Teo dragged the canoe into a thicket where it wouldn’t be found. His waybread was gone, and the beans wouldn’t last much longer. As for the coffee, he had long since finished that off. He tucked his dull knife in his belt, knowing it would be better than nothing if he found himself in a scrape. His best weapon was the bow, but carrying it around would draw too much attention. He left it behind with his hatchet and a handful of arrows. He would need to hunt meat during his return to Jineve.
Once the boat was secure Teo hiked into the woods. Somewhere near his position on the river he knew there was a rundown line cabin where Chiveisian soldiers were often posted to guard an entry point into the kingdom. Teo hoped the cabin wasn’t currently being used. He needed clothing to blend in, and that was the sort of thing one could find in such cabins.
After a little scouting Teo located the deer path that approached the cabin from the wilderness. The Chiveisi called the wilderness “the Beyond,” a vast and fearsome void into which they never set foot. Teo was one of the few citizens ever to venture into it. He had discovered the Beyond actually had a lot going for it.
As he followed the path between two low hills, his experienced eyes noticed footprints in the earth. They were faint now, a recent rain having nearly obliterated them. Yet Teo was able to discern an odd type of boot intermingled with those of a normal Chiveisian make. He inspected one of the tracks. It looked like the print of . . .
An outsider?
That made no sense. The barbarians of the forest were rarely encountered. When the Chiveisi did interact with them, it was to fight them off, not traipse around the woods together. Yet these prints indicated some kind of dealings with the outsiders. Why?
Teo followed the prints off the trail. As he picked his way through the underbrush, something white caught his eye. He took a closer look—and his breath caught in his chest.
A decayed corpse lay in the wet leaves, wearing the tattered remains of a Royal Guard’s uniform. Teo knelt and examined the skull. A knife had been thrust into the back of the victim’s neck, execution style.
Shocked, Teo rose to his feet and backed away. What’s going on here? He swiveled his head, staring around the forest. Then his eyes caught a flash of movement through trees.
Outsiders!
Teo ducked behind a tree and peered around. Men had gathered a short distance away, though Teo believed they hadn’t seen him.
Keeping under cover, he moved closer to the men. He eased to his belly and crept beneath a rhododendron whose branches arched just enough to provide a way through. Teo peeked between the waxy leaves. Four or five outsiders stood there: brawny, long-haired warriors whose beards were braided after the fashion of their people. The red-haired leader was taller than the rest, with a commanding presence and an arrogant swagger. He was missing a finger on his left hand.
Yet it wasn’t the outsiders that startled Teo most. Other men mingled in their midst—men whose uniforms identified them as belonging to the militia of the Chiveisian god Vulkain. Teo had run into Vulkainians like these before. They were a cruel lot, unhindered by any sense of military honor. Their favorite weapon was that of a terrorist: a pistol that sprayed acid on its victims. The gun made an excellent riot-control weapon, because anyone who took a shot of acid to the face was immediately incapacitated. The Vulkainians were fond of intimidating the peasants by giving them a spritz on the arm for the smallest offense. It was this aura of cruelty and invincibility that made the High Priestess select the Vulkainians as her bodyguards and personal death squad.
As Teo surveyed the scene, another bearded outsider arrived from the trail that led toward the line cabin. He approached the nine-fingered leader. “The Chiveisi priest draws near, my lord Vlad,” he said.
Vlad nodded approvingly. “Excellent. How many mules does he have with him?”
“Three, lord.”
Vlad pursed his lips and shrugged. “A good start.”
A few minutes later Teo saw the archpriest of the Vulkainian Order ride up on a gleaming white mare. Each of the gods of Chiveis had a color sacred to him: white for Vulkain, black for Elzebul, green for Pon, and crimson for the high god, Astrebril. The priests of these gods often dyed their horses’ coats accordingly.
The archpriest looked down his nose at Vlad from the saddle. “You are in charge of this rabble?”
Vlad’s face turned mean. He put his hand on his sword’s hilt, but before he could reply the archpriest ordered, “Get your hand off that weapon if you ever hope to spawn another son! Do you think the gods of heaven would spare you if you committed such treachery?”
Reluctantly Vlad relaxed his grip on his sword. “We are your confederates,” he grumbled. “Why do you speak to your ally as if to an enemy?”
The archpriest turned his horse away. “I do not question the decisions of my queen. Yet that doesn’t mean I have to like the filth with which she deals.”
“My people were good enough for your great Beaumont,” Vlad retorted.
Beaumont!
Teo was astounded. How does this outsider know about . . .
The answer dawned on Teo at the same moment the archpriest replied to Vlad. “The Pact is a military alliance, not a friendly brotherhood,” said the sallow-faced priest in the bleached white robe. Everything clicked into place as Teo realized what this forest convocation represented. It was a renewal of the ancient Pact he had read about in the palimpsest manuscript at Castle d’If.
But why? For what purpose has the High Priestess allied herself with outsiders?
The archpriest of Vulkain snapped his fingers. Several underlings led three mules into the circle of men. Vlad walked to the lead mule and untied a thong on one of the large bundles strapped to the animal’s back. He withdrew a sword and ran his thumb along its edge, then looked down the blade’s length to inspect its line. He gave the weapon a few swings, appearing satisfied with its balance.
“I don’t care if you call me your friend as long as you keep supplying steel like this,” he said to the archpriest.
Teo grimaced and shook his head at the scene before him. The outsiders were long-standing enemies of the Chiveisi. Historic wars had been fought to defend against their invasions. Now the representatives of the kingdom were giving away fine weapons while many guardsmen had to make do with poor-quality blades. Steel was rare in Chiveis—so rare in fact that coins were minted from it. The kingdom lacked iron ore to produce new steel. To see three loads of swords being given to the rapacious outsiders felt like a betrayal of everything Chiveis stood for.
Vlad was sparring aggressively with one of his comrades, but he turned from his swordplay and addressed the archpriest. “You brought the birds?”
“Yes. New pigeons have been installed in the loft. Stay close to it, and respond right away to any directives you receive. Her Eminence is making plans as we speak. Those birds will save me further trips into this godforsaken hinterland.”
“Whatever you say, Your Great and Holy Whiteness.” Vlad’s tone was mocking. Several of his men guffawed at their lord’s sarcastic wit.
The archpriest stepped his horse close to the smug outsider. A couple of the Vulkainians put their hands on their acid guns, while the outsiders gripped their swords but did not draw them.
“Your face is ugly enough already, Vlad the Nine-Fingered,” said the archpriest. “I wouldn’t want my men to have to disfigure it further.”
He whirled his mount and urged it into a trot with a clucking sound. Soon he disappeared around a bend in the trail. The Vulkainians filtered out of the clearing, leaving the outsiders alone.
Vlad glanced around at his warriors, brandishing his new sword. “Stay sharp, men. That black-haired vixen of the Chiveisi is up to something big.”
And I’m going to figure out what it is, Teo vowed from his hiding place in the brush.
Helena d’Armand gave a half turn to the skewer she had set over the hot coals of a campfire. Sizzling juices dripped from the carcass of a young wild pig. Helen
a’s stomach rumbled as she smelled the savory aroma of the roasting pork. The meat had been on the spit for about six hours. Soon it would be ready—just in time for the other guests to arrive at the lonely camp in the woods.
Stratetix came to the fire and knelt beside his wife. “That little guy was the fattest of the herd,” he said, reaching for the basting brush. He swabbed a liberal amount of sunflower oil mixed with wine and herbs over the meat. “Did you remind Lina to bring the ale?”
“Yes, love. What would a pig roast be without ale? And she’s making cherry pie too.”
“Good! Remember how she and Ana used to make . . . ” Stratetix’s jovial mood changed abruptly as he broke off midsentence.
“I remember it well,” Helena said, picking up the conversation without missing a beat. “Every year at the Harvest Festival they would make those cherry pies. Those were good times, weren’t they?”
Helena could see her lighthearted reminiscence had lifted Stratetix’s spirits. “Yeah, life was good back then,” he agreed, then glanced at his wife with a mischievous smile. “Those girls sure had different motives for their baking, didn’t they?”
Helena laughed and nodded. “Lina kept hoping to attract all the farm boys to her table. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, our clever niece didn’t want to miss any opportunities!”
“But Ana never thought like that.” Stratetix wagged his head with amusement. “She didn’t care about those village boys. She was just so competitive, she wanted to win the blue ribbon every time.”
“I was cleaning up the other day, and I found those ribbons in a box. She won three. I’m going to show them to her if she ever . . . ”
Now it was Helena’s turn to falter. She swallowed awkwardly. Though she wanted to say something hopeful, the burden of her grief clogged her throat and took away her words.
“Better give that pig another turn,” Stratetix muttered.
Helena sighed and rotated the spit.
A gibbous moon had risen above the trees when the rest of the group arrived. They were the former members of the Chiveisian house community that had discovered the one true God. In addition to Stratetix and Helena, the group consisted of Shaphan and Lina, Helena’s sister Rosetta, and Lewth, a slender monk who was still enrolled in the Fraternal Order of Astrebril despite being a secret believer in Deu. Lewth’s public denial of his faith under the threat of death preserved his good standing as a tutor at the royal palace. He now taught science and mathematics to a gaggle of aristocratic teens, though his most prominent student, King Piair himself, no longer took instruction from anyone.
“Welcome, friends,” Stratetix said, rising from a log next to the fire. “It’s a good night for a party of hunters to enjoy a little feast in the woods, don’t you think?” He embraced everyone warmly, then spoke to Shaphan in a low voice. “Are you certain you weren’t followed?”
“Yes, sir. I made sure of it.”
“Good. Then come have some ribs. The meat’s falling off the bone. After supper we’ll commence with the real business that has brought us here tonight.”
Helena distributed plates heaped with saucy pork and cornbread stuffing. She was gratified to see that everyone dug in with gusto. At last when the plates were empty and the cherry pie was almost gone, Stratetix stood up from his seat. “I think it’s time to hear the words of Deu,” he said.
He went to a sheltering tarp that hung suspended from the trees. Six bedrolls lay underneath it in a row, for the “hunters” planned to camp out now that the gates of Edgeton were locked for the night. Stratetix reached into his bedroll and pulled out the satchel containing the sacred scrolls. He returned to the fire and opened the satchel. Everyone gazed at him expectantly. Helena noticed his serious expression. Mighty Deu, protect us from watching eyes, she prayed.
“Let us allow the Eternal One to determine our reading tonight,” Stratetix said. He rummaged in the satchel and removed a scroll, which he examined for a moment. “Our God has led us to the eleventh chapter of the book of Beginning. I will read it aloud so you may consider these holy words.”
The text was a brief one. It described how all the people of the world had a common speech. The rulers decided to build a tower that would reach into heaven so they would not be scattered over the earth. When Deu saw this, he confused their language. For this reason the place was called Babel.
“What does Babel mean?” Rosetta asked.
“I discussed this point with Captain Teofil when he translated the scrolls,” Shaphan said. “There’s a verb in the Fluid Tongue that sounds like ‘Babel.’ It means to chatter or make nonsense sounds like children.” The rest of the group nodded appreciatively as they considered Shaphan’s explanation.
“Alright, friends,” Stratetix prompted, “what else do you observe here?”
“The people were refusing to scatter out,” Helena said. “They built the tower as a rallying point. Then the passage ends with the Eternal One scattering them anyway. It was his response to their sin.”
Shaphan pursed his lips. “I don’t understand why that’s sinful. What’s wrong with building a city?”
The group considered the question but didn’t have an immediate answer. They sat quietly, staring at the glowing coals of the campfire. At last Lina said, “I think Aunt Helena was right to call it sinful. Remember the patriarch Noé who built the boat? His children were supposed to spread over the earth after the flood. But these people were doing exactly the opposite. It was disobedient.”
“That’s really insightful, Lina,” Shaphan said, giving his bride an admiring look. She blushed at his words.
“We can also see that the people’s reason for building was prideful,” Rosetta said. “They wanted to make a ‘name’ for themselves. But doesn’t the Sacred Writing tell us to magnify the name of the Eternal One instead?”
“And they built the tower into the heavens,” Lewth added. “That’s the realm of the gods in every religion. No doubt those people sought to commune with evil spirits.”
“Just like the leaders of Chiveis!”
All eyes turned toward Shaphan, who had uttered his accusation in a loud voice.
“Caution, son,” Stratetix advised.
The group fell silent as a fearful mood descended. No one wanted to speak into the awful hush.
“A new wickedness is stirring in the High Priestess’s temple,” Lewth whispered at last. The ominous statement only heightened the group’s trepidation.
“What do you mean?” Shaphan asked.
“That witch is planning something evil. Strange deliveries are being made to her spire. I’ve seen it from my hovel. It’s all very secret. I overheard some of the senior monks saying a new weapon is being built—a power too terrible to resist.”
A frightened murmur rippled through the group. High in the trees, a night wind whispered among the branches. As Helena looked at the wide-eyed faces of her friends huddled around the fire, she resolved to offer them strength from the Sacred Writing. “‘Why do the kings of the earth raise themselves against the Eternal One?’” she quoted. “‘The one who sits in sky laughs.’”
“That’s right!” Shaphan jumped up, stamping his foot. “The Lord mocks them! He speaks to them in his anger! He terrifies them in his rage!”
Before anyone could reply, a rustling in the bushes signaled the arrival of an intruder. Cries of alarm rose from the group as all heads whirled toward the sound. Then a tall, bearded man stepped into the light—a soldier of the Royal Guard.
Lina let out a shriek. Stratetix and Lewth leaped to their feet, converging shoulder-to-shoulder with Shaphan. The men’s fists were clenched. Dread engulfed Helena. Help us, Deu! We’ve been discovered!
“What do you want with us?” Stratetix barked.
The Royal Guardsman only stared at the group in the forest. The hood of his cloak overhung his face, giving him a menacing appearance.
“We’re hunters enjoying a feast,” Stratetix said. “We’ve done
nothing wrong.”
Still the soldier did not speak. But he took a step closer.
Shaphan leaned toward Stratetix. “He doesn’t have a sword,” the young man hissed through clenched teeth. “We can take him if we have to!”
“No, Shaphan. Be still.”
The guardsman closed the distance to the watchers seated around the campfire. Lina squealed, and Rosetta couldn’t stifle a groan. Abruptly the man stopped short.
Stratetix stepped forward. “Why are you here? Speak!”
The soldier extended his hand. Stratetix stared at it. Then, slowly, he took the outstretched hand in his own. “Who are you?” he whispered.
The man reached to his hood and pulled it back.
“I am Teofil, and I come with good news.”
C H A P T E R
5
Utter silence hung over the forest clearing. Stratetix felt his legs turn watery. He collapsed to his knees, staring up at the man who held his hand.
Can it be? Almighty Deu! Can it be?
If it’s Teofil . . . then that means . . .
Stratetix’s breath escaped him. His eyes filled with tears. Helena rushed past him with a sob of ecstasy and relief. She threw her arms around the unexpected visitor, weeping uncontrollably. “Oh, Teofil! Is it really you? Where’s Ana? Is she here? Is she here?”
Teo’s face was laden with emotion as he returned Helena’s embrace. He was visibly moved by the sanctity of the moment. “Anastasia is alive and well,” he announced, “though she is far away and cannot come soon.”
“She’s alive!” Stratetix released Teo’s hand and covered his face as he wept on his knees, rocking back and forth. The pressing weight of an immense burden rolled off his shoulders. “Thank you, Deu! Thank you for hearing me! I praise you! Oh Ana, my sweet Ana . . . you’re alive!”
The rest of the group crowded close. No one could hold back the wave of euphoria that flooded the lonely forest. They could only give in to its power and be carried along. The six friends huddled around Teo, shedding tears of abundant joy as they lifted grateful prayers to the nighttime sky. They continued like that for a long time. The emotions were thick and complex and did not quickly dissipate.
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