Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

But those creatures, the Tylwyn Tou, had receded into the oldest memo­ries of the Tylwyn Doc. To many of the younger people, they had become no more than legends.

  Was this, then, a legend come to life? For the diminutive creature down by the campfire surely resembled the Tylwyn Doc, with his deceivingly deli­cate stature and his angular features, except that his hair was light, where the Tylwyn Doc had hair almost universally black. And his skin, though creamy, seemed somewhat colored by the sun, where the skin of all the Tyl­wyn Doc, creatures who rarely if ever ventured out from under the nearly solid canopy of their forest home of Tymwyvenne, was milky white.

  „Tylwyn Tou?“ Cazzira asked, echoing Lozan Duk’s thoughts exactly.

  „And what does that mean?“ Lozan asked with a shrug.

  Normally, the procedure for dealing with intruders was fairly straight­forward, and certainly of uniform intent. No reasoning being who wandered into the realm of the Tylwyn Doc, the Doc’alfar, would wander back out.

  Intruders were given to the peat bog.

  Lozan Duk looked back down at the duo, particularly at the curious crea­ture who seemed in many ways a mirror image of himself, and wondered.

  chapter *4*

  Details, Details

  T

  heir bickering was becoming more than an annoyance to Yakim Douan. „The pirates must be handled more delicately!“ yelled Yatol Peridan, the highest-ranking priest of southeastern Behren, the land known as Cosinnida - and a man well-known to be in league with many of the no­torious coast runners. The argument that he was now making in Jacintha - that the crackdown Yatol De Hamman had imposed along his section of the coast, the area north of Peridan’s territory and just south of Jacintha, was unreasonable and dangerous for security - almost had the Chezru Chieftain laughing aloud. How transparent this one was! Yakim always got a good chuckle out of Peridan’s antics; he had only appointed the man as a Yatol because Peridan had done a fine job in getting valuable marble up to the palace in Jacintha for recent improvements.

  „The pirates must be handled!“ Yatol De Hamman countered angrily. „Leave it at that. You call for delicate handling because you fear for your own purse!“

  Yatol Peridan’s eyes widened at the blunt accusation, but Yakim Douan was paying more attention to the other seven priests, who were sitting back and watching the rising conflict with obvious amusement. The only analogy the Chezru Chieftain could draw upon at that moment was that of a group of youngsters, encircling a pair that had squared off, calling for them to fight.

  Yes, this was more than an annoyance. Yakim Douan wanted to begin the time of Transcendence, wanted a new and younger body. But how could he leave the Chezru flock so vulnerable when it was in such disarray, when even the Yatols, the supposed leaders of the Chezru, were bickering amongst themselves? The verbal sparring between Peridan and De Ham­man continued to escalate dangerously, until finally the Chezru Chieftain slammed his fists down on the round whitewood table and rose so force­fully that his chair skidded out behind him.

  „Do you use the pirates, Yatol Peridan?“ he asked, the bluntness of his on drawing gasps from all in attendance. It was one thing for a pair of to spar and accuse, but something altogether different for the Chezru Chieftain, the God-Voice of Yatol, to ask a question with such implications. ^ „God-Voice, how can you ask me…“ Yatol Peridan stammered clumsily. „Exactly as I have asked you,“ Yakim Douan replied with all calm and confidence. „Do you use the pirates, for your own gain or for the gain of the

  church?“

  Peridan continued to squirm, obviously seeking an escape, but Yakim Douan fixed him with a withering glare - a look perfected over the cen­turies, a look that allowed no possibilities of dodge here.

  „The pirates have tithed to my church, yes, God-Voice,“ Peridan finally admitted, lowering his eyes. The other priests all looked to each other with concern. Peridan’s admission was not news to them, of course, for everyone there knew the truth of Yatol Peridan’s relationship with some of the most notorious thugs sailing the coastline. But to hear the admission openly, in front of the Chezru Chieftain, was no small thing!

  Yatol De Hamman sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, seeming quite pleased with himself.

  „And you have used this… tithing, for the betterment of your church and flock?“ the Chezru Chieftain asked, and all eyes looked at him then with continued surprise.

  „I have,“ Yatol Peridan answered enthusiastically after the shock of the question had worn off. „And I have spoken with many of the pirates about their activities, God-Voice. I try to alter their behavior. I seek to channel their strengths into the betterment of all.“

  „They are killers!“ Yatol De Hamman cried out. „Killers all!“

  He started to spout on, but Yakim Douan held up his hand, halting the man. „You speak truly, Yatol De Hamman,“ the Chezru offered. „And I hold little sympathy for those pirates your warships have sent into the depths of the dark waters. But as they are killers, they are also an inevitabil­ity. The pirates have run their catamarans across the coral reefs and away from Behrenese warships for centuries. They have always been there and will always be there. Accept that truth, and you will come to understand that Ya­tol Peridan’s profiting from the pirate activities is beneficial to the Chezru.“

  „Bless you, God-Voice,“ Yatol Peridan started to say. But,“ Yakim Douan said sternly, lifting his pointing, accusatory finger Peridan’s way, „do not confuse the issue. You complain that Yatol De Ham-man is sinking pirate ships, and thus sinking your profits, but to do so shows a disregard for the needs of Yatol De Hamman. How is he to rule his nock effectively if they do not believe that he can be trusted to protect them? So come not to Jacintha with complaints that your fellow Yatols are upholding the laws, Yatol Peridan. Come not to Jacintha with complaints that your temple will not be layered in gold.“

  Yatol Peridan again lowered his eyes. „Yes, God-Voice.“

  „And for the rest of you, find some insight!“ Yakim Douan went on. „There are unpleasant inevitabilities to society, much as we see with the pi­rates off our coastline. We try to diminish these unpleasantries, indeed, b(it we are not wrong to find gain from them. As for you, Yatol Grysh,“ he saicL referring to, and looking to, the Yatol of the northwesternmost reaches of Behren, who presided under the shadows of the great mountains and the plateau along the borderlands of To-gai, in the great Behrenese city of Dharyan. Grysh, a bald, heavyset man with sleepy eyes who noticeably lacked any chin, was, in effect, Yakim Douan’s principal sheriff over the conquered To-gai-ru. The Yatol who had done the conquering, Tohen Bar-doh, had been so brutal in his tactics that Douan had been forced to pull him back from the steppes. There were other Yatol priests in To-gai, of course, but they were either quick-promoted and expendable, eager young men, lifted from the ranks of the Shepherds and sent to the wilderness of the steppes, or they were of To-gai-ru descent, traitors to their own people, who obviously, therefore, could not be trusted by the Chezru Chieftain. That left Grysh, a cunning and often callous man, the perfect liaison to han­dle the savages of To-gai.

  „There are many, many bandits running just west of your domain, are there not? „ Yakim Douan asked the large man.

  Yatol Grysh blinked sleepily, smiled, and nodded.

  „Do you not find a way to tap into their growing resources?“ Yakim Douan asked slyly.

  Yatol Grysh, who was easily the most confident and self-assured of all those gathered, excepting of course Yakim Douan himself, merely smiled and nodded again, his demeanor drawing a chuckle or two from the others seated about the table.

  „Inevitabilities,“ Yakim Douan said to them all. „We cannot achieve per­fection of our world. This is the teaching of Yatol. Perfection is to be found in an existence beyond this mortal realm. We know of this, and so, while we cannot be publicly tolerant of such behaviors or risk losing our hold, I ap­plaud a Yatol wise enough to turn unpleasantness into gain.“

  He finished with a ple
ading look toward Yatol De Hamman.

  „Yes, God-Voice,“ the humbled priest said, and though he offered one disapproving, even angry, look toward Yatol Peridan, he lowered his eyes obediently, giving Yakim Douan at least the hope that this troublesome business had been settled.

  And how Douan needed it settled! If the rivalry between De Hamman and Peridan continued to escalate, it would likely come to a head during the time when the Yatol Council, and not Yakim Douan - for he would be in a woman’s womb, or in the body of small child - would be holding power in all the church. De Hamman and Peridan would no doubt be strong voices in that council, as strong as any, and if they went to war with the church Yakim Douan inherited at the age of ten would be in he even was able to inherit the church, for such infighting could de-7 the customs that now allowed for such a transition.

  Aweary Yakim Douan walked away from the contentious meeting some-later^ fee] ing satisfied that he had put the beast back into its cage, at for the time being. He would have to reinforce the lessons he had • n to the two troublesome Yatols many times over, he knew. And if he

  uld not find a compromise that seemed binding, he would have to hold

  i to his earthly coil - would have to suffer the aches in the morning, would have to suffer the uninterested looks the harem girls gave to him when they didn’t think he was looking - for a long time to come.

  The tired Chezru Chieftain knew that his day was only going to get busier when he saw Merwan Ma rushing down the long hall toward him, the young man’s face bright with excitement.

  „God-Voice,“ Merwan Ma breathed, sliding to a stop before Yakim.

  The Chezru managed to straighten his shoulders and eye the young man squarely.

  „Master Mackaront of Entel has come to speak with you.“

  Mackaront, the personal assistant of Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce, was an Abellican monk of great power and Yakim Douan’s principal liaison to the northern kingdom. The Chezru Chieftain did well to offer a slight smile and nod in response, did well to hide his trepidation upon hearing the name of the unexpected visitor. If Mackaront had come south with more bad news - that Abbot Olin had died, perhaps - it could put yet another tear in the carefully drawn plans for Transcendence.

  „I will meet with him in the Study of Sunset,“ Yakim explained to his as­sistant, and he walked past, turning down the next corridor.

  He heard Merwan Ma’s eager footfalls, sandals clapping on mosaic floors, and hoped again that the news from the north would not bode ill.

  Master Filladoro Mackaront was surely one of the ugliest men Yakim Douan had ever met. His face was cratered and blotchy, his nose bulbous and seeming almost to glow with painful rawness. His brown eyes drooped and his teeth were all broken and twisted. As if all that wasn’t enough, sev­eral huge warts adorned Mackaront’s head and neck, including one cracked black and brown blemish in the center of his high forehead.

  It is good to see you again, God-Voice of the Yatols,“ Mackaront said with a bow. The man spoke perfect Mohdan, the predominant language of eastern Behren.

  Yakim Douan motioned for him to sit in a chair to his left, with both seats facing the window, which afforded a wonderful view of sunset over the western-stretching Belt-and-Buckle. Yakim Douan had placed them this Way purposely before Merwan Ma and Mackaront had caught up to him, partly because he enjoyed watching the glorious sunsets, but mostly so that he would not have to sit facing his ugly guest. He liked Mackaront quite a bit, actually, but he didn’t want to look at the man!

  „Pray tell me that my friend Abbot Olin fares well.“

  „Indeed, God-Voice,“ Mackaront happily replied. „Abbot Olin remains strong and well, his eyes clear.“

  „And his mind sharp.“

  „Yes, God-Voice!“

  Yakim Douan did turn then to regard the ugly master from St. Bonda-bruce, noting how the man’s lips could not sit straight on his face because of the jagged teeth beneath. He wondered, and not for the first time, if that physical ugliness had been the catalyst for Filladoro Mackaront to join the Abellican Church. The Abellicans, after all, frowned upon any relationships between brothers and women - mostly because the powers of the Abellican Church wanted to make certain that no widows or children were left behind to claim any inheritance over Abellican property or wealth! - so it seemed plausible that entering the Church offered Mackaront the excuse for the obvious truth that no woman would ever want to share his bed.

  „Why do you call me that?“ Yakim Douan asked the Abellican, quite off the cuff. Behind him, he heard the sharp intake of Merwan Ma’s breath.

  Mackaront looked at him curiously.

  „In your religion, I am not such a God-Voice, am I?“ the Chezru Chief­tain asked. „We worship different gods, do we not? We assign different meanings to greatness, and yet you address me by the title normally re­served for my personal attendants and visiting Yatol priests. Are you pre­pared to convert to the true religion of Yatol, Abellican Master Mackaront?“

  Mackaront’s droopy eyes widened considerably at that remark, and he started shaking his head, his crooked lips moving as if he were trying to find appropriate words with which to respond.

  „Or are you merely being polite?“ the Chezru Chieftain asked with a grin that allowed both poor Mackaront and Merwan Ma to sigh with relief.

  „God-Voice,“ Mackaront began tentatively, and he quickly corrected it to, „Chezru Douan, I am sent with all humility from my master, Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce.“

  Yakim Douan didn’t even hide his smile. He liked the way lackeys like Mackaront always reverted to the formalities of station when they were backed into a corner.

  „I intend no offense to you,“ Mackaront went on. „Never that. I offer you the respect afforded your position, using titles you have earned among your people.“

  „Earned?“ Yakim Douan said with a chuckle. „I was born to this posi­tion. There was nothing to ‘earn,’ because this was all decreed by Yatol, by God himself. Do you not understand? „

  M ter Mackaront’s expression could not have been more stupefied. He rood the reasoning, of course, for he was well versed in the customs of Y- tols What had him stunned beyond words here, Yakim Douan knew, the Chezru’s tone and insistence, this whole line of questioning - a conation that Yakim Douan knew to be out of bounds.’ „I am not qualified to debate the relative beliefs and strengths of our reli-Chezru Douan,“ Master Mackaront said after a few uncomfortable ^akim Douan ‘s laughter had the man leaning back defensively in his seat.

  „Nor should you wish to enter such a debate,“ he said lightheartedly. „Nor do I ever desire such a course. Our worlds are very different, Master Mackaront. Abbot Olin and I have understood that for years, and that un­derstanding has been the cornerstone of my friendship with your abbot for decades. We accept each other’s beliefs, with humility and respect, though I know that he, and you, are wrong.“

  Mackaront frowned; Yakim Douan watched his every flinch and move­ment, taking a measure for every step along this tricky road. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to pursue this course this day. It was almost a replay of the conversation he had shared with young Abbot Olin soon after the man had ascended to the leadership of St. Bondabruce, a necessary understand­ing before the two men could pursue an honest friendship.

  Yakim Douan came to recognize his own instincts then. When he had heard of Mackaront’s visit, he had at once assumed that Olin might have died. Thus, his instincts had sent him into this unexpected conversation, one that might lead him down a road of friendship with Master Macka­ront, Abbot Olin’s possible successor. Better for Yakim Douan, for the end of this corporeal incarnation and for the early years of the next, if Master Mackaront of St. Bondabruce came to a higher understanding and appre­ciation of the Yatol religion.

  „I know you are wrong because I am the God-Voice of Yatol,“ the Chezru Chieftain explained. „As your Father Abbot Agronguerre knows that I… that we,“ he added, sweeping his hand out toward Merwan Ma, �
�are wrong in our beliefs.“ Yakim Douan gave a shrug, as if it didn’t really matter. ‘Your Abbot Olin understands this. What we, together, have come to know is that, though our beliefs are very different, our goals are not so much so. Pious Abellicans are closer to Yatol than the highwaymen of your lands, as pious Yatols should be far more welcomed into the gates of your heaven than the unlawful pirates running the Behrenese coastline.“

  Yakim Douan glanced back at Merwan Ma as he spoke, noting how the man’s eyes widened! Of course they did, and if Yakim Douan had not trusted Merwan Ma implicitly to keep this conversation private, he never would have spoken in such a manner with the man present. For the formal and public declarations of the Yatol religion were quite clear concerning the Abellicans. Their gemstone use alone damned them! To the Yatols, the gemstones were the instruments of the demon dactyls, and by that reason­ing, „pious“ Abellicans should have been placed at the end of the line for those seeking to enter the Paradise promised by Yatol.

  While Merwan Ma was obviously confused and stunned, Master Macka-ront seemed to ease back into his seat, a bit more relaxed. Yes, Yakim Douan saw, and was glad: the seeds were being planted well.

  „Enough of philosophy,“ the Chezru Chieftain announced. „You did not come here for such a discussion as this, I am sure, and my time is pressing. What news from Abbot Olin?“

  Master Mackaront spent a moment collecting himself, clearing his throat and snorting a few very unpleasant sounds. Yakim Douan tried to ignore the man, looking back out to the west and the long line of mountains.

  „Abbot Olin bade me come to Jacintha to tell you that Father Abbot Agronguerre’s health has turned for the worse,“ the man from Entel ex­plained. „He is very old and very frail, and a College of Abbots is expected within a year or two.“

  „And does Abbot Olin expect to ascend to your highest post at that Col­lege of Abbots?“

  „He does. He has rivals, of course…“

  „That is why our ascension is placed in the hands of God, and not mortal man,“ Yakim Douan couldn’t resist interjecting.