The Daemon Prism, page 34
She crowed. “Sabrian lady knows Pythari politeness!”
“Not so much a lady.” I felt like a rag sale.
“Come, lady, friend.” She motioned Rhea and me inside her shabby wagon. “More.”
It was dim and stuffy under the canvas roof. The old woman’s gold bangles clinked as she pulled items from an ancient trunk. First, a skirt of rust-colored leather. Rather, the garment hung like a skirt but was split and sewn together in the middle like trousers. She pointed out a slit pocket in the skirt where one could sheath a knife. “Parfeta!” I said, and pulled my zahkri from my own slit pocket.
She grinned and held the skirt to Rhea’s waist. Tall and sturdy, the woman said she’d worn it when she rode the plains with her brothers chasing kingbucks. Ground-up kingbuck horn would make a man virile and a woman fertile. About my neck, she hung a leather thong with three brass disks and a bit of horn dangling from it, then waved off payment. “No coin. Make you luck.”
We rifled her trunk and found white shirts, embroidered in red and green. Rhea gasped like a child on her birthday when she found a filmy scarf of deep rose to keep the sun off when we reached the desert. It drew out a youthful bloom in her cheeks. In friendly rivalry, we snatched up scarves and shawls, and a light mantle and woven cap of braided scraps that might do for Ilario. I pulled out a fine old-fashioned sword and a scabbard tooled with eagles. I glanced up, and the woman nodded. This meeting had been more than lucky.
She bit our coins with brown teeth and laughed in delight. “Oistra en chiatto.” Go, in joy.
“And you, Mistress,” I said.
The westering light stretched across the market, as we stowed our purchases on our pack horse. Ilario trudged slowly down the alley. Sweat beaded his forehead.
“We found you a cooler mantle,” I said when he joined us. “And a hat to mask your hair. And something else you’ll need.” I patted the sword hilt, tucked into loops on the saddle.
He raised his right arm and made a sweeping gesture, only to let loose a muted, “Ow. My physician best have a poultice ready. But the gift, little seahorse”—he rested his heavy head atop mine—“is dear. Without one—and without my captain—I’ve felt naked.”
I knew that. Every time we glimpsed Temple green, his hand brushed his hip. And every night he offered prayers for gallant Calvino de Santo, who had no other family to mourn him.
As we settled our belongings in a smoky little garret in the nastiest little inn I’d ever walked into, Ilario passed me two papers, one rolled and tied with string, one a scrap scarce large enough to fold, sealed with resin. “I have a gift for you as well. Care of one Marga Tasso.”
“You found her! Oh, my beloved chevalier.”
“Ah, for that, dear Ani.” A wistful note was belied by his mocking bow.
I laughed but could scarce rip the packets open, my hands trembled so.
Lady Anne,
The man who offers to take my message frets to be off. Travels are rare, so I must use this chance quick-like or risk waiting a month or more.
It is a sorry fact that Dante and I have parted ways. When we stumbled in here, sorely thirsty, my brother got himself into a bad schuation, trespassing the law. He did no harm, but our difficulties required my staying here, while Dante was sent away. John Doon accompained him, and as far as I know, they took our original course south from here to Karabayngor. I do not have the highest confidence in John Doon. I caught him traffiking with two unpromising fellows who were following us on the road.
Worse are the tales I hear from this traveler and the settlers here of a petty prince to the south. He is a sorcerer who calls himself the Regent of Mansibar and wears a great green gem about his neck on a silver chain. There are bad goings-on in Mansibar, haunts and bloodletting and vanishings. That sounds like doings that my brother might get himself mixed up in. Powerful as he may be, Dante might have need of some reliable held. It Chafes me greatly that I cannot go. But I have given my bond for his life. I would not be much help to him to put a price on his head, if he were not really in danger after all!
I know not what to recommend. I must admit to having a bad feeling, but you ween more of sorcery and mysteries than I.
Here’s a map of our route with sources of good and bad water marked. Gods willing, my little brothers will be safely on his way home soon with the answer to his mystrey in hand.
Ever your servent, Andero
at Hoven in Kadr
Haunts, bloodlettings … and Dante with no help but Ilario’s scraggy little manservant. Certainly I knew why Ilario had kept on a servant who despised him, a necessity of Ilario’s lifetime masquerade. But in such danger …
Ilario had collapsed onto the wide pallet, his head propped on his fist. Waiting. I passed the message on to him and read the second….
Lady Anne,
Troubling news. It is said that a cruel sorcerer now parents the Regent of Mansibar and holds a beautiful lady of strange history in thrall. This sorcerer comes out only now and again to fright the citizins, burning houses and shops for the pleasure of it. They name him daemon. I don’t like to belive it is Dante.
Find me at Hoven, and I will tell all I know. Again I urge caushun. Though otherwise good and generous, these people will slay any who work magic here. I am under heavy suspicion still and cannot leave without trouble. I await more news before I can judge what to do, being unaccustomed to sorcerus adventures.
Andero
Fear settled in my bones like a leaden mantle. How had Dante gone from feared to work magic as Andero told in his first letter to burning houses and shops, holding ladies in thrall, and frightening the citizens of a remote principality?
“John Deune?” said Ilario. “By all saints! He’s never traveled more than fifty kilometres from Merona. And he loathes Dante almost as much as he loathes me.”
“You don’t think he’d betray Dante … sell him to Jacard … or the Temple?”
Ilario shook his head. “He’s never done me true ill, but you could rebuild Pradoverde with what he’s stolen from me all these years. And he’s dogged as a hungry goat. If he gets something in his mind … Trafficking with unsavory men following them? Maybe that’s why we’ve Temple bailiffs and servitors everywhere we step.”
“You need to sleep, lord. I’ve your digestive, and I should examine your urine.” Rhea forever startled me, quiet as she was and prone to shrinking into corners. How had she ever summoned the nerve to seek me out?
“Egad.” Ilario sighed deeply. “Here I’m bedding down with two lovely women, who have the combined intelligence to surpass that of the Royal Library, and my most exciting invitation is one to pass along my piss. Doesn’t seem right.”
As Rhea pulled out her medicine box, passed Ilario a glass beaker, and mixed her medicines, I took Andero’s messages to the grimy window and tried to read beyond the ink. I could not believe Dante would ever partner with Jacard. Yet he couldn’t be playing agente confide again. He’d never be able to fool Jacard a second time. What made Andero willing to believe Dante’s connivance in these crimes? Had he witnessed Temple murders, perhaps, or explosive destruction? A new fear began to creep in with the rest. Dante was so angry, so bitter….
DEMESNE OF ARABASCA
Andero’s map was invaluable. Five days out from Mattefriese we came upon the place he had noted as shepherd village, good water, hospitable folk. Indeed we’d scarce come in sight of the place when three elders came out to greet us, offering a bed for the night and a feast in exchange for “tales of the wide world.” Hovels of stone and sod, bony faces, and the bleak, rocky plain spoke of grinding hardship. But their eager smiles and the bright weaving of the elders’ worn capes said there was more to be found here than poverty. We could all use a bit of cheer.
The letters drove me hard. I’d spent half the time since Mattefriese looking over my shoulder and half the time seeking Dante in the aether. His presence felt ever more remote.
Ilario had begun to practice with his sword in the evenings when we halted, but could not work half an hour until collapsing.
Rhea fretted that Ilario was foolish to push himself so and asked was he trying to undo all her work. On the previous night she had snapped entirely, yelling about why in the Pantokrater’s creation were we chasing after a devil mage. She was very near tears. It struck me that the plain, brilliant healer could easily be infatuated with the gallant chevalier. I debated whether to ask him, but it seemed wrong to talk about her behind her back. She had proven herself trustworthy.
“We poor travelers would be pleased to share your hospitality,” Ilario said, bowing to those who’d come out to greet us. “We’ve had good reports of your village from a friend who passed this way sometime after the turn of the year.
“Dead or living?” said one of the women.
“Living,” said Ilario, matching her serious demeanor.
“Three of them, there would have been,” I blurted.
“Ah, you speak of the sorcerer, the giant, and the blind thief,” said a short man with eyes as bright blue as the weft of his cape. “All living. At first we thought the sorcerer was dead, and his companions just didn’t know. But then he saved Jono and his boy, and, of course, dead men cannot o give life. It was beyond our understanding. Likely old Otro saw more, but he spoke to none save the sorcerer. Come, let’s see to your beasts and brew tea while the women roast a kid. Spring winds are sharp so near the stars.”
Their casual talk of death and life was curious, and I wanted to ask why they thought Dante dead, and what this Otro might have seen, and who was the giant and who the blind thief. But I could not meet such hospitality with rudeness. We sat in a crowded, overwarm house drinking tea for two hours, hearing the tally of every person in the village, those who were present and those who were out tending sheep. They told us of their flocks and weaving and dyes.
In return, Ilario introduced himself as a wounded soldier, myself as his sister, and Rhea as his physician who had recommended the desert air for his healing, as near truth as could be spoken. Then he smoothly diverted the conversation, asking about He Who Wanders the Stars, who was so often mentioned in their talk.
I’d listened carefully to all the names of those present. Otro was not among them. I leaned to the quiet woman who sat next to me. “Your elders thought my friend, the mage, was dead. I worry that he may be ill. This Otro sounds like one who sees deeply. Where could I find him?”
“Otro wanders,” she said. “He could be here or there, on the land or among the stars. If your spirit draws him, he’ll come.”
“Is he a holy man, then?”
“Some say.”
Not so helpful. But she described Dante’s companions for me. Andero, a giant man. And, curiously, the blind thief was John Deune. “The thief did not see us. Spoke as if we were not here. Thought us too stupid to see him pack away the blanket we lent him. The sorcerer saw more with his ears than did the thief with his working eyes. And more with his heart.”
“Exactly so.” I could scarce speak. Only Portier had ever believed me about Dante’s heart.
The headman then proceeded to introduce us to the rest of the villagers as friends of the blind healer who had traveled through the village two months before. “Though Mage Talon was a great and noble personage and clearly beloved of the gods, he labored mightily through a night and a day to save the lives of two of our own. In his service, the giant wrestled the cruel spirits that tormented jono while the enchantments were being done. And even the thief obeyed the healer’s direction that night, keeping the fire lit to chase the dark away. Always will friends of the healer be welcome here.”
Talon. I had to smile. Dante continually scoffed at the adventures of the beggar who became the councilor of a king. But only after I’d read aloud an hour or two.
We stayed later than we intended in that shabby, sweltering room, talking of weather, of the measure of the sky, and of the varied lands we’d traveled in fact or in story. As the evening grew late, and the smoke of the elders’ pipes thick, I returned to Dante’s story. “Why,” I asked the blueeyed headman, Ertan, “did you say Mage Talon was so clearly beloved of the gods? Sadly, that would not be the judgment he would put on himself.”
The elder nodded seriously. “Then you must tell him, so that he will understand the wonder of his life. It is because the guardians left us so long ago, and speak to us no more. We have learned that when comes one who cannot hear our foolish noise, why, he is one to whom the guardians speak. And when comes one who cannot see, then that is one to whom the guardians will show themselves. It tells us that the guardians and He Who Wanders the Stars live, even though they live with us no longer.”
“I’ll tell him,” I said. “But why have your gods—guardians—abandoned you?”
He shook his head, sadly. “We know not. Our ancestors must have offended them terribly. The guardians lived with us from the Beginnings, and roamed with us across the plains, teaching us to hunt and fish. We gave them honor, with dancing and stories and always the first kill of the hunt, and they in turn brought the rains when it was dry, and made us strong and enduring. But they began to bicker among themselves and would not tell us their arguments and visited only rarely. Some said they were jealous of us—which seemed unlikely. But when came the unending winds, and the mighty rivers dried up and the land withered, they sent no help, so that our people withered also, until we are as you see us. We’ve heard rumors of holy ones who’ve taken on the duties of the daemons, but they’ve not come here.”
Seldom had I heard such grief expressed so simply.
“Their story is very like our tales of the Daemon War for Heaven,” said Ilario as we walked out to the house that had been vacated for us. “The angels fought among themselves about whether to tell humankind of our place in the Pantokrator’s heart, for Dimios and his fellows believed us not worthy to share the gifts of Heaven. But, of course, we of the Cult”—he glanced at Rhea, walking on his other side—“believe that Ianne, the first of the Saints Reborn, stole Heaven’s fire and brought it to the Living Realm, incurring the particular wrath of Dimios forever after. If ever I should encounter Ianne Reborn, I shall speak to him about this place.”
He squeezed my arm. Though I knew what he believed of Portier—and what I had come to believe—I wasn’t ready to accept that other men or women were reborn to help the sorry world. For certain there were not enough of them. Nor was I ready to accept that some fallen angel ate the souls of the dead. Though, indeed, Portier, and my sister, and Dante had shown me there were many truths beyond science.
Rhea stayed late talking to the women. With only a few words on her part, she drew them into telling everything about the patterns in their weaving.
While Ilario slept, I could not. Instead, I wandered to the top of a low rise and sat to test the aether yet again. The stars were sharp and brilliant in the moonless sky, the air as pungent as fresh lemons.
“He Who Wanders has swept his house this night. Expecting guests is he, do you think?”
I near leapt from my skin, brushing the solid body sitting beside me. But I knew whose the rasping voice had to be.
“You’re Otro,” I said.
“Aye. And you follow the Daemon’s road. ’Tis a dangerous way, the Way of the Dead. He was sore beset by spirits already. He screams in the night. I think he wrestles them.”
“He’s often screamed at night since he was blinded.” Finn had told me.
“Mmm. This was not fear or grief. For one born in the dark, such terrors are but echoes. No”—his head bobbed against the scattered stars—“he fights for his soul. The Great War has never ended for the daemons.”
“Why do you call him daemon? I know him. Your own people honor him for this healing he did here. He is human-born.” Very human.
“Daemon is a very old word,” he said, laughing and patting my hand. “You see him. So help him.”
“How? Where is he?”
But the old man had gone as quickly and quietly as he’d come, leaving me mystified … and more worried than ever.
The next morning, as we loaded our packs and bade the villagers farewell, a burly, bearded man in a long tunic and ragged breeches approached me. A small boy hid behind the big man, clinging to him shyly.
“Name’s Jono,” he said, tugging his forelock. “I be the one what bought the luck-spell. ’Tis my boy, this one here, my only son, and me, that he saved from the madness. I thought I was an ill-luck man, yet he worked magic for the likes of me…. There’re no words to speak the wonder of it. But I never had no chance to thank him.”
“He’ll be pleased you’re doing well. That’s thanks aplenty.”
“Nay, words is not enough. You must tell him that Jono has his blood-debt, and if he’s ever in need of aught that a poor man could serve, then I will do for him, be it near or far, or tomorrow or fifty years from tomorrow or when we walk the stars with He Who Wanders.”
“He will be deeply honored, Goodman Jono.”
The shepherd dipped his head in satisfaction. He pulled the boy out from behind him, and nudged him toward me. “Show the lady, boy. My boy, Luz, has summat for the sorcerer. He’s a gift with his hand.”
The child passed me a small roll of leather, tied with a strip of green rag, and then darted back behind his father.
“You made this?” Expecting some childish scrawl, I gasped when I unrolled the page. A few charcoal lines rendered Dante’s features with astonishing likeness. But they reflected so much more. The wariness that years of loneliness had left on him. The little twist in the side of his mouth that was the prelude to his rare gift of a smile. The lines about his eyes that were etched by his longing to see. This was the man I knew.
“Oh, Luz,” I said, “this is a precious gift. You’ve brought my dear friend very close. I’m in your debt.” I curtsied to the boy as was proper when acknowledging a debt.
The man was pleased, and the boy hid a broad grin in his father’s tunic.
