The Godspeaker Trilogy (108 page)

The heat in his body was so intense now. He couldn’t see properly, the air had taken on a fuzzy reddish-gold glow. It blurred all the faces around him, they looked like they were made of wax and melting. With dreamlike surprise he saw his shining hands drift towards dead Walder and lay themselves palm-down on his motionless beestung chest. Through the roaring in his head he heard voices cry out. Then he heard another voice … and realised it was his. He was a puppet again, his body used by someone … something … else.

“Rise, Walder! Breathe again! In the name of Rhian, Eberg’s daughter, Ethrea’s true and noble queen, awake from your cold sleep and live with joy!”

Walder, the dead boy, opened his eyes.

“Rise, Walder! Stand and embrace your loving family! Praise Ethrea’s Queen Rhian who with God’s blessing has been raised so high!”

Walder, the dead boy, got to his feet.

“Mama?” he whispered, confused and afraid. “Mama, what happened?”

“Walder!” his mother cried, and flung herself upon him. His father was only a heartbeat behind. Beneath Ursa’s ointment the boy’s previously swollen, pustuled skin was flawless.

Still snared in his dream-state like a bee in its honey, Dexterity lifted his hands in front of his eyes. As he watched, the shining light faded from them. They became his ordinary whittling hands again, stained with ointment, marked with pale scars. His burning blood cooled and the world cooled with it, the air fading slowly from reddish-gold to gone. As though someone had magically vanished his bones he felt himself slip sideways to slump on the ground.

“Jones!”

That was Ursa. He’d know her voice anywhere.

“Don’t stand there, Graythorne! Help me get him on his feet!”

Strong arms slid around him and he was hauled to the vertical. Muzzily he blinked and blinked. His head felt empty, his body light as thistledown.

Silence. Everyone was staring at him. Walder. Walder’s parents. Chaplain Mede. The villagers. Rhian and Alasdair. Zandakar. The dukes.

“Are you all right, Dexterity?” said Rhian, her voice hushed. “Can you speak?”

He cleared his throat. “I—I think so, Your Majesty.”

Walder’s mother said, “Thank you. God bless you .”

“Oh …” He blinked. His empty head was spinning. If he wasn’t careful a breeze would blow him away. Is this what you meant, Hettie, when you asked for that favour? I’m not sure I like it. I’m not sure at all! “Er … yes … you’re welcome …”

“And God bless Queen Rhian!” Beeman Loryn cried loudly. His arms were tight around his son, now wrapped in someone’s hastily donated shirt for decency. “With God’s intervention she gave my son back to me!”

Chaplain Mede clenched his fists. “Loryn, you damn yourself! The prolate has declared this woman anathema. This was not the work of God, it is evil, God will disown you if—”

“Be silent, you foolish man. God will do nothing of the sort.”

Helfred.

Chaplain Mede turned on him. “And who are you?” he demanded. Spittle flecked his lips and his eyes were wide with zeal.

“I’m a brother chaplain,” said Helfred. His hands were clasped quietly before him, his travel-worn robes edged with dust from the street. “Whatever you’ve been told by the prolate, disregard it. Prolate Marlan is … mistaken.”

“ Mistaken? God’s prolate ?” Chaplain Mede growled in his throat. “What kind of a chaplain are you, to make such a pronouncement?”

Helfred smiled, thinly. “The kind who knows more of the prolate than a village divine who’s doubtless never seen him in the flesh. Prolate Marlan is—”

“Your superior,” said Rhian. “Helfred, you forget yourself. Return to the van.”

Shocked, Helfred stared at her. “Your Majesty—”

“Do not call her that!” cried Chaplain Mede. “Every soul here is interdict because of her!”

“You fool,” said Helfred. “The interdict is nothing but an attempt to steal power. God has chosen Queen Rhian to lead Ethrea out of danger. The child Walder lives to show you a sign! Do you deny what has happened here? Do you say there was no miracle?” He flung a challenging glare at the crowd. “Well, you people? Do you deny it?”

The villagers looked at each other then slowly shook their heads. How could they deny it with Walder standing before them, alive when moments before he’d been dead?

“Evil can hide itself in miracles!” said Chaplain Mede. “Evil can—it can—”

Ignoring him, and Rhian, Helfred turned again to the crowd. “Good people of Heddonvale, do not despair!” His expression was transformed into a peaceful serenity, all past peevishness washed away. “Clouds cover the sun’s face, the land is darkened… but briefly. In God’s name, as his divinely ordained chaplain, I tell you to celebrate the miracle you have seen. Keep it not secret but spread the joyful word: Rhian is God’s chosen queen of Ethrea. She is the light. Let her light shine!”

“God save Queen Rhian!” cried King Alasdair. “God’s mercy on Ethrea and Rhian, our queen!”

The people of Heddonvale took up the cry. Under its cover, Rhian nudged her horse forward. “Thank you, Helfred. Now get back in the van .”

Dexterity watched startled Helfred flinch. Then the chaplain nodded. “Your Majesty,” he murmured, and did as he was told.

They left Heddonvale soon after, with Chaplain Mede vanquished and the villagers’ shouting as great a benediction as any reading of the Litany. Ursa, insistent, put Dexterity in with Helfred to sleep and drove the peddler’s van herself. They did not stop again until twilight fell.

Once the royal party was settled for the night, Dexterity was summoned before Rhian.

“All right, Mr Jones,” she said, seated on a fox-pelt travelling stool in her small pavilion. Behind her stood the king, the dukes and a pensive Helfred. “I’d like an explanation.”

Oh, Hettie. Hettie. I could do with you now …

“Your Majesty, I’m not certain I can give you one.”

Rhian leaned forward, her hands fisted on her knees. “I don’t wish to hear that! The child was dead and you brought him back to life. How did you do it? I want to know, now! ”

“That’s just it,” he said, helpless. “I didn’t do it, Majesty. It was Hettie. She saved him. I was just… there.”

“I see,” said Rhian, after a moment. “And you’re all right? You look all right. Certainly you don’t look any different .”

I’m shaken to pieces but aside from that … “Perfectly fine, Majesty. Thank you for asking.”

“I think it’s time you told us about this Hettie, ” said Duke Edward, his whiskered face grim. “I think it’s time you told us everything, Your Majesty.”

“I agree,” said Duke Rudi. “I want to know all there is to know of this woman. And how it comes to pass that a foreign mercenary seems willing to kill a chaplain of Ethrea for you without bothering to wait for an invitation. Or how that foreign mercenary fell in with a simple toymaker in the first place. There are many such mysteries here, Your Majesty. Edward and I have risked our duchies and kinsmen for you. I think you owe us more than half-truths and excuses.”

Rhian looked at him, her eyes hot. “I’ve made your son Duke of Kingseat, Rudi. Are you certain you wish to be speaking of debts?”

“And I’m honoured and humbled by that, Your Majesty,” said Duke Adric, a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes and his father’s hookish nose. “However, if I may be so bold as to speak, like my father and Duke Edward … I am curious and concerned.”

“Rhian,” the king said quietly. “It’s time. And if you didn’t think so you wouldn’t have called Mr Jones before your full council.”

Rhian’s lips thinned for a moment, then she nodded. “Perhaps. Helfred. Who is Hettie?”

Dexterity nearly bit his tongue. Helfred? Why ask Helfred ?

From the look on his face the chaplain was wondering the same thing. “Your Majesty?”

“You’re the chaplain here, aren’t you?” said Rhian, impatient. “And we’ve witnessed our second miracle, this one even more miraculous than the first. Surely this is the provenance of our Church.”

“Your Majesty,” said Helfred faintly. Then he collected himself and looked at the dukes. His face now held an echo of his former lecturing pomposity. “Hettie, Your Graces, is a messenger from God who appears to Mr Jones in the guise of his dead wife.”

“Rollin save me,” said Duke Edward. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Not outside of scripture, and these aren’t scriptural times.”

Dexterity cleared his throat. “You can’t be more surprised than I am, Your Grace.”

“Hmmph,” said the duke, then turned to Helfred. “Have you seen this—this messenger, Chaplain?”

“I have seen its manifestation in miracle, Your Grace,” said Helfred. “As have we all. I suggest doubt at this point is… pointless. And displeasing to God.”

“But why him ?” said Duke Rudi. He sounded almost offended. “Why is he singled out for God’s favour? He’s a toymaker. He’s—he’s—”

“Loyal, brave and wise,” said Rhian, sharply. “He risked everything for me with no thought for himself. If I live to be a thousand I’ll never be able to repay him.”

“Nor will I,” said King Alasdair. “I’d not be wed to Her Majesty if this man hadn’t saved her from the clerica, and Marlan. We are all in his debt, Your Graces. This kingdom most deeply of all.”

“Blessed Rollin was a humble man,” added Helfred. “It seems God has a fondness for those unspoiled by high station.”

The dukes exchanged affronted looks, but forbore protest.

“Very well,” said Duke Edward. “You’re the chaplain. If you’re satisfied then so must we be.”

“What about Zandakar?” said Duke Adric. “A fierce man, and most … unusual. Have we seen his race in Ethrea before?”

Rhian said, “I’m not certain. So many foreigners set foot on our shores these days. His is a sad tale, Your Graces. The physick, Ursa, patched him up after he was brought to her in a terrible state. A harbour-tavern brawl, you know what sailors are like. His ship sailed without him. Abandoned him without a care. Mr Jones took pity on him, offered him work and a roof over his head till he could find his way home again. He’s a generous soul. Isn’t that so, Mr Jones?”

Dexterity held his breath, not daring to look at the king or Helfred. Why is she lying? Does she not trust her own dukes? He swallowed. “I don’t know about generous, Your Majesty. It seemed the right thing to do. And then of course the king died and—well—things got complicated. And he’s been very helpful, one way or another.”

“Very,” said King Alasdair, stony-faced. “Indeed. A sad tale.”

“But where’s he from ?” said Duke Rudi. “I’ve never met a sailor so skilled in deadly knife-play. And the way he trains our soldiers … amazing. You’d swear he spent his life giving orders, not taking them.”

“I believe he hails from somewhere in the east,” said Dexterity vaguely.

“And it doesn’t matter,” said Rhian. “Like our humble toymaker Mr Jones, Zandakar has proved a friend. I suggest you cease fretting on him. We have more important things to think of, wouldn’t you say?”

The dukes muttered agreement. Rhian let her gaze touch the king’s face then slide away.

“Mr Jones,” she said. “Can we expect more miracles as we travel to Kingseat?”

Everyone stared at him. He stared back, feeling like a trapped butterfly confronted by pins. “I—I really don’t know, Your Majesty. I wasn’t expecting the first two. They just … well … they happened .”

“There’ve been no more messages from Hettie? You’ve had no more dreams?”

Oh dear. More lying … “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

There. Not exactly a lie.

Helfred made a diffident sound. “If I may interject, Your Majesty?”

Rhian nodded. “You may.”

“It was Mr Jones—at God’s insistence—who said we must return to Kingseat by road, not the river. Given what happened in Heddonvale I think it most likely we will be visited by more miracles. Miracles are God’s way of showing us what is true. So it was with Blessed Rollin, and is again in this, our time. We travel by road so you might be seen by your people, Majesty. We travel by road so they will know you are God’s chosen queen of Ethrea.”

“I believe he’s right,” said King Alasdair. “We are queen and king and dukes and chaplains in trust. Our sacred duty has always been to safeguard the people of Ethrea. Marlan and Kyrin and Damwin have forgotten this. They’ve forgotten no-one rules without the people’s consent … or God’s blessing. These miracles will remind them.”

Dexterity considered him, impressed. There speaks a true king. No wonder Rhian loves him . The Dukes Edward and Rudi didn’t look quite so sure … but young Adric’s expression was thoughtful. As though the king’s words had been spoken at just the right time.

The trouble is, though, I don’t want to do more miracles. At least, I want to support Rhian—but raising folk from the dead? Oh Hettie, please, no more raising from the dead.

“Dexterity,” Rhian said gently. “I can see you’re dismayed. I’m sorry. I can only imagine how you must feel. But if God had to choose someone … I won’t regret he chose you.”

He bowed. “And I won’t regret being used in your cause, Majesty. I may not understand the hows and whys but I do know this much: we’re doing the right thing. That’s all I need to know. As for the rest, I’ll leave that to Hettie.”

“And God,” said Helfred, with lifted eyebrows.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Mr Jones,” said Rhian, her tone a warm dismissal. “Be sure to eat a good meal and rest well tonight.” She glanced at her dukes and Helfred. “You may all retire, gentlemen. His Majesty and I would have some small time in private.”

As the dukes nodded and shifted, stamping their blood into movement after standing for so long, Helfred stepped close. “Forgive me, Majesty. I have a question.”

From her expression it seemed Rhian knew already what he wanted to ask. “Yes, Helfred?” She sounded … resigned.

“Why do you not permit me to travel openly in your retinue? Why must I spend each day cooped up in that stuffy peddler’s van? Am I being punished? Have I somehow offended you?”

“Offended me? No. Helfred—”

“It’s enough that the queen has decreed it, Chaplain,” said King Alasdair, frowning. “I’m disappointed. Your sermons place great emphasis on the Second Admonition. ‘Be Thou Obedient to Authority, lest unrest be your harvest.’ Do you see yourself above the—”