04c Dreams of Fire and Gods: Gods (12 page)

I
T
WAS
after nightfall when Gonim arrived at the temple dormitory. He’d been forced to perform
Nemom
in the street of the second ring. The guards at the courtyard shared by the keep and the temple were more cautious than their counterparts at the ring gates and sent for a
caedan
to vouch for him. Gonim did not recognize the middle-aged
caedan
who appeared a short time later, looking extremely put out, on the heels of the page who’d gone for him. “What is this all about?”

“This boy claims to be a
tadu
from Worlen, Father.”

“So?” He looked Gonim up and down with only mild interest. “He’s pretty enough. But I don’t claim to know all the
tadu
in Worlen.” To Gonim he said, “Who is your mentor?”

“Father Deid,” Gonim replied. “But he was killed in the destruction of the temple.”

The
caedan
looked distressed. “Father Deid? Killed? These are truly dark times. Yes, I knew your master. This news much aggrieves me. What is your name?”

“Gonim, Father.”

“I am Father Kosün. Come along, then. The evening meal has just begun. Perhaps there will be something left for us.”

The meal was simple, as it always was in the dormitories—chunks of heavy wheat bread; a soup made from potatoes, carrot, and turnips; and ale. While the wealthy citizens were expected to pay their tithes in coin, farmers donated from their harvests and kept the fathers and acolytes well fed. Gonim had hoped to get a taste of the local
stosam
, since the local brewers no doubt kept a steady supply coming in, but the ale served was a simple, uncomplicated brew. Nevertheless, the meal was filling and satisfying.

There were twenty-seven
caedan
living in the dormitory and sixteen
tadu
. During dinner, Gonim ate with the
tadu
, of course. He hadn’t forgotten his purpose—to find out how the valley had been cut off from the rest of the kingdom, and why—but he decided it would be easier to get the acolytes to tell him what they knew than to try prying information out of the fathers. So he began with the most obvious question.

“Why is everything blue in this valley?”

There were a lot of blank looks around the large oak-wood table before one of the young men told him, “Nobody knows. It just happened one night about four weeks ago. We woke up, and there were clouds overhead, glowing like that.”

“Father Mekh says it’s some new kind of sorcery,” another voice chimed in. “Something not of the gods—evil.”

“Father Mekh thinks
everything
is evil,” someone said. Apparently, this was a common sentiment, because a number of the youths snickered.

But Gonim felt certain Father Mekh was right. This magic was
not
of the gods, or Imen would certainly not need his aid in finding its source. And magic that didn’t emanate from the gods was, by definition, evil.

“If the fathers believe this valley has fallen under evil influence,” Gonim asked, “why haven’t you all left?”

“We can’t leave!”

“Why not?”

One of them lowered his voice, as if fearing he might be overheard. “No one can leave, per order of the
dekan
and the
vek
—both!”

“Why is that?”

No one seemed to know, but one young man added, “They say the
vönan
are all dying! Nobody knows why that is either.”

An elderly
caedan
cleared his throat noisily as he walked by and gave them all a stern look. The
tadu
quickly turned back to their bowls of soup. But of course, their obedience was short-lived.

“Have you seen the city?” the first youth asked him quietly when the father had gone.

“Harleh?”

All the
tadu
laughed at that. “No,” one of them said. “The
other
city—the one in the forest.”

“Is that a city?” he asked, recalling the towers he’d seen in the mist. “I didn’t get a good look at it. How did it come to be there?”

The first youth replied, “Again, nobody knows. It just appeared—during the siege! It grew out of the ground like a beanstalk, faster than you can snuff a candle. And the forest around it is so thick, nobody can find a way in.”

“That sounds incredible,” Gonim said. “I’m almost sorry I’m inside the walls now. I’d like to get a better look at this city.” It seemed very likely that the answers he sought might be found there.

“You can see it from the observatory tower. At night it lights up like you wouldn’t believe!” The young man looked a bit bashful when he added, “I could take you there after
Nemom
, if you want….”

Gonim knew he had more on his mind than showing the newcomer an interesting feature of the landscape. The Stronni considered men to be superior to women in many ways, which was why their priests could only be men. They also placed a high value upon masculine beauty. To better please them,
tadu
were chosen not only for their piety, but also for their physical beauty. If a boy showed a predisposition toward preferring other boys to girls… then that was considered a sign the gods had shown him their favor. This of course made it difficult to prevent the
tadu
from arranging liaisons, and for the most part the
caedan
tolerated it with fond good humor, perhaps recalling the days when they’d been given the same latitude.

Gonim preferred girls to boys, but he could appreciate the latter. This young man was certainly attractive. His name was Sheh, as Gonim learned that evening after the bells had rung. Two
tadu
wandering off somewhere together after dark was a bit too obvious, even given the tolerance for that sort of thing, but the dormitory and temple grounds were laid out similarly to those in Worlen. It wasn’t difficult for Gonim to find the observatory on his own. Sheh was already waiting for him.

He was cute. A mop of light-brown hair, big brown puppy eyes, and an adorable smile. Gonim was certainly drawn to him. But he couldn’t forget his reason for being there. When Sheh stepped out of the shadows and reached for him, Gonim caught his hands to stop their roaming and laughed gently. “Show me the city first. Please?”

“All right.”

The observatory had windows facing the four directions and telescopes for observing the positions of the stars so the fathers could attempt to understand the Perfect Order, as the gods willed them to do. Because the telescopes were delicate and could not remain exposed to the elements when not in use, the windows were normally shuttered. Sheh took him to the west window, unlatched the shutters, and folded them to the side. Then he removed the heavy linen cloth covering the telescope.

“It’s already pointing at the city,” Sheh told him. “The fathers have been watching it since it appeared. The stars are obscured now, anyway.”

Gonim placed his eye against the eyepiece.

It was beautiful. And totally alien, like nothing Gonim had ever seen before. Hundreds of towers sparkled in the darkness with thousands of yellow-green points of light, stretching higher into the night sky than he would have thought possible. The magnifying power of the telescope allowed him to see that the lights were in fact windows—far more than he’d ever seen on a castle or keep tower, and spaced close together. Gonim was no architect, but he suspected walls of ordinary stone would collapse if they were riddled with so many openings. The flickering of the lights might be caused by people moving about, though the magnification wasn’t powerful enough to tell that for certain.

You must go there
, Imen’s voice echoed inside his head.

Tonight?

Soon. Find out as much as you can in Harleh first.

Gonim stepped back from the telescope and Sheh covered it. When he’d closed and latched the shutters once again, he reached out in the darkness to pull Gonim close. This time, Gonim did not resist. He lowered his head and kissed Sheh’s willing mouth, reveling in the sweetness of it and knowing this might be the last time he would experience physical tenderness.

When they were finished, they snuck back downstairs and across the courtyard to the dormitory, and then along the outer wall until they came to the large communal sleeping quarters of the
tadu
. Sheh had left a window unlatched so they could climb inside unnoticed by the sleepy
caedan
charged with making the rounds at this hour to assure everyone was safely in bed. Sheh directed Gonim to an empty cot, gave him one last lingering kiss goodnight, and then retreated to his own bed.

“T
ANUM
is coming along quite well, Your Lordship,” Geilin told Sael. “They all are, but she has a distinct talent for Taaweh magic.”

Sael had no doubt his sister-in-law was a remarkable woman in many respects, but that didn’t change the fact she was defying over a thousand years of tradition—and worse, angering his father. Still, he’d given her his word. “I’ve no doubt that’s true, Master Geilin.” He couldn’t resist adding, “The noble families of Harleh are beside themselves. It’s creating quite a scandal.”

They were in Sael’s sitting room, resting in front of a warm fire. Jekh poured them both glasses of brandy before absenting himself.

“I think this little experiment will prove quite valuable in time,” Geilin said when they were alone. “And with all due respect to the noble families of Harleh, they often seem to find entertainment in idle gossip and to flourish on scandal.”

Sael stifled a laugh. “True.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sael set his glass down and called out, “Enter.”

One of the two men guarding his door slipped inside. “I beg your pardon, Your Lordship, but one of the
vönan
wishes an audience.” He glanced at Geilin and then quickly away. “He calls himself Master Vosik.”

Sael sighed and picked up his glass again. “Vosik,” he growled, taking another drink.

“Not Vönan Makek Vosik?” Geilin asked, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“Never! I will see one of your stableboys made
vönan
makek
before I ever grant that conniving backstabber the title.”

Geilin clucked at him. “I don’t have ‘stableboys.’ I have apprentices.”

“Forgive me,” Sael said. “I meant no disrespect.” He’d been spending too much time in the company of his father. Koreh wouldn’t be pleased to hear him talking disparagingly about Geilin’s new apprentices. He’d have to watch that in the future.

Sael nodded at the guard. “Please show Master Vosik in.”

He and Geilin both stood to greet the
vönan
. Vosik entered and bowed, but Sael was certain he saw a look of dismay cross the man’s pasty face at the sight of Geilin. No doubt he’d hoped to get the
dekan
alone and drop a few hints about the
vönan
needing a new leader. Sael hoped he had enough class
not
to do that in front of Geilin.

“Your Lordship. Master Geilin.”

“Iinyo Geilin,” Sael corrected him. When Vosik hesitated, obviously confused, he added, “That is his new title.”

“Oh. Of course, Your Lordship.” He gave another perfunctory bow to Geilin, but did not use the title. He looked distressed, so Sael let it go.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Master Vosik?”

The short, rotund man nodded again, eyeing the glasses of brandy and the half-full decanter beside them as if hoping he might be offered a glass. But Sael had no intention of inviting the man to linger. “I’m afraid I have some… rather distressing news, Your Lordship. It’s come to my attention that many of the
vönan
in Harleh have grown so discontent with the current… situation… that they are planning to escape.”

At the word “escape,” Sael felt himself growing a bit nauseous. Not because he was all that worried about the
vönan
’s plan, but because he hated the fact that Harleh had become a city people
wanted
to escape from, a city that had to prevent people from leaving.
When will the Taaweh openly challenge the Stronni?
Of course, that would place them all in even greater danger. But at least the wait would be over, and people could come and go as they pleased.

I hope so, anyway.

“When do they plan to execute this plan?”

“Tonight, my lord,” Vosik said. “After
Manduccot.”

“And what is the plan, precisely?”

It turned out Vosik didn’t know. Not in great detail. Apparently, he and his friends hadn’t been included in the planning stages—quite possibly because his fellow
vönan
knew he was likely to betray them. Sael had no doubt Vosik had weighed likely outcomes and decided that siding with the
dekan
would be the most politically advantageous option. Perhaps he believed Harleh would eventually emerge from its magical quarantine, and the
vönan
who remained there would be restored to power, whereas those who defected to the capital would become mere underlings of the established
vönan
there.