A little stronger than I intended, he thought, but Stella should get the message. He sighed. Sometimes we still get glimpses of the Destroyer"s Consort beneath her beautiful exterior.
"His face changed," little Ena said in her childish voice. "He looked like someone else, and that frightened me."
"I apologise, my dear," Heredrew said to her. "Bandy here rejected my first apology, and I was a little upset. With the flickering light it must have seemed as though I was wearing a mask of surprise."
First apology? Stella had already rejected him? This is more than odd. The little girl kept on talking, insisting that the man"s face changed before the apology, but Conal paid her little heed.
"St-Bandy, is there something between you and Heredrew that we ought to know about?" Conal asked her.
"Nothing at all, priest," she answered, and Conal felt the sting in her words and wondered why he was their target. "Put aside all this male posturing: who is sorry for what, and whose dignity and honour have been offended. What I want to know, Heredrew, is what brings you to this supposedly inaccessible place? What are you looking for in the scriptorium?"
Phemanderac murmured his agreement. "Such a question crossed my mind also. Though you must have given the doorkeeper a reason-indeed, you would have had to mount a persuasive argument to gain admittance to the city. And you do not have a guide; how is that?"
"He did not come through the Mist Gate," Ena said.
"You are right. I approached the city from the east. The keepers of the Wind Gate granted me free access to the city because I came in search of ways to develop my healing powers.
"This is not my first time here, Stella. I have visited Dhauria three other times over the years, seeking knowledge to harness my unpredictable talent."
He turned to address Phemanderac. "The last time I was here I spoke to you, dominie, regarding the efficacy of the Fountain of the Vale."
A clamour arose at these revelations. Eventually Phemanderac was able to say: "You? It was you? I remember-you bore a different name then, I"m sure." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes, I spoke to you, at least twenty years ago. We argued, as I recall, though there are those in Dhauria who will tell you that this is not unusual. Friend, there is much to puzzle over regarding this. You looked much different then, not nearly so tall, and somewhat older. How can that be?"
"Dominie, this is why I am here, in truth," came the answer. "I discovered my talent many years ago, and since employing it more regularly I have grown markedly taller, and my face has taken on a decidedly youthful aspect. I am not sure whether to be thankful or frightened at this, though it does appear to have had the effect of prolonging my vigour. None of my countrymen had ever heard of such a thing; in fact, normal magical use tends to have the effect of inducing physical and mental decay in the pract.i.tioner. So I travelled to Dhauria to read the ancient scrolls. I reasoned that perhaps I would learn something to help me interpret my own condition."
"You told us you were searching for Dona Mihst," Conal said, trying to keep out of his voice the whine his colleagues in the Koin.o.bia hated so much. "If you are telling the truth, you had no need to search."
"A traveller"s fiction; I hope you forgive me for it. Eventually," he added, turning to Stella. "Care with strangers has kept me alive and safe throughout many long journeys. And you should note I never actually lied. I did not say I had not been to Dhauria before."
Conal leaned forward. "You called Bandy "Stella" a moment ago. How did you learn that name?"
There it was: the merest flicker of unease. The man had been far too glib. And, most suspiciously, it appeared he was prepared to answer questions all day. An innocent man, in Conal"s experience, would not be so patient.
"Her name has been mentioned several times," the man said, adopting a puzzled air. "Is it supposed to be a secret? I a.s.sumed the name she took for herself was your own piece of traveller"s fiction."
"So," said Stella, "you are a self-confessed sorcerer with a talent for healing. You have been here in the past, looking for ways to understand and harness your sorcerous power. You met us on the road, proffered a large amount of fiction mixed with a degree of truth, and healed our desperately ill friend. Now we meet you again. We appreciate your willingness to answer our questions, but I have yet another. Are you willing to help us in our own quest for knowledge?"
Conal frowned. This was too much. Stella had just delivered a speech to rival the dissembling of the Archpriest himself. It was the sort of thing he had heard at the Koin.o.bia every day; perhaps the others would be fooled by it, but Conal was not.
These two know each other. I need to find out how.
As do I, said a voice in his head. As do I.
The doorkeeper approached their cubicle. "Once again I apologise, dominie, but another outsider seeks admittance to the scriptorium. Actually, he is searching for the man named Conal. I thought it best to admit him."
There was no doubt who this was. Conal did not even look up as the insolent, block-headed guardsman sat down heavily on the bench beside him.
"Can"t keep you away, can we, priest? You always have to be in her shadow."
"You wouldn"t be talking about yourself, would you," Conal said in an undertone. "Of course not; you wouldn"t fit in her shadow, much as you try to."
"Enough!" Stella said. "Or I"ll ask the doorkeeper to see you out, and arrange for Ena"s clan to escort you to the gate. Clear?"
Robal apologised, and Conal mumbled some words that might be construed as penitent. But he wasn"t: he meant every word.
"I remember having a number of discussions with you when last you visited the scriptorium," Phemanderac said to Heredrew. "Your opinions, as I recall, were lively and unconventional, and I based more than one paper on the conversations we had. I could show you...no, to the point. Heredrew, we have found an unusual scroll. Would you care to cast an eye over it and offer an opinion on the authenticity of its contents?"
"Dominie, I am no scholar," the man said. "But if you think I can help, I"ll have a look for you."
With the arrival of Heredrew and Robal the cubicle had become too small to spread out the scrolls, so Phemanderac sent Moralye to request a large table and more light. There they sat, on small stools that instantly set Robal"s back aching, debating old scrolls.
The guardsman knew why this was important, of course. Stella was an unusual and very concerned woman. She had been cursed with immortality by the Destroyer, and had to live with the knowledge that in all likelihood she would never die. So, as she had explained to her companions many times during their travels, she sought knowledge to understand how to deal with such a life-and, perhaps, to seek a cure. Even if it kills her, the soldier thought, but did not laugh.
Robal, however, knew something the others did not. From comments she had made, the guard had pieced together the realisation that, if she did not find what she was seeking here, she would go further east-to Andratan, if necessary, and the Destroyer"s feet. His arms. If the only solace she was to have in this world was with someone like him, she would choose him.
So he forced himself to listen carefully to the discussion. If they could wring anything out of these old pieces of parchment that could prevent the sickening image in his mind-her and him together-it would be worth all this brain-racking.
The stranger Heredrew looked up from the scroll before him. "The man who wrote this was certainly self-obsessed," he said. "If the author wasn"t the Destroyer himself, it was someone who has spent time imagining what it would be like to be powerful, immortal and hated."
"There is no call to have sympathy for the Destroyer," Conal said, with exactly the look on his face Robal detested. As though lard wouldn"t melt in his mouth. "He deserves any pain he suffers."
"I doubt anyone disagrees with you," Stella said sharply. Robal thought her reply odd; in fact, she had been behaving queerly all day.
"Yet I can identify with him," Heredrew said quietly. "My former Haurnian companions noticed my good fortune and hated me for it, even as they accepted my healing help. Eventually their scandalised talk became so pervasive I had to leave. If someone were to write my story, it might cast me in a very bad light, as does the Domaz Skreud Kannwar." He moved slightly on his stool. "Sometimes I think I am wandering the world to avoid forming relationships, rather than seeking knowledge as I claim."
"If you can identify with him," Stella asked, "do you think he is telling the truth? Is the Domaz Skreud wrong?"
"I don"t think those are the best questions," he answered, and beside him Phemanderac nodded. "I"m inclined to think that Kannwar-if he was indeed the author-told the truth as he saw it. I say this with the following provisos. He wrote this over two hundred years after the event. Who knows what excuses and justifications became fact in his tortured mind? Or what events he may have minimised or neglected to mention in his account? Yet if we apply those conditions to his recollections, ought we not to do the same to the Domaz Skreud? It reflects the point of view of one who sought someone to blame for what was undoubtedly a tragic and shocking event. From the Domaz Skreud we can deduce that conditions in Dona Mihst at the time of the Rebellion were far from the idyll many think. Yet the writer lays the blame squarely on Kannwar"s shoulders, attributing nothing to the overcrowding and political agitation of the time. Is that not evidence of partiality? Perhaps a combination of both doc.u.ments might bring us closer to the truth."
All through this statement the priest had been huffing and puffing like a bellows, obviously building up to some overinflated p.r.o.nouncement. As soon as the man finished, Conal jumped to his feet.
"This is nonsense!" he said as his stool clattered to the floor behind him. "Is anyone seriously arguing for the truth of any of this"-he struck the scroll with the flat of his hand, eliciting a gasp from Moralye-"specious self-justification? I am a priest. You ought to be coming to me to ask my opinion as to whether this blasphemy regarding the Most High is to be taken seriously. How can it be? How could the One who created the worlds and all within them be defeated and driven out by a pair of jumped-up humans? If he did elevate two humans to be G.o.ds, why is no mention made of them in our holy scrolls? And is anyone taking seriously the suggestion that Kannwar might have deceived the omniscient Most High G.o.d? Let us waste not one more minute on this absurdity."
He bent down and righted his stool, then sat back on it.
"It"s always good to hear from the oracle," Robal said, filling the silence. "Boy-priest, do you yet have a notion as to why the great and the wise consistently fail to consult you on matters of importance? Because there is no need. To understand what you think, one need read no further than the Koin.o.bia-sanctioned Halite propaganda. We do not ask your opinion because we want to understand, not learn meaningless catechisms."
"Have you finished insulting people of faith? Because I am proud of following the sacred scrolls to the letter. Why bother calling into question the result of debate between people wiser than us, who were there at the time?"
"Conal, you are such a fool," Stella snapped. "Was Kannwar wiser than you?"
Fool he might be, but by the trapped look on the priest"s face, he could see where this was going. Robal settled back to watch the fun.
"Of course he wasn"t. How can anyone cursed by the Most High be called wise?"
"Come now. What does "Kannwar" mean, according to the Domaz Skreud?"
"You know as well as I. "Guardian of knowledge". It was just a name."
"Doesn"t the scroll tell us Kannwar was surpa.s.singly knowledgeable in the Fuirfad, the Way of Fire?"
"Yes," Conal answered sullenly.
"So, Kannwar was wise, and he was there at the time. Or will you dispute that as well? No? Then why not at least consider his words?"
"What I want an answer to," Heredrew said suddenly, "is why it was wrong of Kannwar to oppose the Most High when, it is clear from this doc.u.ment, he honestly believed the Most High to be misguided."
Unabashed, Conal replied. "Because by definition the Most High cannot ever be wrong. Simple."
"Oh? So the Most High has always been right? What of this claim that the Most High was argued by his children into not retiring from the world? Was the Most High wrong in electing to retire in the first place, or wrong to be persuaded not to retire? How could he be both?"
"I don"t accept that doc.u.ment," the priest said, tugging at his collar. "Besides, the Most High is above right and wrong."
"No more than any of us," Stella said. "Let"s a.s.sume for a moment that Kannwar"s doc.u.ment reflects the truth on this issue. The Most High wanted to retire from the world. What"s wrong with that? The people wanted him to stay. Nothing wrong with that either. He listened to their cry and changed his mind out of compa.s.sion. Isn"t that a good thing? So where is the fault?"
"Fault lies with those who attribute immutability to their G.o.d," Heredrew growled.
Robal stared at the man. The northerner spoke as though the outcome of their debate really mattered to him.
"Everything he has said to humans has come through the sieve of our own understanding, which is culturally prescribed," the tall man went on. "So the supposedly sacred words in the Domaz Skreud merely represent one person"s view, through a particular sieve imposed on him by his culture."
"Stop babbling," Robal interrupted. "I didn"t travel through the desert to listen to scholar"s argot. My first sergeant always said that if you can"t say it plain, you don"t understand it."
Conal coughed. Robal turned in the direction of the sound; the look the priest gave him was designed to anger him. Everyone else here understands what is being said, it told him. He turned away from the man"s gaze, only to catch a much fiercer glance from Heredrew.
"Very well," Heredrew said in a frosty voice. He picked up the copy of the Domaz Skreud and waved it at the guardsman. "These are not the Most High"s words. They are the words the writer remembers. He remembers particular words because he is alert to them, in turn because of his upbringing. Language is necessary for effective communication of complex issues, but it is not sufficient to create meaning perfectly. There is always bias and misunderstanding and confusion. It"s not the Most High"s fault: no doubt what he actually said was what he meant. But this," he rustled the scroll, and Moralye made a small noise of protest, "is what the First Men decided was important. I"m saying that, after reading Kannwar"s account, it seems to me their choices were based on making themselves appear righteous and Kannwar evil. And, before you ask, yes, Kannwar did exactly the same thing. Were I-were he to write this now, he might say something different."
"Right," Robal said. This made sense, but did it help? "What you"re saying is that we can never know what really happened."
"Not unless the Most High sat down at this table and told us," Heredrew said. "And even then we would debate the meaning of every word he said."
Stella drew in a breath. "Then it really would be crowded in here," she said.
"The agreed hour of study is past," the doorkeeper said quietly. "Two council members are waiting their turn to use this area. You are welcome to return tomorrow, should the representative of Clan Phidrie grant you continuance in our city."
Moralye thanked the man, then took the two scrolls and rolled them closed. "I will store this unusual work on my personal shelf," she said, indicating Kannwar"s supposed apology. "It will be available to you tomorrow, but in the interim I will ask our experts to examine it. Their preliminary conclusion will be available to a.s.sist you when next you return."
Stella felt a light hand on her shoulder and thought at first it was Ena; though when she turned and saw who beckoned her to his side, she realised she had not felt a hand at all.
"I refuse to accept the reality of this," she said to him, quietly but nonetheless in anger. She had dissembled enough; she no longer cared if Ena reported their conversations to whatever authorities ran this city. "The last time your arm was on my shoulder it bled from a stump at your wrist. You were forcing me to carry you to safety. Many people died that day, and you were the cause."
"I wish to talk with you privately," he said, ignoring her words. "I could bespeak your mind, but frankly I am worried as to who might overhear us. It is time you learned what is happening, time to discuss with me what role you might play in it."
He glanced at Ena. As though expecting Stella to magic her away.
"Oh? This will be another of those self-serving explanations after the fact, will it? Listen well. For seventy years you have been a hateful memory but also a faint hope. Now you are a reality, I am minded to put hope aside and allow hate full reign. If I carried a blade, I would put your immortality to the test right here on the street outside the Hall of Scrolls."
"So you will close your mind to knowledge in the same way as your foolish priest?" The man flashed his own anger: it was like witnessing a furnace door swing open, then close again.
He smiled, and it was as if his anger had never been. "I am staying not far from here, at the house of Byellatus of the Taradh Clan. I will meet you there one hour after sunrise tomorrow morning. Please come alone. I do not have anything to offer your companions. Before then, I pray you will say nothing to alarm them; but after we have spoken tomorrow I will withdraw all such requests. Then you may tell your friends what you wish about me."
Ahead, Robal had already turned once to see what delayed her. It would not do to linger.
"You might reconsider expressing your wishes as orders," she hissed. "You are not the only monarch here today. If you wish to meet me tomorrow, it will be you who comes to see me, and not otherwise. The hour remains as you suggested, but the place of our meeting will be on the street outside my lodging-house. And now, no more. Be off. Spend the rest of your day antic.i.p.ating the questions I will ask you and how you might defend yourself against them."
For the first time since she had met him, Heredrew looked discomposed. "But I don"t know where-"
Stella did not catch the rest of his comment. She put her head down and scurried to where the others had halted, waiting for her, half-dragging a protesting Ena with her.
Wisely, the Undying Man did not follow.
She made it out of the square and into an alley before she was violently sick.
CHAPTER 8.
FIRE AND WATER.
STELLA DID NOT HAVE an easy night. She could ask no one to wake her, and her worry that she might sleep through the agreed meeting time kept her from finding the deepness of slumber she needed to refresh herself.
When it was clear no more sleep would come she eased herself out of her pallet, then put her head between her hands and rubbed her aching temples. It took her a few moments to realise that she ought not to have been able to do this; a glance at the other pallet showed Ena sleeping quietly. The fabric used to bond them together lay neatly folded on the girl"s coverlet.
There was no doubt Ena had overheard the arrangement between Stella and Heredrew. Stella had wondered if the girl might say something to the man and woman who had come to see her late last night, presumably her parents; but, as far as she could make out, nothing had been mentioned about Heredrew. The outsiders had broken no laws, and that was the extent of the gatekeeper clan"s concern, it seemed.
But Stella was sure Ena ought not to be allowing her to slip away unbonded. This was a decision on the girl"s part that might well get her in trouble. Stella debated whether she should wake the girl and ask her if this was wise, but she decided to accept the offer of trust.
And to abuse it. No one in Dhauria would sanction Stella meeting with the Destroyer.
She discarded her shift and donned her tunic and breeches. A glance outside showed stars and street lanterns, the rain-free sky suggesting she did not need to borrow Robal"s overcoat.
She frowned at herself. Come on, girl. You are just delaying the moment.
Wiping her hands on her breeches, she padded quietly through the door and into the other room. What might most kindly be described as a manly fug a.s.sailed her. And, yes, Sauxa lay on his back, mouth open, forcing various irregular and unpleasant noises through his gnarled throat.
The pallets filled the room, and Stella found a way between them only with difficulty. There was nothing blameworthy about rising early to watch the dawn, but questions would be asked about the breaking of her bond, so she tried to be careful. Even so, she barked her shin on Robal"s pallet, the nearest to the door, and waited for his growl. It didn"t come.
Outside, the air was surprisingly cold. Stella worked the fingers of her right hand, always stiff in the morning, and took a breath of the cool air. It had a different quality than anywhere else she"d been. Oddly, it reminded her of home-of Loulea, the small Firanese village where she and Leith had been born. Crispness, with the slightly moist flavour of wet-climate vegetation. Odd, that. For all its beneficent setting, Dhauria lay in the midst of a desert, after all.
Turn around and walk about fifty paces up the street, said a voice in her mind. His voice.
Curse you. I will have an agreement from you to stay out of my head.
Laughter, both inside her head and audible to her ears. You will have to erase many memories, then.