Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (34 page)

‘And your faith is grotesque and reductive!’ the Minister spat back. ‘It prances about and flaunts itself. It lacks decency and decorum. It is utterly offensive, completely ill-mannered. It disgusts where it should seek to deserve. It is ignorant of reserve and deliberation, and far too familiar with filth and farting. It makes animals of men, while making men of animals. It—’

‘It is honest and joyful, were you not blind and insensitive to it! It does not force itself on others and dictate to them. It does not give itself power while taking power from others through clothes, convention and circumscription. It does not imprison or end lives; rather, it explores and encourages life. It—’

‘It is meaningless! It bows to no one or thing.’

‘Not true! It deifies the Geas!’

‘Prostitutes itself, rather! I know what lewd acts constitute your pagan rituals, and that you perform them in the hope of some power in return. You are a bestial, beaten and broken race.’

‘The only thing that is beaten and broken round here is my arse! The only bestial act that has gone on is your attack on that very same arse. Yours is a faith that seeks to bestialise, beat and break any that will not enslave themselves to it. You cannot know otherwise, as it will not allow you thoughts of your own. Ack! I should have left you lost in the snow. I was a fool even to talk to you. Even if you were to hear, you would not listen. Even if you were to listen, you would not understand. The lower village deserves you, I reckon.’

The Minister smiled. ‘Do you not get on with the lower village, pagan? Is not all well within even this small community? Tell me, what is wrong? Maybe I can help. Maybe the ways of the Empire and the blessed Saviours can help.’

Torpeth glowered at the Minister but did not reply. From thereon he stayed well ahead and away from the Minister and the mule. He did not even look at them as he led them to the lower village. The new travelling arrangements more than suited the Minister, as now he had clean air in his lungs, although he still needed to scratch himself intermittently, and he was now so hungry he felt light-headed enough to fly the rest of the way.

The youth was so handsome of face that he bewitched men, women and children alike. His eyes were large and soft, as green and lush as pasture one second and as blue and clear as the purest waters the next. His nose had a strong profile but gentle curves. His lips were full with promise yet firm of purpose. His chin was carved yet delicate. In short, he was so quixotically perfect that he should not have been able to exist. People were entranced to the point of stupidity when they looked upon him, but doubted their own memories when no longer in his presence. Surely the youth was some sort of dream or fantasy.

‘Is he one of the blessed Saviours?’ asked one of the younger Heroes in a hushed voice as they followed in the beautiful youth’s wake.

‘Is that a halo around his head? It’s brighter than the heavens.’

‘It’s a helmet, I think.’

‘Sun-metal p’raps. Must be worth a fortune.’

‘But if any head is worthy of it, ’tis that one.’

The Peculiar walked slowly through Saint Goza’s camp, his hands held out so that all could touch him. Whenever he adopted this form, the people flocked to him and sought some sort of contact, as if they could thereby receive a blessing. He indulged their simple ways, as it only increased their fervour and compliance.

It had been strange to see the walls of the Old Fort again. They had once been near-living things, radiant with power and faith. Now, they stood a tarnished and silent vigil, bearing witness to the slow decline of the people. They’d had such potential in the early days, led by their brave young gods, but had inevitably overreached themselves and been their own undoing. They’d become twisted, stunted and self-absorbed, easy prey for the elseworlders when they’d arrived. Now they were hardly recognisable compared to what they had once been. Surely it was only a matter of time before their demise was complete, given that even their Geas had run mad. Perhaps it would be kinder if he put them out of their misery once and for all. Perhaps.

They came to the large cauldron in the middle of the camp. The rock woman was already sat inside it, miserable in her chains of sun-metal. There was water up to her neck, and a roaring fire beneath. The water was close to boiling. Presumably the rock woman had been in the water from when it was cold, so that her body would not be able to perceive the steady rise in temperature; otherwise she would have been thrashing about already. There were probably worse ways to die, the Peculiar reflected, for this was perhaps like going to sleep in a warm bath. Of course the thought that someone would soon be eating you wasn’t particularly pleasant, but a disciplined mind should be able to ignore that.

He cleared his throat and in a honeyed voice ordered the Heroes following him, ‘Dowse the fire. Remove her from the cauldron. Release her chains.’

Like sleepwalkers or as if in a trance, a dozen or so of the Heroes moved to obey him. Steps were brought, and it took six of them to haul Freda’s dead weight up and out of the bowl. Her sun-metal manacles fell to the ground with a soft thud, and she collapsed on top of them when the men stopped supporting her. The Peculiar crouched down near her.

‘Freda, can you hear me? I have come to free you. I am your friend. Nod if you understand.’

She did so groggily.

‘It is important that you do not go to sleep. Can you stay awake for me?’

Another nod.

‘Get me a blanket soaked in cold water,’ he directed the men.

The ground began to tremble. Several of the men blinked as they came back to themselves. They looked around in confusion and consternation. One of them slapped a comrade round the face to bring him back to full consciousness.

The Peculiar arched one of his perfectly expressive eyebrows. ‘His Pigginess awakes! Prepare a trough and a bucket of slops.’ The Heroes still under his spell tittered.

‘Who dares disturb my camp?’ a large voice echoed around them, blowing open the small hill that was the Saint’s tent.

‘Did someone hear something? Sounded like flatulence. Oo, be so good as to bring me a wagon, would you? I think it will be a while before my friend here is able to walk properly.’

Saint Goza emerged with his hammer of sun-metal and powered towards them, casting a shadow over all. ‘Where do you think you’re going with my dinner? Captain, what is the meaning of this?’

The Captain, who still stared raptly at the Peculiar, only managed an incoherent mumble. He dribbled from both corners of his mouth.

‘I think he’s in love.’ The Peculiar beamed at the Saint. He fluttered his eyelids winsomely. ‘My, you’re a big one! Surely you have more than enough to spare. You do not need the rock woman.’ He made his voice resonate with a full range of coercive and sympathetic tones.

The Saint shook his head as if troubled by flies. ‘
I
rule here! Guards, seize him!’

The Peculiar raised a forbidding hand and the Heroes around him froze. Now he used more discordant and strident vibrations to instil fear in the Saint. ‘You
will
release her to me! It is the will of your Saviours! You must bow to that will!’

The Saint sounded like he’d all but lost the ability to speak. ‘I … represent … their … will … here.’

Then the sweet and seductive song of compulsion: ‘Come, dear one, you must know who I am. You know it would be futile to oppose me. It would only end in heartache and grief. You would be risking everything, for what? Just this harmless blighted woman, who is surely very far from a tasty morsel? You are merciful, magnanimous and enlightened. You will give her to me, knowing that the Saviours will reward you for your loyalty and faith. You will become prime among the Saints and all regions will hearken to your word and will. Come, nod your beauteous brow, dear one.’

Goza let his head fall forward as he said woodenly, ‘Yes, I give her to you, to show my generosity and greatness. Take her.’

‘Thank you, holy one. You are as wise as you are fat. Oh, just one thing before I go.’ The Peculiar’s voice became flat and deep to imprint itself on their minds and memories. ‘You might want to think about bathing a bit more. There must be a lake big enough somewhere in this region, no? Or would that cause a drought? Someone your size must sweat constantly, I imagine, which creates quite a body odour, so most people no doubt smell you long before they see or hear you coming. I wouldn’t be surprised if your Saviours in the Great Temple could smell you even from this distance. And maybe bits of food get caught in your folds of flesh and then rot. Just how many chins do you have? Lost any attendants recently? Maybe they got trapped in one of your folds or chins and found themselves unable to fight their way free. Or perhaps you sat down too hastily one time and your crack swallowed … Anyway, you get the idea. Time I was off, I’m afraid, good people. Now, don’t cry. Busy, busy, you know how it is. Build a shrine to me or something if you really are going to miss me that much. That’s it. Get my friend up into the wagon there. That’s it. Well done. A fond farewell to you all. Come on, you’re all big soldiers. No weeping and wailing now. Bye, bye! Bye, bye! That’s it, wave. You’ll feel better.’

Heroes sobbed in each other’s arms. The Saint blew his nose on his sleeve, the strength of the blast knocking his manservant over and splattering him with mucus. Some cheered as he left, others groaned as if they must surely die because they were so heartbroken. One sensitive soul tried to compose an impromptu ode to the wondrous stranger and ran after them, declaiming it loudly.

The Peculiar flicked the reins to increase their pace. ‘We’d best get out of here before someone with brains about them questions what happened here. Once one of them starts having doubts and suspicions, it quickly spreads and the shared illusion is shattered. If they were to chase us, things would get extremely tedious, not to mention messy.’

‘Thhhank you,’ Freda enunciated carefully, her tongue and the rest of her so swollen that she did not feel like she was in her own body. ‘I am Fffreda. What is your name?’

The Peculiar gave her his sunniest and most loving smile. ‘You’re welcome, Fffreda. In return for saving you, I want nothing but your friendship. I say nothing, yet such friendship would be of great, great value to me. I try to do good things to make good friends, you see. It doesn’t often work, but you seem nice.’

‘I do?’ the rock woman asked with shy happiness. ‘I would like to be your friend. I don’t have any other friends in the sky-cave of the Overlords, you see.’

‘That’s good then.’

‘But what is your name, friend?’

He grinned, wondering which name it was safest to give her. One of his few strictures was that he might not invent a name for himself. ‘Many have called me Anupal. How about that, Freda?’

‘A-nu-pal,’ she repeated, trying it out.

‘That’s it. Now, in return for my name, Freda, will you promise not to run away and leave me alone in this scary … sky-cave?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, Anupal. I don’t want to be alone here either. I promise.’

‘Oh, thank you, dear Freda. You don’t know what that means to me. And, tell me, do you think I’m handsome?’

Now she did hesitate. ‘Er … of course, Anupal.’ She sounded like she was being polite or didn’t want to upset him. He did not like that, not one little bit. This one would need watching, very careful watching.

‘Why don’t you get some rest, dear Freda? You must be quite exhausted after all you’ve been through. I will keep us heading south, although the clever horse seems to know where I want it to take us.’

At his suggestion, her eyes began to droop. She yawned, ‘What does
south
mean, Anupal?’

‘Hmm. It’s like
down
, Freda, whereas
north
is like
up
, if you see.’

She tried to frown, but couldn’t hang on to it as she was dragged into sleep. ‘I probably like south far more than north then. Explain it more to me later though, Anupal, when … when …’

Jillan wandered through the ruined landscape, searching for signs of life, anything. All that remained of the trees were burned-out hulks or drifting piles of ash. The sky was one continuous pall of black smoke, precious little light getting through from above. Superheated rocks and smouldering remains glowed enough for him to see by, although he was not sure what there was left to look at and how much more of this devastation he really wanted to see. It was stifling hot and the air was thick with cinders and dust.

He coughed and staggered over the next rise, kicking up plumes of ash with each step. Ahead of him was a large green hill. On the top grew fruit trees and cattle were grazing. Clear air and sunlight surrounded the heights. A sea of desperate people surged up the slopes, but they broke against an unyielding line of Heroes who stabbed down with spears tipped with sun-metal. On the very crest of the hill was a large throne on which basked the one-eyed Saint Azual.

The Saint immediately saw Jillan. ‘What are you doing in my dream, pagan?’ he roared across the gulf separating them.

‘Are these your thoughts?’ Jillan asked, sickened.

‘Get out of my head!’ Azual howled, leaping from his throne and across the divide, landing ten yards short of Jillan. ‘How dare you presume to judge me? All this is far beyond your understanding.’

‘What’s to understand? Is this all you desire? Or is it some nightmare?’

‘Your intrusion is destroying its beauty,’ Azual asserted and ran at Jillan, delivering him a glancing blow to the head.

Jillan blinked and looked up at a blue sky. He breathed clean air and was relieved to see healthy trees passing on each side. There was another jolt and he realised he was in the back of a moving wagon.

‘Sorry about that.’ Aspin smiled back at him. ‘This road isn’t as smooth as the one from the main gate out of Saviours’ Paradise. Lot of loose stones. How’re you feeling? They don’t appear to be chasing us, but I thought it wise to put some distance between ourselves and the town rather than waiting for you to wake up. We’ve been travelling all night.’

‘Water?’

Aspin passed him a leather water bag and Jillan sluiced the phantom ash from his mouth.