“Mother Shepherd, the soldiers have come again with a new message.” Kantula bowed and held the tent flap open.
“What message?” Junari walked out of the tent, Raedalus at her heels.
“They do not say, Mother,” Kantula said.
Taksati followed behind, walking through the opening of the tent before the guard let the flap close. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright morning sun, waiting again for her vision to accommodate the change in illumination, marveling at the wrinkles lining the back of her hand, the earth-black flesh puckered from years of toil and life. So many years. So much life.
She lowered her arm and trotted after the others, her short legs stamping against the flattened grass of the camp. Ahead, twelve soldiers waited near the edge of the camp where it met the Old Border Road. A crowd of the faithful gathered nearby in a large circle. As Junari approached, one of the soldiers stepped forward. Taksati recognized him as the same man who had delivered all the previous messages from the city’s Circle of Elders. Bon-Tao. A tall man of middle years with wide shoulders and a sharp chin. Handsome in the way of men who exerted their will upon the world with their hands. A bit of gray touched the hair at his temples, although no wrinkles marred his deep, charcoal-tinted skin.
“I bring an invitation.” The soldier, Bon-Tao, spoke the Tanjii dialect of the Shen tongue, but Taksati understood it well enough. He did not bother with titles as he greeted Junari. Taksati found this annoying in a strange way. What she or Raedalus or the pilgrims called Junari did not matter as much as the respect, or lack of it, implied by the way non-believers addressed her. To avoid even calling her a priest insulted her position as head of a new faith.
“What do you invite me to?” Junari stepped toward the soldier, staring him in the eyes.
Bon-Tao swallowed visibly, but did not fall back. Taksati grinned to herself. Her mistress knew how to judge people and act accordingly. The soldier had no doubt heard stories of the pilgrim priest if he did not have the Goddess’s dreams himself.
“The Circle of City Elders grants you audience.” Bon-Tao glanced behind Junari to Raedalus and her retinue. “You may bring one adviser and two guards, but no more.”
Taksati did not like the sound of that offer. A trap more likely than a parley.
“Your conditions are acceptable, Commander.” Junari smiled at the soldier. “When?”
“Now.” Bon-Tao straightened as he spoke.
“Lead the way.” Junari gestured with her open hand and a broad smile toward the city behind them.
Raedalus fell in beside Junari, her guards stepping after her as she followed the city soldiers from the camp and through the wooden gate of Outer Tanjii. Taksati placed her palm on her stomach to quell the sudden unease she felt. Junari always possessed an impetuous streak in the face of authority, a tendency to act quickly before considering the consequences that might befall her. She could dither for weeks over an arcane religious matter and jump to action when faced with opposition. Taksati had many times tried to explain the need to reverse that proclivity to no avail. She sighed, knowing she held no power to help her mistress now. Nothing beyond prayer.
Prayer. Yes.
The Goddess Moaratana might not hear the prayers of one old woman, but surely she would listen to the petitions for protection of a thousand of her flock. She smiled with confidence. She had never felt such assuredness of faith in her previous life as the dutiful servant of a Pashist priest.
“The Mother Shepherd goes to seek safe passage for our continued journey.” Taksati turned to the pilgrims nearest her, raising her voice to be heard above the murmurs of concern at Junari’s departure. “The Mother Shepherd needs our help and our prayers. Pray now to the Great Goddess Moaratana, to protect and guide our Mother Shepherd. Everyone, wherever you be, kneel now in prayer. Spread the word.”
Taksati knelt to the ground, the dried, matted grass and small stones no match for her calloused knees. She interlocked her fingers before her heart as she had done so many times while praying to the pantheon of gods as a servant in the Pashist temple. Now she prayed to the Goddess Moaratana to protect Junari, her mistress, from the worshipers of yet another god.
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THE TEMPLE
JUNARI
SHOUTS FOLLOWED whispers, and cries of heretic chased the softly intoned words of dreamer prophet. Stale fruit and wilted vegetables came soon after, thrown more with the intent to frighten their supposed targets than actually strike them. Junari ignored the taunts and the projectiles. The people feared her. She had seen this reaction to her presence many times in countless towns and villages over the past months. While their passage through Outer Tanjii, the town beyond the city walls, proved uneventful, word of her transport to the elders spread in advance of her arrival. Once past the massive wood and iron gates of the city proper, she found the citizens of Tanjii lining the streets, curious to see the much dreamed of and spoken of prophet. Many came to gawk, others to taunt, and some to shout their faith in their god Ni-Kam-Djen, protesting the open presence of a heretic in their thoroughfares.
Junari held her head high, making eye contact with those who screeched insults or threw wasted food. She did not worry. She knew the Goddess Moaratana protected her. To their credit, the soldiers and their commander, Bon-Tao, did their best to keep the citizens back. They also kept the pace swift, walking with long strides, clearly intending to reach their destination as quickly as possible. To her side, Raedalus walked with hunched shoulders, more than one turnip having landed against his spine. Behind them, the guards, Jupterus and Kantula, glared at the people along the street, hands gripping the hilts of their short swords.
“You must not let them see fear,” Junari whispered from the side of her mouth. “Your fear feeds their own and gives their anger strength.” She flicked her hand out, snatching from the air an apple plummeting toward her head. She looked at the apple, smiled broadly, and took a large bite.
As she crunched the fruit, enjoying the tart juice, wiping it from her chin with the back of her hand, she noted the subtle shift in the mood of the crowd. Her confidence did not engender greater fear, but rather kindled deeper curiosity. The procession turned yet another corner of the winding street, crossing an intersection with one of the few avenues that ran in a straight line through the city. Down the wide avenue, she spotted a large, round tower rising up six stories in height. The Circle Tower, seat of the Circle of Elders and home of the city courts. Bon-Tao did not turn down the lane leading directly to the Circle Tower. Instead, he continued along the same curved and convoluted path among the city’s brick buildings. Raedalus noticed the tower as well, his face darkening with concern.
Odd. She had expected the audience with the Circle of Elders to take place in the seat of their power. She might have considered it a trap were it not so obvious. Surely if the city elders wished her dead, they could find a less blatant means to incite violence among the people outside their walls.
Their progress through the city improved slightly as they reached the wealthier districts. As the buildings began to show less age and more ornamentation, so too the women wore more expensive dresses, the men more stylish jackets and well-polished shoes. While the men and women of respectable social standing did not throw insults and vegetables in the streets like commoners, they still gaped in surprise, still whispered among themselves, but did not attempt to impede Junari’s movement in any way.
Only when they turned onto a larger boulevard and she saw the massive doors rising above her in the distance down a surprisingly linear street did Junari realize their destination. They had crossed the entirety of the city to stand before the western gate leading to the docks beside the ocean. Looking back over her shoulder, she noted that the street they now walked along ran directly back to the gate they had entered through. Had Commander Bon-Tao taken them on such a circuitous route to
ensure their protection, or had the plan been to allow as many citizens as possible to observe their presence?
As they reached the gate, the commander surprised her by turning to a set of stone stairs built up along the inner reaches of the wall, rather than marching through the enormous open doors. Junari and her retinue followed him up the stairs one at a time, Raedalus in front of her and the guards behind them.
The walls of the city stood ten paces thick and spanned upward the height of twenty men. Crenellations ran the length of the outer side, providing stations for attack and defense, while a thick brick railing protected the guards from falling off the backside. Eight watchtowers, spaced equidistantly around the circumference, rose an additional two stories above the top of the parapets.
As Junari reached the walkway at the top of the wall, she paused momentarily, taking in the sight of the city spread out beneath her, feeling a little dizzy from the height. She placed a hand on Raedalus’s shoulder to steady herself.
“A disorienting view the first time.”
A man stood atop the wall, flanked by four soldiers. His hands rested on his waist, accentuating the flare of his coat, his lips curved in a thin smile. The gray of his hair seemed at odds with the smoothness of his dark brown skin. Junari found it difficult to judge his age, but the keenness of the look in his almond-shaped eyes led her to suspect he had lived far greater years than his face suggested. Thanks to Raedalus’s briefing their first night making camp outside the city, she knew the man’s name before he spoke it.
“I am Kuth-Von, Speaker of the Circle of Elders. Welcome, prophet, to the City of Tanjii.” Kuth-Von spread his arms wide to indicate the city sprawling out before them.
Junari noted the eloquence of his Punderra-inflected Mumtiba, thankful for his skill with her language. She spoke Shen, but not with such great fluency.
“I am Junari. This is Raedalus.” She bowed slightly to Kuth-Von, Raedalus mimicking her gesture. Her guards behind her did not move.
“No titles, then?” Kuth-Von looked at her a quizzically.
“I am called Mother Shepherd by those who follow me, but unless you will be joining our journey, that seems an awkward title.” Junari smiled broadly. “Call me Junari.”
“As you wish.” Kuth-Von turned to Raedalus. “Your attendant?”
“My high priest and most trusted counsel.” Junari looked around the top the wall. “I understood we were to meet with the Circle of Elders.” She knew they would meet only with Kuth-Von, but appearing easily confused might help him to think less of her, an advantage she likely needed in negotiating.
“I convinced the Circle that it would be best if I met with you alone.” Kuth-Von turned from the city to gaze out at the docks below and the ocean beyond them.
“I thought the Circle of Elders had no head.” Raedalus glanced at Junari, his face revealing none of the concern she knew he must feel.
“There is no head of the Circle, but I do stand as Speaker, the lone mouth representing many voices.” Kuth-Von laughed lightly at his own words. “I assure you, I am empowered to conduct this meeting and guarantee any agreements that might arise from it.”
Junari did not doubt Kuth-Von’s ability to negotiate for the Circle of Elders. From what Raedalus had told her of the man, he held great sway over a council that supposedly had no leader. The Circle consisted of nine men drawn from the noble and merchant houses throughout the city, selected through a lottery every ten years. Only one wealthy family always maintained a seat, one man always designated by his relatives to represent them. While the Circle had no official head, Kuth-Von embodied it in every possible way.
“How shall we proceed?” Junari joined Kuth-Von at the western edge of the wall.
Below, near the docks, stood a wide plaza, apparently used as a training ground for city soldiers. Men marched in unison in small groups, while some matched blades in twos and threes, and still others practiced the use of their long spears against straw-stuffed men.
“Impressive soldiers.” Junari assumed they had been brought to the wall to see that very sight.
“They have an unbroken record of defending the city for more nearly a thousand years.” Kuth-Von raised his eyes to Junari’s. “They have never failed us.”
“I do not doubt their courage and skill.” Junari held Kuth-Von’s stare. “Nor do I doubt the Circle’s desire to do what is best for your city.”
“But you doubt something.” Kuth-Von raised an eyebrow.
“I doubt the wisdom of denying the obvious.” Junari turned back to the ocean.
“And the obvious is?” Kuth-Von’s voice deepened with his words.
“The new star rises over this ocean each night to shine down on your city as your people sleep and dream the dream that brought me here.” Junari looked from the sky to the city behind the wall. “We are only the first of thousands who will arrive. You cannot hope to litter the only road to your city with the corpses of tens of thousands of pilgrims. Would it not be better to be free of us, letting us pass through, making coin from our time in your city?”
Kuth-Von stared at Junari a moment, then turned and walked south along the wall. Junari looked to Raedalus, his frown expressing her inner frame of mind. She nodded in the direction of Kuth-Von and followed the city leader, Raedalus at her side, her guards and the city soldiers trailing them.
“I am the speaker for the Circle of Elders, but I do not voice a unanimous view in regards to you and your pilgrims.” Kuth-Von glanced to Junari as she stepped abreast of him. “Many in the Circle fear you and what you represent. Some, under the influence of the Ketolin and Zatolin Kam-Djen priests, believe it would be better if we simply killed you. Take the head from the snake before it can bite, as they say.”
“I am but a vessel for the Goddess.” Junari noticed Raedalus and her guards tense at Kuth-Von’s words. “If I am killed, another will rise to replace me. Like you, I speak for a greater body, but mine is of one voice. I am merely the mouth that delivers Moaratana’s words. I am not important.”
“Moaratana. Dragon Star.” Kuth-Von frowned. “You are correct. We cannot turn you all away, no matter what the priests might wish. However, your presence creates problems the priests only amplify. Our city sits free between two warring dominions, fighting a decades-long war with sectarian roots that go back centuries. This is the one place both priests can come together. The Ketolin and Zatolin clergy disagree in how to worship The True God, Ni-Kam-Djen, but they do not disagree that you are a heretic worthy of death. They see the star and they hear of the dream, even if they protest not to have dreamed it themselves. And it frightens them. Not for what they fear your goddess will bring. No, they fear the attention of their fellow priests in the Daeshen and Tanshen Dominions. They fear the leaders of those dominions will use this as an excuse to invade and cleanse this city of corruption.”
“And what do the elders of the Circle fear?” Raedalus spoke from half a pace behind Junari.
“They are not wise enough to fear invasion.” Kuth-Von laughed. “The people of our city are divided very closely in number between those who follow the Ketolin and Zatolin paths. Those who believe only priests can intercede with The True God live mainly in the northern side of the city and those who believe they can pray to their god unaided live largely here, in the southern side of the city. The elders worry your presence will disturb the long held balance between the faiths within Tanjii and create a civil war mirroring the one beyond our protected valley.”
“And what do you fear?” Junari looked at Kuth-Von from the side, his eyes slowly turning to her.
“I fear nothing, for I realize the limits of my power to control what happens in Tanjii.” Kuth-Von clasped his hands behind his back as he walked. “I see the star and I have dreamed the dream of your goddess, but these things do not alter the need for this city to be strong and its rulers stronger. Governing a city is like a game of koris; you must place and move your pieces as best you can, given the lay of the board. Your op
ponent must do the same. But you cannot determine the initial fall of the cubes and can have only limited impact in guiding your opponent’s moves. Moreover, you must accept that there are games you will lose through your own mistakes as well as events you cannot control. The game we play is not to decide the fate of your pilgrims, but to define the future of my city. That is a game I will win, even if I must cheat the rules.”
“This could be a game we both might win.” Junari and Raedalus had spent considerable time the last few days outside the city walls considering a means for obtaining what she desired in the easiest possible manner.
“You and I might win this game, but someone is likely to lose, and losers often become winners themselves someday.” Kuth-Von looked back over to the city at his side.
“We each desire similar things.” Junari glanced toward Raedalus, who nodded his assent. Now seemed the best moment to present the results of their late night debates. “We wish to leave your city and you wish to have us gone. Both things can be accomplished in a manner beneficial to all.”
“We wish you to leave the way you came, and you wish to pass through our gates and sail the ocean.” Kuth-Von shook his head. “These are not the same desires.”
“In only one instance would we truly be gone for good.” Junari continued before Kuth-Von could reply. “Most of the pilgrims who joined us on the road these past months came from farms and small towns and left with little more than the clothes on their backs, or maybe food in a wagon or livestock. However, there are a few followers of Moaratana who left positions of power and considerable wealth, which they have given to the cause of our transport. We can pay to hire and provision ships for the journey. Your city can profit from our passage through your walls and along your docks. I spent many years as a Pashist priest in Punderra, and I have often witnessed the great balm that coin can be when properly applied to the civic wounds, imaginary and real.”
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 34