The Godspeaker Trilogy (96 page)

God is god … everywhere? “No, Zandakar. Chalava is not god everywhere. There is no chalava in Ethrea. Or Slynt, or Barbruish, or Dev’karesh or Arbenia. Chalava is chalava in Mijak.”

Zandakar shook his head. “ Chalava is chalava .”

There was no point arguing. “You can discuss that with Helfred. He’s the chaplain, scriptural philosophy is his meat and ale. What I want to know is—”

“Dexterity,” said Zandakar. “ Chalava is chalava . God of Ethrea wei chalava . God of Ethrea— tcha .”

The contempt in his face was unmistakable. A good thing Helfred wasn’t here to see it. Dexterity, despite his own troubles with the Church, felt an uncomfortable sting of resentment. “I’m sure you’re free to think so,” he said. “But you’ll not find a soul in Ethrea who’ll agree. And I don’t suggest you voice that opinion, at least not while we’re travelling with Rhian, or we’ll have a nasty fight on our hands. Several ugly wars have been fought over who’s got the best god. Religious folk take their beliefs … very … seriously …” His voice trailed away. He felt sweat on his skin.

Zandakar in the farmyard, drinking clotted blood. Calling for chalava . Calling for help? Zandakar insistent: his god was everywhere.

Oh, Hettie. Hettie. Surely not …

Zandakar’s gaze was fixed on the carving. “ Chalava is chalava .”

The urge to sit down again was almost overwhelming. His knees had gone all wobbly. His head was light, his mouth dry. “And what does chalava want, Zandakar? Do you know? Can you tell me?”

Zandakar looked away. “ Chalava is chalava .”

He bit back a frustrated oath. “Yes, so you’ve said. I do understand that much. What I don’t understand is what that means to Ethrea.” He snatched up the wooden carving dangled round his neck. “You wanted me to have this. Why? For protection? Do you think this carving will save me from your god?”

Zandakar said nothing. His face had gone tight, with a small muscle leaping along his jaw.

He does. He does. Oh, Hettie. This is dreadful . “Your god is god of Mijak. Does it want to be god of other places, too? Does it want you to conquer for it?”

“Conquer?” said Zandakar. He was braced again, and wary. “ Wei understand.”

“Conquer. It means … take,” said Dexterity, and mimed snatching something precious to himself. “Take. Zho? ”

A long, dreadful silence. Then Zandakar nodded. “Zho.”

Oh, Hettie . He was suddenly cold. “You’re a warrior of Mijak, Zandakar. You’re chotzu . Mijak’s prince. Are you chotzu for chalava ? Some kind of holy warrior?”

“Wei. Wei.”

He didn’t believe that. “Perhaps not now. But you were, Zandakar. Before.”

Another slow, reluctant nod. “ Zho . Before.”

Before his mother killed his unborn son and his brother killed his wife. God have mercy. Here was the truth Hettie had charged him to find. Here was the danger that Ethrea faced.

“When you were chotzu, Zandakar. When you fought for your god. Did you conquer other countries?”

Zandakar understood that. It showed in his eyes that he understood. But he didn’t want to answer. He turned his head away.

“Zandakar! Did you? ”

“Zho,” said Zandakar, almost too softly to hear.

“How many? Who were they? Can you even remember? Or don’t their names matter?”

Zandakar flinched. “Targa. Zree. Drohne. Bryzin. Har—”

“And the people in those places?” he demanded, cutting short the list. So many names, Hettie. So many lost . “What happened to them when you came?”

Zandakar looked at him. His eyes were cold. Derisive. “What does Dexterity think?”

He felt sick. So sick. “I think you killed them.”

“Zho.”

“ All of them?”

“ Wei . Some slaves.”

It was like looking at a stranger. Did I nurse this man? Did I succour him? Was there pity in my heart? “How many, Zandakar? How many killed? How many enslaved?”

Zandakar sat on the fallen tree. Suddenly he looked tired. Abandoned. As though living was too hard. “I think you say … thousands.”

Dexterity felt his hands clench. His chest was hurting. It was hard to breathe through the piercing pain.

Thousands. Thousands. Hettie, he’s murdered thousands.

He was a peaceable man. He’d never liked ructions and raised voices. He liked his life quiet, and not stirred about. He’d never enjoyed cockfighting, or any sports made of blood and death. Never been drunk in an alehouse and found himself in a brawl. He was a plain man. A staid man. He was gentle. He made toys.

Drenched in scarlet fury he rushed at Zandakar, fists raised. “And I thought six men dead was a slaughter? You should’ve told me! How dare you not tell me?” He shoved Zandakar so the man half tumbled from the fallen tree. “ I let you close to the princess of Ethrea! I told her to trust you. I promised her you were safe ! But you’re a murderer ! A conquerer ! You’ve destroyed entire countries ! God save me, you want to destroy my country! You and your chalava, you want to conquer Ethrea !”

Zandakar raised a hand. “Yatzhay—yatzhay—”

“And was it yatzhay to the thousands you butchered and enslaved? Yatzhay to Targa, Zandakar? Yatzhay to Zree?”

Zandakar pushed himself up from his knees. “ Wei, Dexterity. Listen. Listen.”

So angry he was fearless, he shoved Zandakar down again. “Listen to a murderer? No, I don’t think so! I think Hettie must be mad to have me rescue you. I should’ve left you on that slave ship to rot! I should have left you there to die !”

A breeze sighed through the sweet green woodland. He heard a voice sigh with it: Dexie, love. Have faith. We need him .

He spun around. “Hettie?”

The breeze died away. Hettie was silent, if she’d even been there. He turned back to Zandakar, who sat splayed on the damp ground staring up at him, his pale blue eyes wide. Almost child-like. The animal blood had dried rustred on his clothes.

“And what am I to do with you now?” he demanded, his voice ragged. “Do I pretend I never learned this? Do I pretend I don’t know you’re this chotzu for your god?”

Wearily Zandakar shook his head. “ Wei chotzu, Dexterity.”

“Then what are you now? Besides a murderer.”

“I am—I am— tcha .” Zandakar made a sharp, slashing gesture. His face twisted in disgust.

I am nothing.

More silence. Dexterity stared at him, flayed with doubt. Then Hettie’s words sounded again, an echo in his heart. We need him . Slowly the scarlet tide of fury receded, taking with it the impulse to batter, to hurt. He stepped back.

“What happened, Zandakar? Why are you no longer chotzu in Mijak? Why did your mother and brother kill your wife and son?”

Zandakar let his head thud against the fallen tree. “Yuma hate Lilit,” he said dully. “Lilit people Harjha. Slave people, Yuma say.” He spat on the ground. “Animal.”

Well, how charming. “But you didn’t think so. You loved her. You married her.”

The pain in Zandakar’s face was almost too great to look at. “ Zho . I loved Lilit.”

“And because of Lilit your mother turned away from you?”

“ Wei . Because I did not conquer Na’ha’leima.”

Na’ha’leima? Oh, Hettie. All these lands I’ve never heard of . “You didn’t conquer …” He shook his head, confused. “Why not? After all those other countries, why stop there?”

Zandakar punched a fist against his heart. “I hear chalava. Chalava say wei conquer. Dimmi is angry. I go to Et-Raklion with Dimmi. Vortka say I wei hear chalava .”

Dexterity sat on the far end of the fallen tree. His legs felt like they were stuffed with cotton. His head was aching. His throat was tight. “How would Vortka know?”

“Vortka is chalava-chaka . Like Helfred, zho? ”

“A holy man? Ah. I see.”

“Vortka hears chalava . He say chalava wants conquer. Yuma—Yuma—” Zandakar’s face twisted again. “Yuma want conquer. Yuma want to kill Zandakar. Vortka say wei .”

“So Vortka saved you twice. A friend, indeed,” he murmured. “And what happened then?”

“Yuma say Dimmi is chalava-hagra .”

“What is chalava-hagra ?”

Zandakar shrugged. “ Wei words. Chalava-hagra …” He held up both hands. Fisted one, and smashed it into his other palm. Again. Again. Again. “Chalava-hagra.”

A weapon. Like a hammer, for his bloodthirsty god. I feel sick . “So it’s Dimmi who comes to Ethrea? Dimmi who conquers the world for your god?”

“ Zho . Dimmi comes. With chotzaka . I think you say army.”

“But … you said your god told you to stop the killing. Who was right? You or Vortka?”

Zandakar’s face reflected his torment. “ Wei know, Dexterity. Wei know.”

Dexterity jumped up from the fallen tree and stamped a few paces up and down the woodland path. “Well I do, Zandakar. You were right. Your people have no business thinking to conquer the rest of us. You should have stayed in Mijak where you belong.”

I thought he was gentle. I thought I sensed something good in him. And now I find he’s slaughtered thousands. Enslaved thousands more. Helfred was right. He’s a brute, from a brute race. A race of people who are coming to kill us in the name of their dreadful god.

Unbidden, his fingers found the carved chalava hanging round his neck. They tightened on it, and he went to tear it off its twine so he could throw it away.

“Wei!” shouted Zandakar, lurching to his feet. “Dexterity, wei. Chalava for you.”

“I don’t want it! I want nothing to do with this god of yours.”

“ Wei, Dexterity,” said Zandakar, looming over him. “Keep chalava . Please.” He touched his eye. “ Chalava see Dexterity. Chalava wei kill.”

Dexterity stared at him. He said please. He’s never said please before. And if I say no he might turn uncooperative . He let his hand drop. “All right. I’ll wear it.”

Zandakar nodded. He seemed relieved. Then he pressed his fist to his heart. “ Yatzhay, Dexterity. Yatzhay for Targa. Yatzhay for Drohne, and Harjha, and Bryzin, and Zree. Yatzhay for Ethrea if Dmitrak comes.”

Against all commonsense he believed Zandakar’s sorrow. Something in the tone of his voice … the pain in his eyes … a shadow of memory darkening his face. But he couldn’t forgive the man. At least not yet. He jabbed his finger into Zandakar’s chest.

I think I know now why you had me save him, Hettie …

“If Dmitrak comes, Zandakar, you’re going to stop him. You’re going to be chalava-hagra for Ethrea. Understand?”

“ Zho . Understand.”

“And you never speak of what you’ve told me today. This is our secret . If anyone learns who you are, where you’re from, what you’ve done and what your people plan to do … I think they’ll kill you outright. And that’s not what Hettie has planned. You’re here to save Ethrea and that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

Zandakar frowned. “ Wei tell Rhian?”

Dexterity jabbed him again. “Especially wei Rhian! She can’t know this, Zandakar. She’s about to face a terrible trial, she’s about to fight for her right to the Crown! God alone knows the kind of powers she’ll be up against. She might even have to fight the whole Church. She can’t be distracted with tidings like this . We’ll tell her when it’s over and she’s safe on the throne. Not a minute before.”

Did Zandakar understand? It was hard to say. But he nodded, as though he did. “ Zho, Dexterity. Secret.”

“Good,” he said, stepping back. “Now we’d best make our way home to the manor. Else they’ll be sending out someone to look for us and I’d rather not be found here. Let’s go.”

Zandakar held out his hand. “Knife, Dexterity.”

The knife. Yes. It was still stuck through his belt. He pulled it out and looked at it, then at Zandakar. It would seem odd, after all this time, if Zandakar didn’t carry it. Odder still if a toymaker did.

“If I give this back to you, I want your promise,” he said sternly. “ No more cutting yourself . And no more blood ! It’s disgusting .”

Zandakar nodded. “ Zho . No more blood.”

“All right then,” he muttered, and gave the knife back.

On returning to the manor house, Zandakar went to the stables. Dexterity, pleased to see him go for the moment, fetched his abandoned whittling tools and carving from the garden and took them inside. He found Ursa in the dining room, safely back from her physicking and enjoying a bowl of soup. The day had slipped away from him. It was late afternoon and the air was cooling.

“You’ll spoil your appetite,” he said, smiling briefly.

“Tcha!” she scoffed, and swallowed another spoonful. “Sixty years of living and it hasn’t happened yet.”

In need of support, he leaned against the wall. “Things go all right today then, did they?”

Another spoonful of soup. “They went fine. The outbreak wasn’t as bad as first thought. Which is a mercy, considering.” She sat back, her eyebrows lowered. “What’s wrong, Jones? You look like your donkey just died.”

The urge to tell her was overwhelming.

Funny you should ask, Ursa. As it happens, I’ve just discovered Zandakar’s an exiled warrior prince from a land full of marauding warriors. He’s slaughtered thousands of innocents. He’s conquered entire countries. He’s got a mother and brother twice as bad as he is and apparently they’re on their way here to kill or enslave every last breathing one of us. Apart from that, everything’s fine.

He wanted to tell her, oh, he wanted to share the news. To let her carry some of its burden. To make himself not so alone . Except he’d promised Hettie he’d say nothing. He’d promised Zandakar too. The thought of keeping his promise to a man like Zandakar struck him as odd in the extreme, but that couldn’t be helped.

Besides, if I tell her she’ll have a conniption. It’ll be the end of Zandakar. Hettie’s trusting me to keep him safe. So I’ll hold my tongue no matter the cost.

And there would be a cost. He could feel that in his hollowed bones.

Forcing a smile, he shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. A touch of megrim, perhaps. I fell asleep in the sun, whittling.” The lie stung. Never before had he told an untruth to Ursa. It felt like a betrayal. As though he’d broken something that might never be mended.

“Fool of a man,” Ursa scolded, and put down her spoon. “I’ve a potion for that. You come with me.”

She led him upstairs to her room where she handed him a vial of something horrible and watched him drink it.