A Solitary Journey (22 page)

‘What
are
you?’ Chi-hway asked. A Ahmud Ki was rising again. Caught between two adversaries, Meg watched as the crouching Chi-hway measured the source of greatest threat and leaned towards A Ahmud Ki, but when A Ahmud Ki ran to escape Chi-hway dropped his staff, unhitched his bow and loaded an arrow in a single fluid motion.

Meg screamed, ‘Chi-hway! No!’

‘Tell him to stop!’ Chi-hway yelled.

A Ahmud Ki scrambled over a fallen log, heading for the hillside. ‘Don’t run!’ she cried, but the fleeing figure plunged through the rain towards the forest.

Chi-hway pulled back and aimed. It was a hard shot with a moving target in the rain, but she was confident Chi-hway could bring the man down with a carefully placed arrow aimed to wound. He sighted along the shaft, adjusted the tension and arc. As he released the arrow, flames enveloped his bow and he yelped and dropped it. Shocked, he turned to the red-haired woman who had one hand raised and a finger pointing. A glance revealed that his arrow landed short of its target, flames dissolving in the rain.

Meg slowly lowered her arm, staring not at Chi-hway but at the last flames flickering on the burning bow on the wet grass. Then her eyes met his astonished gaze. A Ahmud Ki was already in the forest. Her heart raced. There was no staying—not now that Chi-hway had seen what she could do, not now that she’d helped someone escape from him. Her world had changed again. She scooped up Whisper and the rat climbed onto her shoulder, snuggling into her hair to shelter from the rain. Meg looked at Magpie and saw the boy was staring at her with the same expression as Chi-hway. ‘I’m going,’ she muttered softly. ‘Coming?’
Magpie kept staring. She hesitated. If she stayed? No. Going was her only option. Magpie would be safe. A Ahmud Ki claimed that he could help her save her children. There was no choice. She looked again at Chi-hway who seemed uncertain what to do next. ‘Look after your son,’ she told him.
I should bargain for some food,
she considered, but instinct told her to go at once. She looked one more time at Magpie and nodded, but when he didn’t respond she smiled grimly at Chi-hway and started to walk in the direction that A Ahmud Ki had run. Chi-hway picked up his staff and walked towards her so she raised her hand as if to point. He stopped. ‘Don’t,’ she warned. ‘And don’t follow either. You’ve seen who I am. There’s no point following me. I will only bring you sorrow.’ She wondered whether he would choose to let her go or try to redeem his hubris as she continued towards the forest. Chi-hway watched her go.

‘Jarudha provides every man with opportunities to act, but it is every man’s responsibility to act according to his capacity when each opportunity arises. Failing to act in this way is failing to do Jarudha’s Will.’

FROM
A C
ASE FOR INSTITUTIONALISING
W
ORSHIP
BY SEER ONYX

D
iamond was dead. The old man collapsed outside the temple on a morning walk and never recovered consciousness. His body was laid in state for four days before being cremated on the cliff top overlooking the Port of Joy bay on the fifth day, as was the Seers’ custom. The King and his court attended to show respect for the religious men of Western Shess, but the common people were kept away as had also always been the custom. Diamond’s ashes were interred with the ashes of his predecessors in the Vault of Disciples beneath the temple.

In the Counsel Room the full conclave of Seers gathered—ten without Diamond’s presence—and when the prayer of meeting was concluded Onyx spoke first. ‘We know why we are here. Diamond’s death leaves us without an earthly leader. The people and the new King have accepted the role of His Eminence so we must elect someone from among us to fill the void left by Diamond’s ascension.’

‘Before the new King there was no official role of leadership among us,’ Vale reminded them. ‘We shared our wisdom collectively and made decisions collaboratively, according to Jarudhaic law.’

‘We made decisions, Vale,’ said Weaver, ‘that pertained to ourselves and the worship of Jarudha, but the world has changed, as have our responsibilities. We serve not just ourselves but the people now.’

‘True,’ Vision agreed quietly. ‘The death of the Queen was the end of the old era. We showed that we were no longer silent watchers of the world but players in it. If we are to prepare for Paradise on earth, then we must act accordingly.’

‘And for that we need a leader,’ said Onyx, ‘someone to whom the common people will look for their spiritual guidance—someone they will trust and obey when we need them to do Jarudha’s work.’

‘“There are those who would take just cause and make it suit their own needs”,’ cited Vale.

Onyx glared at him. ‘Quoting scripture is for those who lack greater understanding of what the scripture means,’ he said calmly. ‘Everyone at this table knows
The Word,
Vale. I could equally respond, “Blessed is he who will do Jarudha’s Will even when his brothers cannot see the way forward”. We are in the Last Days. Diamond knew that when he pressed us to open the places of worship for the common people. What was done in the past is no longer relevant. We must do what is necessary now.’

‘And who would you suggest should act as our leader?’ asked Seer Gold, looking at Onyx.

Onyx met the younger man’s gaze flatly and answered, ‘That is for us and Jarudha to decide here. I propose we hold a ballot. Each of us must vote for someone else he thinks would best fill the role of His Eminence.’

‘I propose we vote differently,’ suggested Seer Hope.

Onyx looked up at the man, who seldom spoke at meetings. ‘And?’

‘I propose we cast three votes, in order of three for our first choice, two for our second and so on, and in
secret, for the men we believe will lead us well. Then we will add up the votes and the person with the highest number will be His Eminence by common agreement.’

‘Too complicated,’ Onyx complained. ‘And who would do the counting?’

‘We all would,’ said Hope.

‘No,’ said Onyx. ‘Let’s keep it simple.’

‘We should cast our votes in secret, though,’ said Weaver.

‘Agreed,’ Reason and Faith said simultaneously. Everyone nodded.

‘Then it is decided,’ declared Onyx. ‘Each of us will write the name of the man we choose on parchment and pass it to me. I will count the results.’

‘Each man will pass their vote to Acolytes Shadow and River,’ said Vale. ‘Then no man can be accused of tampering.’

The other Seers endorsed Vale’s suggestion. Onyx was silent. ‘I’ll send for them,’ said Weaver and he rose to leave the chamber.

‘When we have a new Eminence we will resolve other issues,’ said Onyx. ‘Until then each of us should retire to our cells to meditate and make our selection. No man is to speak to another until the count is made.’

‘When will the vote be closed?’ asked Gold.

‘Tomorrow by sunset,’ Truth proposed. The Seers nodded agreement.

‘Tomorrow by sunset,’ Onyx confirmed.

The King, blond hair loose to his shoulders, hands behind his back, was gazing over the battlements out to sea where a grey squall shadowed the southern bluff and coast. The early morning sea breeze riffled his hair and made the tip of his nose cold. Kerwyn ships, cream sails tinged gold by the rising sun, rocked at anchor in the harbour’s rough seas, reminding him that the war
was ever-present and watchful for a break in the season. The bitter Shahk weather had driven the Kerwyn army back from the city for shelter, but the navy was implacably guarding the bay, goading the Shessian ships to dare an attack. He needed ships and shipmasters like his Warmaster who soundly defeated the Kerwyn army in their last attempt to take the city before the bad weather closed in. There were ships being secretly built to the south, in Whalers’ Bay, and the Seers promised to engineer a set of giant thundermakers to arm each ship that would make them superior to the Kerwyn navy. When the fresh winds of Tayooh blew from the south the new Shess navy would sweep in and drive the Kerwyn out of the harbour. He needed someone who would be tactically smart to lead the new navy and he had no one in mind yet.

He knew the Seers were choosing Diamond’s replacement and he expected Onyx to be successful. The most influential, vocal and senior member of the group, Onyx was also the most ambitious. What he didn’t like about Onyx was his latent aggression. The man was determined to get his way and Future feared that they would inevitably clash over some matter. He’d given the Seers significant concessions in return for helping him to acquire the Shessian throne, but he never intended for them to have political power. That was solely his province as king. The Seers were responsible for the souls of his people and only their souls.

Hearing footsteps on the stone he turned to find the Royal Intermediary, Kneel Goodman, approaching. Goodman was as his name stated—a good man to have as an Intermediary because he had the Royal palace well secured with the Elite Guards and he kept close attention on all matters pertaining to the King’s welfare. ‘Well?’ he asked.

Goodman bowed and replied, ‘The Seers have chosen.’

‘And?’

Goodman’s face was impassive as he said, ‘Seer Vision will be the new Eminence, Your Highness.’

‘Vision?’ Future blurted in disbelief. ‘How? He murdered my mother. I thought he was dead.’

‘Apparently he’s very much alive and respected by his colleagues,’ Goodman replied wryly.

The King was perplexed. He’d expected to deal with Onyx, or had there been a bizarre outcome perhaps Weaver who’d accompanied him by ship from the Kerwyn capital—but Vision? ‘They’re mocking me!’ he muttered angrily. ‘Why would they choose the man who murdered my mother? Out of twisted spite? After what ‘I’ve done for them?’

‘I might caution Your Majesty that the only evidence for Vision being the one guilty of that crime has always been rumour. There were no living witnesses and no confession of involvement from the Seers.’

Future glared at Goodman. ‘Rumours can be more truthful than historical records.’ He turned away to gaze over the ocean again.

‘Your Majesty?’ The King was silent. ‘Your Majesty, you have a visitor,’ Goodman said calmly.

Future whirled. ‘Who?’

Unfazed by the King’s fury, Goodman announced, ‘Seer Onyx, Your Highness.’

Future fidgeted. His guess was that Onyx was either very disappointed with his colleagues’ choice of the new Eminence, or he’d come to remind the King about his compact with the Seers. ‘Take him to the War Room. I’ll speak with him there.’

Goodman bowed and left the battlements. Future turned back to gaze out to sea and saw that the squall was gathering courage and charging into the bay.
Trouble has a habit of coming at me,
he mused, and chastised himself for the negative thought before he headed inside.

When Onyx entered the War Room, his white hair and beard sharply contrasting with his blue robe, he was scowling. He strode across the space between the King and the door and stood face to face with Future, making no effort to show deference.
Definitely unhappy with the decision,
Future thought. ‘Have
all
the Seers forgotten protocol?’ he asked.

‘Anger takes precedent, Your Highness,’ Onyx replied gruffly.

‘You might consider my anger at learning how you’ve kept the man who murdered my mother successfully hidden away.’

Onyx glared at the King. ‘I never sanctioned that,’ he vehemently denied. ‘Diamond engineered that charade.’

‘It’s a shame Diamond is dead then,’ said Future, ‘because if I’d known about this deceit I wouldn’t have made any deals with your treacherous order.’

‘Jarudha’s plans had nothing to do with your mother’s death,’ Onyx argued, ‘but for you to become king sooner or later your mother would have had to die.’

‘She would have accepted me when I defeated her.’

Onyx shook his head, irritated by the young man’s naivety. ‘Your mother was never going to give up the throne to you, Future. You knew that, even if you refuse to admit it. Why did you have to go to war against her, not once but twice? Why did she have you locked away in the Bogpit if you were the precious son you thought you were? The woman was born to rule and intended to die ruling.’

‘Speak respectfully of my mother!’ Future snapped and glared threateningly at the Jarudhan Seer. Onyx
met his gaze and did not flinch. It was Future who broke away. ‘It doesn’t matter. Why Vision? Why not you?’ he asked.

‘Because he has the support of the younger Seers, especially those who fought with the Rebels to bring you to the throne. He’s Truth’s son, and the older Seers respect him because Truth died heroically fighting the Abomination. Diamond personally trained him to carry on his work. And he’s gifted with the most powerful Blessing of all of us.’ Onyx’s bitterness shattered like crystals in the last words and he stared at Future with sharp, angry eyes.

‘But he doesn’t have your support,’ Future said.

‘I will serve His Eminence as Jarudha determines,’ Onyx replied stoically.

‘Then why are you here?’

‘To ask you to do the same.’

Future met Onyx’s steady gaze and this time did not look away as he said, ‘I will not work with the man who killed my mother.’

Onyx allowed a grim smile to slide across his mouth. ‘I knew that would be your answer when the count was made and Vision was declared the new Eminence. But, like me, it is not in your best interests to let past events dictate the ones to come. The will of Jarudha is above everything we personally covet. I came because I want you to know that your hatred of Vision is not yours alone. I share it. But neither of us must do anything rash or selfish to pursue our personal goals. It is written that “The man whose need is greater than Jarudha’s has no place in Paradise and will not walk the eternal path”. Vision’s appointment is for this world, but our eyes should rest on the eternal.’

‘You will follow a man you hate?’

Onyx’s grim smile hardened. ‘Men follow you, Your Highness, and not all of them love you.’

Future accepted Onyx’s bitter observation. He approached the central table where the maps of the known world were spread with Western Shess at their centre and leaned on the table’s edge. ‘Can I count on you to act as my counsel?’ he asked, without looking up at the Seer.

‘That’s why I came,’ Onyx replied.

Cleaver Broadback huddled against his horse, soaking in the animal’s warmth, cursing himself for making a dumb mistake. When he rode out of Westport in the morning to enjoy a solitary ride the sun and sea breezes were promising to keep the rain squalls to the north, but by the time he crested the bluff the winds had swung south and the squalls raced in with driving rain that forced him to shelter. The two farmhouses he encountered were long burned to the ground when the Kerwyn armies marched south and the only protection he could find was between granite boulders at the edge of the drop to the thundering ocean.

The campaign for the fertile and open land of the Shessian barbarians had been very successful, but the military loss to the barbarian army outside their capital, Port of Joy, at the close of the season galled him, even though he was absent from the battle, assigned to hunting and exterminating all of the barbarians in the open lands and the eastern forest. It galled him because his people suffered a defeat that gave the barbarians a brief respite when their land should have been totally under Kerwyn rule.

But there was compensation. The heroic death of the Kerwyn Warlord, Bloodsword the Merciless, had initiated Cleaver Broadback’s latest promotion. King Ironfist sent messengers to recall him from the eastern killing fields, celebrating his ruthlessly efficient cleansing of the new land by naming him Bloodsword’s
replacement: Cleaver Broadback—Warlord—supreme commander of the Kerwyn army.

The new role quickly lost its gloss for Broadback in the dismal weather—the rains and storms lashing the land kept the Kerwyn army hunkered down in the larger captured towns along the coast. Inland, the marauding soldiers had devastated the settlements and farms, moving like a bushfire across the countryside, consuming and destroying everything in their path, leaving nowhere to shelter for the stormy season, so they retreated from the plains to the larger towns to escape the ravages of the wild weather. What irked Broadback was the waste of waiting. All he wanted was to assemble the forces and exact revenge on the barbarians—to finish the task they began in Ironfist’s name several cycles ago. He was the new Warlord and glory was waiting. The man who left his village and family in the shadow of The-Mountain-of-Providence as a warband leader in the hope of winning land for his people had risen like the sun through the ranks of Shieldmaster to Hordemaster to Warlord, and the tracts of land with which he now expected the King to reward him were immeasurably beyond his first humble ambition. And here he was, sheltering alone with his horse like a common warrior because he misjudged the weather.