For four days, they had traversed the city streets in a blinded carriage, frequenting ship after ship along the docks, seeing captains who might gamble their vessels with a journey to the Forbidden Realm in return for a payment of double passage. They found the same arguments presented to them that Kuth-Von had enunciated in their walk along the city wall. Sailing to a realm no one ever returned from did not encourage risk, even in the most adventurous men.
They found one captain, a would-be pilgrim who wished to provide them with passage on his vessel, but could not do so for fear the merchant bank he still owed for the purchase of the ship would protest. If the Mother Shepherd paid his debts on it, he’d find a crew of the faithful to sail it toward the star in the west.
This notion, and the idea mentioned by Kuth-Von of buying ships, had helped Raedalus realize they wasted time speaking to captains on the docks. They needed to approach the merchant bankers instead. They did not possess the coin needed to acquire enough ships to carry the entire pilgrim flock, growing each day as more of the faithful arrived outside the city gates. And every night they stayed camped beyond the city walls ate into their coffers in order to buy food for the many hungry mouths. They needed more money than they possessed to procure more ships than they could afford. Thus, bankers. Now they must convince a moneylender that their new temple could be relied upon to repay the loan and the interest. So far, that task appeared more difficult than any others they had faced.
“The temple be assurance.” Junari leaned forward in her chair, her simple Shen words sounding strange to Raedalus’s ears.
“A temple in name is a not a temple in deed.” Kai-Mando waved a hand at the room, encompassing the shelves of books and stone statues of men with long faces adorning the wood paneled walls and the gold gilding highlighting the ornately carved trim around the ceiling. “This building can be sold to pay a debt. A ship can be claimed and sold for a debt. A temple with no bricks and no land, a temple of words, is worthless.”
“Pilgrims are temple.” Junari pointed in the direction of the pilgrim camp. “Pilgrims come and come. Bring more coin.”
“Then perhaps you should wait until your pilgrims have arrived with enough coin to obtain the ships you desire.” Kai-Mando smiled as though speaking to slow-witted children. “Until then, our house can hold your coin for safekeeping and offer a very robust adjustment for the privilege. Thieves thrive within the city and even more so beyond its walls.”
Junari thanked the moneylender for his concern, leaving to return to their carriage. They did not need to protect their collected coin from thieves. Only a handful of trusted pilgrims knew of the small chest’s hiding place, buried beneath Taksati’s tent. It rested safe enough for the time being.
“The same words with a more condescending tone.” Raedalus peeked out the curtain of the closed carriage as it rumbled along the uneven stones of another winding city street. He closed the curtain and turned back to where Junari sat beside him. Jupterus and Kantula sat across from them. The two guards did not speak. They did not join a conversation unless requested. The seriousness with which they took their duties impressed Raedalus greatly, inspiring him to do the same with his own.
“They profit from what they know and what they can suppose.” Junari slumped slightly in her carriage seat. “They fear the unknown, and the Forbidden Realm is the greatest unknown in all of Onaia. We have faith that the Goddess will protect us from the urris, but that faith is not shared by others outside the fold.”
“Do you think the urris will try to stop us from reaching the Forbidden Realm?” Raedalus had pondered this question many times, but feared to broach it with the Mother Shepherd.
“The urris are the second greatest unknown.” Junari sat up straight as she placed her hand beneath her chin. “No one has proved a claim to see one in decades, and they have not made a significant mark on the world since the Vanished Fleet sailed against the Sun Realm near the end of the Third Great Dominion.”
“If the urris can make a fleet of six hundred vessels vanish in a fog, whatever small flotilla we can piece together will pose no obstacle to their wishes.” Raedalus felt as though his concerns betrayed his faith in the Mother Shepherd and the Goddess.
“The Goddess will shield us from the seeing and The Sight of the urris in reaching the Forbidden Realm.” Junari’s voice sounded firm. “Of this I have no doubt. My concerns lie more in how we will accomplish the departing rather than the arriving.”
“We could pray for a miracle of funding.” Raedalus infused his voice with the humor he intended for his comment.
“Prayers for miracles must be held for times of great need.” Junari lurched forward as the carriage came to a sudden halt. “The cub must learn to forage for itself even as it stands in the shadow of the mother bear.” Sounds of shouts echoed off the walls of the buildings lining the street. “What is happening?”
Raedalus pulled the curtain of the carriage open slightly. A crowd of people pressed close, faces strained in anger. Some had their arms outstretched while others threw rocks that bounced from the slanted shutters of the window in the carriage door. Men and woman shouted to be heard, their words lost in the crush of voices. The carriage jerked into motion, veering to the left before he could make out what the people said.
“A crowd outside.” Raedalus reached out to steady the Mother Shepherd with a hand. They had encountered crowds regularly the last few days. It had not taken long for word of the Mother Shepherd’s mode of transport to run through the city’s rumorways. Across from him, Jupterus and Kantula each held one hand on a short sword as their other hands clung to the railing along the ceiling.
“We must find a way to convince the people of this city that we pose no threat to either them or their god.” Junari clutched the cushion of the seat to hold herself in place as the carriage bounced wildly.
“The Kam-Djen priests teach that belief in any god but Ni-Kam-Djen is heresy, even for those of another faith.” Raedalus’s stomach clenched at the nausea created by the swaying motion of the speeding carriage. “Their temples turned deaf ears to the words of others’ faiths when their zhans ruled the entire realm, but they will now only see us as a threat to their legitimacy.”
“The star and the dreams should speak to our own legitimacy.” Junari placed a hand to her mouth as though she might need to hold something back. “If only their god would place a star in the night sky, it might ease their fears of our goddess.”
“They must wonder why their true god remains silent when the Goddess speaks to so many.” Raedalus looked out of the curtains, again seeing the buildings of the street blur past.
“If their god spoke, and spoke clearly, they would not have spent centuries fighting over how best to pray to him.” Junari looked to Jupterus and Kantula. Both looked ill in the face. She rapped the ceiling of the carriage with her knuckles. “Commander Bon-Tao must cease this ridiculous jostling or he will find our breakfast painting the inside of his lovely carriage.”
To Raedalus’s surprise, the carriage skidded sideways to a halt, the wails of the horses carrying over the noise of the large, iron-rimmed, wooden wheels screeching against stone. He heard the commander shouting from the driver’s seat above them. The soldier yelled commands, but Raedalus had no time to discern the Shen words as the carriage cabin jostled sharply to the side. The carriage rocked from side to side, the clamor of hands smacking the lacquered wood, voices crying out, the commander and his soldiers shouting Shen curses.
“What are they saying?” Junari fell forward as the carriage jerked between hands pushing it and horses pulling.
Kantula reached out to nudge Junari back into her seat. Jupterus drew his sword, holding tight to the handle of the carriage door. Raedalus tried to make out the individual words yelled outside the carriage as it rocked on its wheels. He understood dreamer and goddess and heretics, but could not interpret a coherent sentence from the mangle of voices calling outside in the street.
The cabin
of the carriage shifted violently, the door handle flying from Jupterus’s grip, swinging wide. Kantula placed herself before Junari, yelling an ancient Punderra battle cry as Jupterus drew back his sword, readying to stab the first person through the carriage hatch. Raedalus gasped as dozens of hands reached in though the open door, voices rising in unison to express a single word.
“Heretics!”
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THE SEER
ABANANTHUS
A DRIZZLING mist collected on wide leaves, pooling into droplets, falling to cascade in an uneven fashion over the narrow dirt trail up the mountainside. Abananthus tilted the brim of his hat down against the slow, endless shower from the trees. Lantili and Luntadus sat next to him on the driver’s bench of the wagon, a thin tarp pulled up over their shoulders and heads against the water. Their parents walked behind the wagon in the rain to lighten the load on the wheels and the drag on the horse. Jadaloo walked ahead, helping to coax the animal up the winding mountain path.
Abananthus flicked the reins, urging the horse, Ooshoo, up the rain-slicked furrows of the trail. If the directions they followed proved accurate, they might hope to reach their destination in another hour or so. He did not press the beast to move more quickly, as the eastern side of the path dropped away precipitously, the ground below hidden in a hazy fog.
“How much longer?” Luntadus whacked the stick he’d been playing with against the wooden plank of the driving seat.
“Only those who know, know what they may know.” Abananthus had given the same answer countless times since setting off at the bottom of the mountain hours ago.
“I still don’t know what that means.” Luntadus whacked the stick harder on the seat.
“It means stop asking how close we are.” Lantili sighed in exasperation.
“That’s near enough to the meaning.” Abananthus chuckled loudly.
“I hope this is the right mountain.” Luntadus began tapping out a rhythmic beat with the stick on the seat. “I’m tired of climbing mountains.”
“You’re riding in a wagon.” Lantili frowned at her brother.
“I’m tired of riding in a wagon climbing mountains.” Luntadus frowned back at his sister.
“Your mother knows where we’re going.” Abananthus glanced back to see Kellatra holding hands with Rankarus as they followed the wagon.
“That’s what Mommy said on the last two mountains.” Lantili scooted away from the stick as it struck the wooden seat.
“It was three mountains.” Abananthus coughed to cover his own annoyed tone of voice. Kellatra insisted that her former teacher had always spoken of retiring to the low mountains east of The City of Leaves. Unfortunately, she didn’t know which mountain in particular. “And don’t question your mother. She’s the smartest woman you’ll ever know.”
“I’ll be a woman one day and I’ll be just as smart as her.” Lantili looked offended by Abananthus’s comment.
“Yes, well, I’m sure you will.” He felt the desire to leap from the wagon. Yet another conversation with the children that threatened to go every direction except the one he wished. “But for now, she is the smart one, and we are all following her instructions.”
“Daddy’s smart, too.” Luntadus started knocking the stick against his chest and his legs and arms in an apparent attempt to explore the acoustic properties of the various parts of his body. He even pulled the tarp back to give better access to his skull.
“Your father is very wise,” Abananthus said. “Especially in the manner in which he heeds your mother’s advice.”
“Stop hitting your head with that stick.” Lantili smacked at Luntadus’s arm.
“It’s my head. I can hit it if I want.” Luntadus doubled the rhythm of the stick against his head as he glared at his sister.
“It is your parents’ head until you turn of age, and I suspect they would prefer it remained intact.” Abananthus snatched the stick from Luntadus’s hand.
“I thought you were fun, Uncle Abe.” Luntadus crossed his arms in a pout. “You’re no fun at all.”
“The great joys of life are not held in our hands; they are held in our hearts.” Abananthus deepened his voice as he spoke the words of Sage Monji.
“I was hitting my head, not my heart.” Luntadus deepened his pout.
“He means you can’t find happiness playing with things.” Lantili rolled her eyes at her brother.
“Maybe you will be as smart as your mother.” Abananthus looked approvingly at Lantili, who smiled proudly.
“I’m smart, too.” Luntadus’s pout became a whine.
“You were hitting yourself on the head with a stick.” Lantili laughed at her brother.
“I was testing to see how strong it was.” Luntadus glared defensively at his sister, who lowered her forehead to her palm in exasperation.
“You’re both very bright in your own ways. Two little stars shining in the…” The wild whinny of the horse ate Abananthus’s words as the rear of the wagon slid sideways, the wheels careening over the edge of the trail to spin fruitlessly in the air. Abananthus slapped the reins to urge Ooshoo to pull as he reached toward the children. The back of the wagon sank in a jerk, teetering off the edge of the path. Lantili and Luntadus fell from the riding seat and slid into the back of the wagon bed, crashing along with the bundles of supplies against the backboard.
In front of the wagon, Jadaloo cursed, pulling at the bridle to urge the horse forward. Abananthus kept his eyes locked on the children. He heard Kellatra and Rankarus yell as they ran for the wagon.
“Climb up to me.” Abananthus stretched his arm out, trying to keep the greater portion of his bulk on the driver’s bench. If he moved too far toward the back, the shift of balance would send the entire wagon — horse, children, and himself — plunging over the edge of the trail into the fog-shrouded ravine. “That’s it. Use the sideboards to pull yourself up.”
Lantili and Luntadus each grabbed the top of the sideboard to the right of the wagon bed, but the incline proved too steep, and the misted slats of the wagon too slippery for them to make the ascent.
“Pull.” Abananthus stretched to reach the children, their arms much too far away.
“Help!” Lantili screamed as her feet slid against the rain-slicked bed of the wagon, her legs dangling down. Luntadus grabbed at his sister’s arm to steady her as he cried in fright.
“Don’t move, children.” Kellatra stood at the edge of the trail, her hands extended in a soothing gesture.
“Everything is fine.” Rankarus stepped off the trail, wedging his feet against a rock as he grabbed the side of the wagon. He looked at the children with a wild grin. “Just a bit of a bumpy ride. We’ll have you back on the trail in no time.”
Abananthus watched as Rankarus tugged at the side of the wagon, the veins on the side of his neck bulging as he pulled. He could see Kellatra standing behind her husband, hands still extended, her face suddenly still and free from fear. A tingle of excitement spread across his skin as he realized what she was doing. Rankarus pulled at the wagon, the frame sliding sideways, first one wheel, and then another setting down on the trail. Rankarus scrambled back, appearing to drag the wagon to the trail. Abananthus noted that it could more accurately be said that the wagon pushed Rankarus back to the trail, but it would look the same to the children and Jadaloo.
Lantili and Luntadus leapt over the sideboard of the wagon and into their father’s arms. Kellatra came up to crush the children between them in an embrace. As they finally broke apart, tears in all eyes, Lantili clung to her father’s neck as Luntadus held to his mother.
Abananthus climbed from the wagon, his legs unsteady. Jadaloo put an arm around him, more for mutual comfort than any real need. He accepted the arm and gave her his own, looking over the edge of the trail, noticing that his hands shook.
“Well done.” Jadaloo looked up a
t him. “I was afraid you’d try to climb back to get them and you’d all go over.”
“I feared the same myself.” Abananthus wiped his brow, noticing his hat still sat on his head. Good hat.
A man’s hat is like either the best of all friends — dependable in every weather — or the worst of all friends — deserting him when most in need.
“Thank you.” Rankarus stepped forward with Kellatra and the children.
“For what?” Abananthus raised his hands in question. “I drove the wagon off the side of the mountain.”
“Certainly not.” Kellatra gave him a stern look. “The trail is dangerous.”
“And a lesser man might have leapt from the wagon in fear.” Rankarus clamped a hand on Abananthus’s shoulder.
“Where they go, I go.” Abananthus smiled at Lantili and Luntadus. The children were still too unsettled to return the gesture. “That was very quick thinking.” Abananthus spoke to Rankarus, but his eyes turned on Kellatra.
“Yes, well, it seemed the only thing to do.” Rankarus rubbed his hand through his damp hair. Kellatra said nothing.
“You’re so strong, Daddy.” Lantili stared, wide-eyed, at her father.
“Sometimes fear gives you great strength, darlin’.” Rankarus grinned reassuringly.
“I hope I’m that strong one day.” Luntadus looked at the wagon and then back over the edge of the trail.
“We should all walk awhiles.” Jadaloo patted Ooshoo’s rear flank. “I’ll guide the horse. He an’ I got an understandin’.”
“An excellent idea, Jadaloo.” Kellatra nodded gratefully to the young woman.
“A bit of walking will be good for the joints.” Abananthus turned to check the wagon bed, ensuring all their belongings remained. It seemed a bag of walnuts purchased in the last town they passed through had fallen out of the wagon.
“Everything still there?” Kellatra’s tone of voice indicated her concern rested with only one item.
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 36