Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  Mackaront bristled and coughed, but worked past the remark. „There is one master at St.-Mere-Abelle who will strive hard against him. And an­other, perhaps, a younger man, but one who was fortunate enough to find himself beside the disciples of Brother Avelyn, whose miracle rescued the kingdom from the rosy plague. That man is not ready, of course, but the emotions are high and favorable toward deceased Brother Avelyn.“

  „Ah yes, the wandering heretic who blew up a mountain and defeated the demon,“ Yakim Douan said with just a hint of sarcasm. „Who raised his dead arm toward the heavens and invoked the miracle you speak of, bring­ing down the power of God to create a mystical cure for the plague that ravaged your land.“ The Chezru Chieftain resisted the temptation to point out that this supposedly God-cured plague should logically be considered a God-sent plague. And if that was the case, then why hadn’t God visited this horror upon Behren and the heathen Yatols?

  For mortal men, such questions could bring great distress, but for Yakim Douan, who had lived through the centuries and who planned on living for­ever more, such questions were the stuff of pure amusement.

  Not now, the Chezru Chieftain silently told himself. Not here and with this man.

  „How much of a threat does Abbot Olin perceive from this young fol­lower of Brother Avelyn?“ he asked.

  Master Mackaront shrugged and seemed content with the change of sub-r „Young Abbot Braumin should not pose too great a threat. He is not a „namic man, of himself, and it is only his ties to Avelyn’s disciples - one

  rtvred, the other held in the highest regard of all the land, Church and

  re alike that even allows his name to be seriously mentioned. It is more

  > other rival, a powerful Master of St.-Mere-Abelle, and thus, sitting at Father Abbot Agronguerre’s right hand, who concerns Abbot Olin, and he will have to wage a strong campaign if he is to defeat the man.“

  Wage a strong campaign, Yakim Douan echoed in his mind. The words were telling indeed, and explained much about Master Mackaront’s visit.

  Abbot Olin had come begging.

  „Abbot Olin is prepared to wage such a battle,“ Mackaront went on with great enthusiasm. „He understands the great gain to both our peoples if he can ascend to the position of Father Abbot while Yakim Douan is hailed as Behren’s Chezru Chieftain. Perhaps then our respective flocks can mend old wounds in a way that kings and ambassadors have never envisioned! Perhaps the bonding, then, of Jacintha to Entel will strengthen the ties to a point where few would ever consider war between our peoples ever again!“

  „Entel?“ Yakim Douan asked skeptically. „Why, Master Mackaront, if your Abbot Olin ascends, will he not be forced by custom to move to the north, far from his beloved Entel, to the dark halls of St.-Mere-Abelle?“

  „Perhaps,“ Mackaront responded, his momentum a bit deflected. „Ab­bot Olin has spoken of moving the Abellican seat of power to Entel.“

  „Old traditions die hard.“

  „Or, even if he is forced to move to St.-Mere-Abelle, he will ensure that St. Bondabruce and St. Rontlemore of Entel are headed by men who under­stand the growing relationship between our peoples. Abbot Olin wishes me to assure you that his loyalties to you as his friend will not end -

  „Of course not,“ interrupted Yakim Douan, who had heard more than enough. „And please, when you return to Entel, assure your master that I am no less loyal than he. Though I suspect you will not even have to speak the words when Abbot Olin views your cargo.“ As he finished, he stood up and turned for the door, and an elated Master Mackaront was quick to take the cue.

  As Mackaront bowed and turned to leave, Merwan Ma rushed ahead of him to open the door.

  „Return to me at once,“ Yakim Douan instructed his assistant, and then he turned to Mackaront. „I will instruct good Shepherd Ma on how prop­erly to prepare your wagons.“

  You are most generous, God-Voice,“ the overwhelmed Mackaront said with another clumsy bow.

  Yakim Douan just smiled and showed him out of the room, nodding to Merwan Ma, a signal for the man to hurry. Then, comfortably alone, the Chezru Chieftain returned to his seat and his wonderful view, awaiting Merwan Ma’s return and taking this quiet moment to reflect on all of the events happening about him, all of those circumstances that would deter­mine when he could at last shed his aching mortal coil.

  „I do not understand, God-Voice,“ came Merwan Ma’s voice behind him sometime later, startling Yakim from a pleasant nap. He jumped a bit and turned, and Merwan Ma blanched at the realization that he had just wak­ened the Chezru Chieftain.

  „My pardon…“ he stammered, and bowed repeatedly, heading for the door.

  „I prefer that my attendants are not blabbering fools,“ Yakim said to him, stopping him cold. „Do not act the part of one, Merwan Ma. It is not becoming.“

  „Yes, God-Voice.“

  „What did you say when you entered?“

  „I said that I do not understand,“ Merwan Ma repeated. „Master^ Mackaront left here in fine spirits.“

  „As I intended.“

  „Of course.“

  „Then what is not to understand?“

  „All of…“ Merwan Ma started, but he stopped and just shook his head, seeming quite flabbergasted.

  „You are surprised that I would help to finance Abbot Olin’s ascension?“

  „That is the business of the Abellicans, and something whose effect should end at the mountain range, God-Voice. I do not understand why we would choose to get involved. I know that Abbot Olin is your friend -

  „My friend?“ Yakim gave a heartfelt laugh. „No, he is not my friend. Or at least, I would not call him my friend - except, of course, to those who need to hear such assurance, such as Master Mackaront. Abbot Olin and I have an understanding.“

  „And a mutual respect?“

  „He respects me, as he should. We recognize the gains that may be made from our contact. He has things that benefit Behren, and I have things that benefit Honce-the-Bear. Such as my wealth, you see?“

  „Yes, God-Voice,“ Merwan Ma said unconvincingly.

  Yakim Douan gave yet another laugh. „Surely you can recognize the benefit to us in having a man such as Abbot Olin seated in power over the Abellican Church. Entel is an important sister city to Jacintha, a way of trading for goods that are hard to secure south of the mountains. Most of the wood within Jacintha, including the great masts for our fleet, was brought here by Entel ships, as were many of the delicacies that we enjoy regularly at our table.“

  „I do understand.“ Again, Merwan Ma was not very convincing and seemed to be quite upset.

  „But you know, as well, that it is not our place to help the Abellican hea and that is what troubles you,“ the Chezru Chieftain reasoned. Mer-Ma didn’t respond verbally, but his expression showed Yakim Douan hat his guess had been on the mark.

  „In friendship and in trade will we infiltrate the kingdom to the north

  • h the word of Yatol,“ Yakim Douan explained. „We know that we are ioht We know that our faith is strong and that the Abellicans err in their devotion to gemstones. And we are secure that they, too, will come to see

  ^e light that is Yatol. The more they see of us, the more our true faith will mock their pitiful religion in the eyes of the Abellican flock.“

  Merwan Ma was standing straighter by that point and nodding eagerly, and Yakim Douan understood that he had settled this matter for good. Of course, he didn’t really believe much of what he was preaching. He knew that any who watched the transition from Chezru Chieftain to the next cho­sen child would be stunned, would likely fall on their knees at the sight of the „miracle.“ But he knew, too, that the crafty Abellicans were pretty good at manufacturing miracles of their own, and given all the stir concerning the upraised hand of the dead Avelyn and the way that it „miraculously“ cured the deadly plague, Yakim Douan knew that it would be a long, long time before many Abellicans even thought to change their spiritual course!


  But still, he did want Olin to ascend, did want allies within the northern kingdom, men who would not put any pressure on Behren during the time of Transcendence, and men who, through trade and gifts, would make his life a little bit more pleasurable in the next incarnation.

  „Our relationship with the Abellicans will prove of utmost importance in the crucial time that will soon be before us,“ Yakim Douan went on, and as Merwan Ma’s eyes widened, just a bit, the Chezru Chieftain recognized that an urgency had crept into his voice.

  A burst of laughter from Yakim mocked the attendant’s fearful expres­sion. „All is in place, and you know your duties.“

  „Are you not afraid?“

  Yakim Douan waved the question away with such confidence that Mer­wan Ma’s shoulders slumped. „We will not travel this circular path again, my young companion, nor will I tolerate your continued lack of faith.“

  Merwan Ma stepped back and lowered his eyes, and Yakim Douan was touched by the moisture rimming those brown orbs, touched that the very pious young Shepherd was so concerned about him.

  He walked over and draped an arm across Merwan Ma’s shoulders, giv­ing a slight tug to jostle the man from his slumping posture.will be reborn, and you will be there to watch over me, until we are ‘gain united,“ the older priest said. „The word of Yatol is, in this case, lit-I know this because I have been reborn time and time again, and so, my young friend, I am not afraid. And after you witness the great Tranendence, after you hear the words of consciousness spoken from the mouth of the babe, you will rest easier at night, in full confidence that Yatol is with us, every step.“

  He coaxed a smile from Merwan Ma, then hustled the man out of the room. The sun was almost down behind the western-stretching line of the Belt-and-Buckle and Yakim Douan wanted to enjoy the sunset alone.

  He was asleep again before darkness engulfed the city.

  chapter

  * 5 *

  Conflicting Responsibilities

  W hat is it? „ Brynn asked Juraviel, for the elf was up again from his seat before their small fire, pacing the small y / clearing they had selected for that evening’s camp.

  Juraviel stared out into the dark forest for a moment, then just shook his head. „There is something…“ he tried to explain.

  „I feel it, too,“ said Brynn. „A scent in the air… like death.“

  Belli’mar Juraviel turned to regard her, considering her words. He could sense something, some feeling about the forest, a bit of a hush, perhaps. Perceptive Brynn had put a proper label to it, though she wasn’t exactly right.

  „Not death,“ he corrected. „Decay. There is the smell of decay in the air, like old logs rotting on the ground.“

  „There are many dead logs about us.“

  Juraviel shook his head again. „No, this is different,“ he explained, but he couldn’t quite find the words. It was as if there was a wetness in the air, heightening the scent of decay, though the week had been dry and there were no streams or swamps or ponds about that could account for the odor.

  What might it be?

  „It is getting stronger,“ Brynn remarked a few moments later, and she rose and moved near to Juraviel, who still stood on the perimeter of the en­campment, at the edge of the firelight, staring out into the dark woods.

  It was indeed getting stronger, Belli’mar Juraviel understood, and since there was no wind, that had to mean that the source of the smell was grow-mg or moving closer. Soon Juraviel had to twitch his nose, so full was it of the scent, and only then did he recognize it for what is was.

  Peat,“ he explained, and even as the word got out of his mouth, he choked it off and turned suddenly, his attention caught by a flicker of move­ment out in the forest.

  Peat?“ Brynn echoed curiously, scratching her head, and Juraviel real­ized that she didn’t even know the word. No time to explain it to her now, though, for something - or perhaps several somethings - was moving out in the dark.

  The elf bent lower and crept out a bit farther from the light, his keen eyes scanning the forest. Another movement caught his attention to the side, then another back the other way. He actually caught a silhouette of this last mover. Too big to be an elf, powrie, or goblin, he realized with a bit of re­lief. It had appeared much the same size as a human man, but stood up very straight and walked stiffly, barely bending torso or legs.

  „Go back by the fire,“ he instructed Brynn. The elf’s first instinct was to tell her to put out the fire, but he realized it was far too late for that, that the light of the flames had already shown whoever or whatever was out there the location of the camp. „Stoke it up, and keep your bow ready by your side.“

  „What do you see?“

  „Go,“ the elf repeated, and as Brynn started away, Juraviel slipped into the cover of the brush. Likely these were humans, frontier huntsmen and trappers. Or perhaps they were outlaws, chased out of civilized l ther way, Brynn and Juraviel would be better off if the elf was out of/sight.

  Sitting back by the fire, Brynn Dharielle seemed the picture of calmyanoV indeed, there was little nervousness about the confident young woman. She was a ranger, elven-trained, and whatever Juraviel had seen out there in the darkness, she was confident that she and he could handle it. Her hand closed about the smooth, burnished darkfern wood of her elven-crafted bow, its rich and dark hue crossed by thin lines of the silverel metal that the towering darkferns leached out of the ground.

  Yes, Brynn believed, she and Juraviel could handle anything they might expect out there.

  But what walked into the light of the encampment a moment later was certainly nothing that either Brynn or Juraviel could have ever expected!

  It looked like a man, a Bearman of Honce-the-Bear, but it was covered in a muddy substance that made Brynn think of the rich and rotting mud she had seen under the edge of mossy carpets after a heavy spring rain. Straight and stiff, the intruder was more than a foot taller than Brynn. His clothing, too, was filthy, soaked with the mud, and was torn in several places, and his eyes…

  Yes, those eyes! When Brynn looked into them - or rather, at them - a shudder coursed down her spine. She saw the firelight reflected there, but not in any sparkling gleam. No, the eyes of this one showed no life, no inner spark at all.

  They were dead eyes.

  „What do you want?“ Brynn managed to ask, and she rose fast, bringing her bow across in front of her, an arrow ready in her other hand. „Who are you?“

  The man, the zombie, didn’t respond in any way, just kept moving toward her, and now Brynn was backing to keep pace, to keep the distance between them. She heard movement behind her, though, out in the forest, she didn t have far to retreat.

  „Stay back!“ she warned, fitting the arrow and lifting the bow before her.

  Xhe intruder continued its calm approach.

  „Last warning!“ shouted Brynn, drawing back and taking deadly aim.

  „It is inhuman,“ came Juraviel’s quiet assurance from above. „Shoot it!“

  And as the creature came another step forward, Brynn did exactly that, letting fly, her arrow smacking into the intruder, right between the eyes.

  The creature flinched and missed a step, wavering off to the side. But that was just a matter of the weight and momentum of the missile, a horri­fied Brynn realized, for the creature, seemingly uninjured, soon righted its course and calmly came on.

  Brynn had another arrow up and away in the blink of an eye, this time aiming lower and putting her shot right through the creature’s heart. Right through it went, and out the other side, drilling a hole through which came a greenish, milky substance.

  The intruder passed the fire then, and Brynn scrambled to the side, fit­ting yet another arrow.

  „What is it?“ she cried out, but no voice came back in response.

  „Who are you?“ she demanded, but the creature just continued to pur­sue her, walking slowly and deliberately.

  She let fly again, and again after that, scoring
hits that would have dropped any living man, but again, to no apparent effect.

  Brynn turned toward Diredusk, thinking to flee.

  She gasped in horror and froze at the sight, for the pony was surrounded by more of these foul-smelling intruders, these undead creatures of her nightmares.

  But they couldn’t have her horse! Never that! With a snarl and a flick of her wrist, Brynn unstrung her bow, the solid wood straightening into a deadly club. Seeing Diredusk in trouble, whinnying and stomping its hooves, even kicking one of the creatures to launch it back into the brush, washed away Brynn’s fears for herself. Staff spinning and twirling, she charged in, coming up short before one turning zombie. She fell to one knee as the staff came around, transferring all of her running energy into that perfectly aimed swing.

  With a sickening thud, the staff smashed against the side of the zombie’s head, leaving a huge and grotesque dent. The creature rocked to the side, skipping on one foot several times. But it did not fall over, showed no sign that it was feeling any pain, and came on again.

  Brynn let out a cry and smashed it again, the squishy head flattening a bit more, and then, when that didn’t work, the ranger retracted the weapon, repositioned her hands, and stabbed its end straight out, smashing the crea­ture, which was offering absolutely no defense at all, square in the face. The head snapped back. The zombie moved forward.

  Again, Brynn hit it in the face, then lower in the exposed throat. Then she brought the staff back in and turned it over in her hands, spinning and spinning. Around it went, behind her back, coming out into her other hand for another strike, then going back around the other way and coming in hard from the other side, again scoring a square and brutal hit.

  The zombie’s head lolled as if without any support. As Brynn leaped aside, the creature continued forward, arms reaching and outstretched, as if it couldn’t see her. She took up her staff in both hands as it passed and, just because she wanted to, took a mighty swing and smashed the passing zom­bie on the back of the skull, sending the head into a bobbing motion.