meet the Fah Disan, another character from The Foreign Sorcerer
It was then that he saw her. She stood before a small opening in the wall, and his gaze had gone past before he realized he was looking at someone he knew. When he jerked his eyes back, she was gone.
He chafed his thumbs anxiously against his fingertips while he tried to decide if pursuit was wise. A catalyst, Japhet had told him. A force that caused things to happen. Presumably unlikely things, because normal things happened all on their own. Couldn’t be tracked because she lay in wait.
It would be reckless to follow. She owed him no fondness for the role he played in her suffering. On the other hand, he was going to have to take action eventually. Japhet had left the Havlsburg to him.
Taking a deep breath and fingering the silver-and-sapphire ring he now wore on his left pinky-finger, he made for that gap in the wall. He hesitated at the brink, but there was nothing there but a tiny alcove set aside for private prayer. He moved more fully into the opening, studying the space like he expected to see an axe suspended from the ceiling.
An icon set against the far wall was surrounded by a few guttering votives. The space was otherwise empty. Tibor squinted at the icon: a middle-aged man, face sorrowful, hand outstretched in benediction. The crown of wheat on his brow named him Anim, one of the early saints. Kulahn, whence the Rehaddeline faith originally came, although Tibor wasn’t surprised the artist had given him distinctly Gash features.
Puzzled, he knelt on one of several battered velveteen cushions. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her after all. Perhaps she was taunting him. He had come here to meditate, and this was as good a place as any.
He had only been at his contemplation for a matter of minutes when footsteps approached. It was a public place, and he ignored this until his fellow worshipper entered the alcove. The footsteps stopped, as if their owner were surprised to find the space occupied, then moved around to the side, in order to take the cushion next to his.
“I see you share my favor for Saint Anim.”
This surprised Tibor so much he almost shouted. When he responded, his voice was shaky. “He was a most holy man within Re.”
“A most ruthless man,” Baron Vernud corrected. “One might say… excessively so. But he kept his people safe.”
“That is so,” Tibor agreed weakly. The Bountifier, Saint Anim was called, Grain-Bringer. When blight fell upon the crops of his people, and their neighbors, who were impious, scorned their need, he caused his people’s fields to flourish once again and hollowed the hearts of their neighbors with such shame that they died of it. Tibor had always found it more likely he hollowed their bellies with starvation by stealing all their food.
“Curious he should be styled one of the tribesmen.” Tibor opened his mouth to politely disagree, but the man had already continued, “Curious how many things might wear a Gash face when they are, in fact, Kulahn.”
Tibor drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. “My lord, once this might have been so. Now, it may be Anim turns his eyes on his neighbor’s fields again.”
The man huffed a mere breath of laughter. “So, the prodigal may be returned to the fold? Several months later than most believe?”
“He would not see his people’s hearts hollowed.”
From the corners of his eyes, he saw Baron’s lips quirk. “It isn’t only your foreign friend,” he said, as if excusing Tibor’s stupidity. “Given the specifics, it was startling no accusation was ever leveled against you.”
“You said nothing.”
“I have been greatly interested in you. I wished to see what you would do, and I could not find out with you locked in a cell. Why not any of our fellows? It’s a fine prize.”
“A fine prize, but one soon to be up for grabs anyway. Why not wait and avoid the danger?”
“Why should you say that? He was old, but his bride was young.”
“A ram with three ewes who never made a single lamb? It seems self-evident where the fault lay, I can’t be the only one who guessed.”
“And so another ram steps forward, no? It is the way of nature.”
“The pen is too stirred with excitement, too many rams jostling with one another. I judge this… unnatural.”
Another faint smile flicked across his face. “I could guess why not you, but am left asking: why her?”
“To torture her and set her loose upon the Cities. She is a goddess, a force of disruption.”
“Your friend confirmed this?”
“That’s the source of my information.”
“One might as readily refer to your friend the same way.”
“One might first turn one’s mind to the nature of his actions.”
For the first time, some spark lit the man’s voice, some vivacity. “Why does he care so much about our Cities? All these good deeds, all involving pain or travail on his part. I haven’t discovered that he receives remuneration for his labors, if one can describe being thrown into the Anander by the term.”
Tibor shook his head. “So far as I can tell, because he can.”
“You believe he can be trusted?”
“Utterly. His kind carry Halurál on their shoulders and they have not dropped it.”
“So much power in the hands of any single man, though…”
“He cured a plague.”
“You suggest he might start one, did he choose?”
“I believe that might be the least he could do. Nothing prevents him doing ill, nothing but his own will. Nothing is powerful enough to stay him. Can you imagine a better definition of trustworthiness?”
“Interesting. Would it be possible to speak to him?”
Tibor didn’t want to say this, but he knew the answer. “Probably not. Forgive me for saying so, but you’ll only meet him if he chooses to meet you.”
“He wouldn’t be impressed by a florid invitation?”
This made him wince. “He killed two Kula Ze Ahn Emperors. One for unknown reasons. The other, because he issued a command that this man attend upon him.”
Less as if voicing a threat than simply in a spirit of curiosity, Baron offered, “We have polismen by the score. An army. What is to prevent us seizing him, even killing him?”
“He is. My lord, he is… very old. He is covered in scars, I’ve been to the baths with him and seen it. Yet he lives.”
“Interesting,” the man said again. “We know so little about them, of course.”
“If I may say so, you should consider the energy he’s exerted on behalf of the Cities, and then consider making of him an enemy.”
“Quite true. And if, as you said with such impressive perception, Anim has turned his eye on us again, we could use all the friends we can get. A man of reason would only be inclined to foster this sudden affection he has toward us, however mysterious. Well,” he continued, voice suddenly brisk, “an old man like me can’t spend all day on his knees. My brother will arrive within the week, and I should like for you to meet him. So clever a young man, we must find some use for you.”
Tibor wondered whether Ohrid Guredd could also be said to have been useful to the Vernudm. “It would be my honor to assist.”
Either he had let his reservations tinge his voice, or it was obvious that anyone would be thinking it. “Not in that manner, I assure you. You seem to have received one of the few brains our ancestors bestowed upon your generation: I would not waste it. Beyond that, you politely failed to mention that your friend would destroy our palace and kill us all should we betray you, but I’m aware of the danger. Good day.”
With that, he climbed to his feet and left.
From The Shuttle that Weaves the Shroud
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