Authors: Jaine Fenn
And, said a small wicked voice deep inside, seducing a priest who is immune to the witches’ curse would be a great achievement! Her father had hated her, even as he loved her. With Maelgyn, things would be different—
The sound of someone at the door set her heart racing, until she recognised the pattern of knocks – two slow, and four fast, the same sequence Maelgyn had used that morning. As she jumped up to let him in, she was surprised to find the house dimmer than she remembered. She had dreamt the whole day away.
Maelgyn wore a cloak, though the evening was not cold. He presented one to Ifanna, saying, ‘Put this on,
chilwar.
There is someone who wishes to meet you.’
‘To meet
me
?’ She wanted to protest:
surely no one knows I am here, save you and your friend.
But she stayed silent.
‘Aye, and their time is precious, so we should be going.’
‘Of course,
Gwas.
’ As she put the cloak on, she looked out of the half-open door, which showed a clear summer evening drawing towards night.
Gwas
Maelgyn raised his hood, and indicated she should do the same. She was glad to have her head covered.
Maelgyn pulled the door closed, but did not try and re-latch it; she took comfort in that, for it implied they would be coming back.
When they reached the water-pump, Ifanna asked if she might take a drink; Maelgyn agreed, though he appeared somewhat impatient. As Ifanna straightened after slaking her thirst, curiosity overcame caution and she asked, ‘
Gwas
, this person we are to meet, is it Captain Siarl?’
‘No.’ He set off again, and Ifanna fell into step beside him.
‘I see,’ she said, though she did not.
‘Siarl and I have had a falling out,’ he added in a low voice.
‘Over . . . over me,
Gwas
?’ She had to ask.
Maelgyn made a small noise of annoyance, though when he spoke his voice was soft. ‘Amongst other things: Siarl is a devout man, Ifanna, but not overly imaginative.’
Whatever that meant. They came onto a wide, crowded, thoroughfare. Ifanna, momentarily confounded by such hustle and bustle, found her eye drawn to the divine globes of light, high on their poles. Only a few were lit, but as she watched, another one sparked into life. She drew a quick breath, amazed and obscurely reassured to witness such a miracle.
When she looked at
Gwas
Maelgyn to share her wonder, she could not at first see him, but before her momentary fear sparked into panic she spotted him; he had just drawn ahead a little. As he stopped and looked around for her, a man with a tray of fresh loaves on his head almost ran into him. The simple disguise obviously worked, for no one would dare curse a priest way the baker did. She hurried to rejoin him.
‘You had best take my arm to stop us getting separated,
chilwar
,’ he said.
The thoroughfare widened further, and open-fronted shops, like those she had seen in Plas Morfren, were doing a brisk trade.
Beside her,
Gwas
Maelgyn grunted in disapproval. ‘Look at that,
chilwar
!’ he said, pointing at a shop which appeared to be selling medicines: powders were displayed on wooden plates, while baskets overflowed with dried herbs, roots and bark. ‘Oh, if I were not hiding my calling I would go over there now and take them to task!’
‘I am not sure what you are showing me,
Gwas
.’
‘There, by that tray of yellow bark! Those bundles of coloured sticks.’
‘What are they,
Gwas
?’ Priests might claim that no remedy beat prayer, but Ifanna did not know of any medicines the Traditions specifically banned.
‘What they
are
does not matter; it is what they are used for that is my concern: they are the tools of divination!’
Like Maelgyn, Ifanna was appalled – and to see them sold openly? That was surely inviting Heavenly retribution: only the Cariad could indicate divine will! But she was a fraud . . .
Maelgyn led her down a smaller street off the main road, and she realised they were heading uphill towards the dark shape of the Tyr. As she looked up at it, she glimpsed a momentary flash high overhead. Was that one of the portentous lights? She looked more carefully, hoping to see another, but instead she saw a star she did not know, near where she thought she had seen the flash. ‘Is that the Navel of Heaven?’ she murmured.
Gwas
Maelgyn glanced up briefly. ‘Aye,’ he said, sounding troubled.
Ifanna bowed her head again, nervous under Heaven’s gaze. As they took another side-street she wondered if the
Gwas
was taking her to the Tyr by some roundabout route. ‘What rank do you hold in the Tyr,
Gwas
?’ she asked.
‘I am of the fourth tier,’ he replied.
‘And that is a high rank, is it,
Gwas
?’ She knew little of the priestly hierarchy, but surely someone as wise as he was important.
‘Aye, it is – quite high.’ He paused. ‘Though not as high as I would have achieved had I come from a rich city family.’
‘What do you mean,
Gwas
?’
‘There is a bias against Fenlanders here, and against those of humble birth. I have been thwarted in my career, denied promotion on the grounds of my origin.’ His tone was bitter.
Ifanna said sincerely, ‘I am sorry to hear that,
Gwas
.’
‘It is not your problem.’ He sounded tired.
‘And you serve the Mother of Justice first amongst the Five?’ Ifanna had noticed the yellow trim on his robes.
‘Indeed I do. We who honour Mantoliawn above all others are the life-blood of the Tyr,
chilwar
. We are also the most fortunate of all the branches of the priesthood: our Escori, Garnon, is the noblest and truest priest in the land.’ His voice swelled with pride.
‘He was at my judging, though he said very little.’ She barely remembered the man; he was just one of five voices who condemned her.
‘And which Escori spoke most, I wonder?’
Ifanna was not sure if the question was one she was meant to answer, but she searched her memory anyway. ‘I think it was the Escori of Frythil.’
‘Hah! Of course it was.’
‘Why do you say that,
Gwas
?’
‘This spring, there was a coup in the Tyr. Only two Escorai survived it, and one of those subsequently went mad and took his own life. The sole survivor was Urien, Escori of Frythil. Some say he initiated the coup, though how a man who serves the Cariad could act so without her sanction . . . One thing is certain: he wields more power than he should.’
Ifanna knew so little of the Tyr priests and their ways. ‘But your Escori, he is . . . He is good?’
‘Garnon is a man I admire greatly.’ Again, this was spoken with pride. Then, unexpectedly, Maelgyn laughed. ‘But you need not take my word for it.’
Ifanna was still trying to work out what he meant when he pointed ahead. Their alley crossed another, and on the corner was a house with light pouring from most of the windows. Sounds of merriment came from within. As they approached, Ifanna identified the building as a tavern. There was a wooden sign hanging at the corner, showing some sort of animal’s head.
Gwas
Maelgyn led her to a door at one side of the main entrance and knocked, the same sequence he had used with her. The man who opened the door was not in uniform, but he did carry a crossbow. He lowered the weapon when he saw them and made the circle, though he did his best to avoid looking at Ifanna as he admitted them. He remained below while she and
Gwas
Maelgyn went up a flight of stairs.
The stairs came up to a short landing, then a large room with chairs and tables pushed to the side. It was lit by a single lamp on a table at the far side. A man in dark clothing sat by the lamp; his head was uncovered, and Ifanna could see he was a priest. He was flanked by two men with crossbows, standing loosely to attention.
Gwas
Maelgyn circled his breast, at the same time bowing his head, and Ifanna did the same.
‘
Gwas
,’ said Maelgyn, ‘I have brought the girl, as you asked.’ His voice was low and earnest.
‘Have her approach.’ The priest’s tone was casual, almost uninterested. Ifanna looked to
Gwas
Maelgyn, who motioned her forward.
She obeyed, though her knees kept trying to knock together. This man was old, she saw, with deep lines around his thin-lipped mouth. He watched her walk towards him with eyes that missed nothing. The monitors watched her too, their weapons half-raised. ‘Has he told you who I am?’ he asked while Ifanna was still a few steps away.
‘He has not,
Gwas
,’ she said, stopping. ‘But— But I would guess that you are Garnon, Escori of Mantoliawn.’
She heard
Gwas
Maelgyn’s sharp breath at her impudence, though she had not intended to be rude.
He did not confirm her guess but said mildly, ‘And you are the witch who claims the Cariad is a fake.’
Ifanna forced herself not to panic.
‘Well?’ The Escori’s gaze bored into Ifanna’s soul.
‘I told
Gwas
Maelgyn what I experienced,’ she said carefully.
‘And that was what, precisely?’
Neither lies nor evasion would serve her now. ‘When the Cariad said she would look into my heart, I felt nothing at all.’
‘Not even the silent voice that witches are said to employ to beguile their victims?’
Ifanna had no idea any man, let alone a priest, knew of that trick. ‘No,’ she said, determined not to let her surprise show, ‘not even that.’
‘So, would you say that, as far as you could tell, the woman who sits upon the throne of the Cariad is mortal, ordinary and not possessed of even a witch’s abilities?’
‘I would say she is nobody of note.’ For a moment Ifanna wondered if the Mothers would strike her down; she had just denied the divinity of the highest power in the land to the face of the second highest!
But they did not. And the Escori merely smiled.
Jarek was expecting the message, when it finally came, to be from the Consensus, so he was amazed and delighted when he heard a familiar voice.
‘Hi there!’ Taro sounded unfeasibly cheerful.
‘It’s good to hear from you,’ said Jarek warmly.
‘Yeah, and soon you’ll see me too. My friends here tell me this ship’ll be at the Consensus in less than three hours.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Jarek, straining his ears: Taro’s voice sounded a bit odd, like he was forcing himself to come across as carefree and happy. Was he under duress?
‘Listen, apparently the patrons don’t want my friends to land on the Consensus hab, so we’ll meet you in orbit, all right?’ continued Taro chattily.
‘Sure, no problem.’ He’d prefer that himself – but what about Nual? Not that he’d any intention of mentioning her on an open com channel.
‘The locals want to see what we’re up to, though, so you gotta stay in orbit around the – whaddya call it, the Egg?’
‘That’s what the lingua call it, yes.’
‘Yeah. So listen, I’ll send you some coordinates then, shall I?’
‘If you like.’ What the hell was Taro playing at?
‘Here they come. I’ll be in touch again when we’re closer. Bye for now.’
‘Bye, Taro.’ As he signed off he received the data-package. The encryption was basic, and he opened it to discover coordinates given in human-space notation, just as Taro had said. But he hadn’t needed a coded databurst for such a small snippet of info; Taro could just have given it verbally. Unless . . . ?
Sure enough, at the very end was another set of coordinates, along with an exact time and one word:
tight-beam.
Jarek smiled. Sometimes the boy surprised him.
He made one last attempt to persuade the Consensus to hand Nual over, and when they continued to deny all knowledge of her, he asked, with his voice full of not-entirely-feigned pique, for immediate permission to undock. They granted it without comment or complaint.
At precisely the moment Taro had specified he made sure the
Heart of Glass
was in precisely the position he had specified, and got ready to receive the tight-beam communication, which would be invisible, and untraceable by any third party unless they were in precisely the right position to physically intercept the transmission.
Taro sounded a lot less self-assured when he greeted Jarek this time. ‘This is gonna have to be quick,’ he started, and went on to explain the plan. Jarek had to resist the urge to call him crazy; he wasn’t crazy, just in love. And getting Nual back wasn’t just about keeping Taro happy. Still, Jarek felt obliged to point out that they were being used by whichever sept Taro’s friends owed their allegiance to, and Taro didn’t bother to argue. They both knew they didn’t have much choice. Taro also told him that Vy was dead. Jarek wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He had some tricky flying to do if he was to make the rendezvous whilst at the same time ensuring the
Heart of Glass
’s final position looked like chance, not design. Jarek rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles and gave his full attention to the controls. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, ‘time to make this look easy.’