room was currently occupied by eight people. The accommodation Raf had first offered involved splitting the group up and squeezing them in wherever she could find space. Fortunately, Alendy had not stinted on resources, and the prospect of money had prompted Raf to be more creative.

  “How much is this?” Tevi asked.

  “Six pennies a day.”

  Tevi grimaced. That was four times the charge of her previous stay, and Raf had not finished.

  “Each. Payment ten days in advance.”

  It was blatant extortion. Regardless, Tevi agreed. “Done.”

  They needed privacy to make their plans and could easily afford it. In fact, they could afford a whole suite in the best hotel in Kradja, but dared not risk the attention this would attract. As long as Raf got her money, she would not ask questions. Tevi fished the coins from her purse and Raf toddled away, happy.

  Jemeryl dumped her bag in a corner, and considered each of the walls in turn. “All right. Forget what I said about relaxing in a quiet room. Is there somewhere else we can go?”

  “There’s a tavern across the way.”

  “What’s the beer like?” Larric asked.

  “Passable, when I went with Siashe. The food wasn’t bad either.”

  “So we’re set for dinner.”

  Jemeryl smiled. “If we’re lucky, we might pick up some gossip as well.”

  The second Tevi entered the tavern, she knew that luck was not going to be with them. The hard, suspicious scowls said it all. Strangers were no longer welcome. The staff even seemed unwilling to take their order and when the food and drink eventually arrived, Tevi found that the quality had deteriorated atrociously. Was it a sign of the changes in Kradja, or intended to discourage them from returning?

  If that was the aim, it was not going to work on any mercenary as hungry as Tevi after her journey, although she was the first by a large margin in finishing her meal. “Another drink?”

  Larric was the only one to nod.

  Tevi made her way back across the tavern. Her effect on the clientele was unmistakable. As she passed, people became less animated and the flow of words became more guarded, if it did not stop altogether.

  While waiting to be served, Tevi leaned her elbow on the bar and scanned the room, trying to act relaxed and disinterested. No one would meet her eyes, although several of the faces she remembered. If she had kept her true form, Tevi wondered, would people have recognised her as Siashe’s friend, and been more forthcoming? Or would someone have turned her over to the sentinels in exchange for a reward? Even if it were possible to reveal her identity, the risk was not worth taking.

  “I’ve heard Darjain is…”

  The familiar name caught Tevi’s ear, coming from a group huddled at the end of the bar. She tried not to show any reaction as she edged closer, but the speaker spotted her and clammed up.

  Tevi desperately wanted to discover what had happened to the ex-priests. Now that Ciamon was gone, had they returned to the temple? This did not seem too likely, given that Parrash had been a turncoat, working for Sefriall. He would not have been her spy if she did not view the ousted priests as enemies.

  Was it worth confronting the speaker at the bar and asking what he knew? Tevi’s head sagged. The answer had to be no. If Darjain and the others were back in the temple then locating them would be pointless, since they were no longer a potential source of allies. And if they were opposed to Sefriall, then they would be in hiding. In which case, the man would not blurt out their whereabouts to a total stranger, even if he knew it.

  “Are you sure you want another drink?” Jemeryl joined her at the bar, with Ashkinet.

  “It’s all a bit irrelevant since the staff are ignoring me.”

  “That’s what I thought. We might as well go.”

  Tevi nodded. “I’ll tell Larric.”

  It took a second to spot him at the other side of the room. Tevi liked Larric. Anyone would, with his charm
and easy humour. Already the group of locals he had joined were smiling, their postures more relaxed and expansive. Someone said something and Larric threw back his head, laughing. Tevi had no way of assessing Larric’s magical abilities, but with his ambition and his ability to win folk around, she predicted he had a great future ahead in the Coven.

  “Actually, I think we might leave him here,” Tevi said, changing her mind.

  “You sure?” Jemeryl looked across the room. Her face showed enlightenment. “Oh. He seems to have found some new friends.”

  “He’s the sort who always does.”

  The next time Larric glanced her way, Tevi gave a thumbs-up sign and headed for the door. He would know where to find them. She followed Jemeryl and Ashkinet from the tavern.

  Two hours passed before Larric also returned to the Four Winds House, seeming none the worse for wear. Either he had been careful to watch his drink, or he had a good head for alcohol. Tevi was relieved. The last thing they wanted was someone getting careless in public.

  “Did you learn anything?” Jemeryl asked.

  “Oh yes. Lots. But I assume you’re not interested in whose partner is having an affair, or which trader has a secret store of cheap opium for sale.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “A few things.” Larric dropped onto a mattress and stretched out his legs. “From our point of view the most crucial was from a woman whose sister works in the temple. Apparently the sentinels stand vigil over the idol all night long. So it means breaking in after dark won’t help. We’d be even more conspicuous than during the day. There won’t even be crowds to merge into.”