Lyrec tried to stare her down, but her determination was resolute. “Why is it never simple?” he asked no one.
“You accept?”
“I haven’t much choice. I’ll take her.”
“Good.” She stood with surprising speed, then walked over to a large mulcet jug and picked it up. She started for the door, saying, “I will be gone awhile, but your horses will be with me when I come back.” Out she went.
Lyrec watched Yadani as he finished dressing in his tattered uniform. She continued to sit, naked under the fur, oblivious to all except, for some reason, him; although even that hint of consciousness had fallen away as he moved out of her line of sight. She failed to follow. But that deep recess he had touched in her had somehow been alert to his communication with Borregad. He thought about this as he drew on his boots, then moved over beside her and said, “Yadani.” She did not respond. Possibly, if he survived his quest against Miradomon, he would try to help her. Or, who knew, maybe some spectacular power did reside in the temple of Chagri. He would have to see.
After half an hour Hulda had still not returned. Lyrec had no patience left and went outside in search of her. He saw another building built on a slope above the hut that had been hidden earlier by the torrential downpour. It was a wider, lower structure with a semi-open front, and it reminded him of another place: the stable at Grohd’s tavern.
Laughter burst forth abruptly from within the structure. Lyrec crept forward. His feet splashed in the shallow layer of water left from the storm.
A faint light came from within the building. Lyrec stepped inside, and cold water spilled from the roof and down his back. He edged out from under it, gave it an angry glare, but said nothing. A small fire burned in a far corner raked clear of straw. Hulda sat holding the mulcet jug out to a man whose back was to Lyrec, but who wore the brown net robe of a novice priest. The man was saying, “When I woke up, the silver creatures were gone, but I knew it for a vision and could never go back to being what I was. My life was changed, as you can see.
Now
I’ll have more mulcet, thank you.”
Stealthily, Lyrec crept in behind the man. But Hulda, seeing him, drew the priest’s attention to him. The man craned his head around somewhat drunkenly. Lyrec recognized instantly the long pointed face. Beneath the robe he saw the puffy sleeves and bright orange pantaloons, now somewhat worse for wear, probably from lying in the dirt beside a road.
The novice priest who had once been something of a minstrel lurched to his feet and peered blearily at the bearded visage that had been culled from his own thoughts. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Too well, I fear,” answered Lyrec, and he struck the minstrel across the jaw a short, potent punch. The minstrel twirled around on one foot like a dancer and collapsed against Lyrec. “Poor fellow,” Lyrec said, and laid the unconscious man out on the straw, “our meetings have hardly served you well.” Then he cast a smoldering glance at Hulda. “Is this the way you go about getting me horses?”
“Well, they are
his
horses.” She held up the jug, at the same time starting to slip from her stool. “If you had waited, I would have had them in another few minutes.” She picked up the jug and sloshed the contents around, listening to it. “Well, maybe an hour.”
“I’m afraid I can’t wait. You might as well bind him and keep him trussed up until midday at least. Tell him I robbed you, too. Stole your daughter. But tell him I headed … by the way, where am I?”
“On the road between Eyr and Jedemere.”
“Jedemere’s north, then? Tell him I rode north.” He began saddling up the horses. “How long to Atlarma?”
“Oh, possibly as much as a day. Don’t worry, brave
cukordia
, the temple will be there still.”
“The temple?” he replied, and flung a saddle on the larger horse. “The temple is the least of my problems.” Almost off-handedly he added, “I have to kill the god.”
Chapter 18.
On the cold uneven stones of her narrow little room, Pavra had drawn a triangle. Setting aside the lump of chalk she had used, she stepped into the triangle and sat down. She stretched her legs out straight. Her toes, together, made the first point. Each bracing arm then strained to touch the other two points—she had drawn the triangle a bit too large; but with effort, her fingertips touched, smudged, the chalk marks.
A pale, hazy wreath of golden light appeared around her head, encircling her temples. A space opened up between her mind and body.
Thus released, she began her search for Tynec. In the darkness that surrounded her at first, many minds babbled incoherently. They were dusky flickers of light, unattuned, entering into this plane of thought accidentally. Pavra directed herself to them, sorted through them, and the rooms of the castle materialized around her. She floated unseen through each room and wondered as she went how much this journey would age her. Papa had warned her never to perform what outsiders called magic unless the reason was vitally important, because each act taxed the body as well as the mind, drinking years of life away. At one time it had not been unheard of for a Kobach to die of old age at twenty-five. But that had been during the wars. Those people had spent their entire brief lives struggling against oppressors. All the same, the thought of being old and gray by her tenth birthday terrified Pavra.
Can no one help me? Hear me?
cried a forlorn voice. It sounded muffled and very weak. She would not have heard it at all if someone else had intruded at that moment. Through dark rooms and rooms full of people, Pavra sailed toward the voice, seeing without eyes.
Tonight was the coronation; she had very little time.
Please,
called the voice as if sensing her, and she moved her invisible body around and into the room she wanted.
Tynec had obviously been calling for a long time. He had hardly any energy left. But he knew the plans of his captor and was determined to warn somebody. Pavra saw his body, dressed in coronation robes, looking proud and handsome. But his pleading voice and his body were utterly separate. Divided. His voice had been imprisoned within him.
Tynec studied himself in a mirror. Pavra looked into his distorted reflection. The hideous thing she’d glimpsed before overlaid his features—monstrous, hungry and impossible to appease.
The door to the small chamber opened. Another figure entered. This one, too, had a double countenance, one melded to the other. She had seen the first face before—it belonged to the old man who was making Tynec’s robes. But the other …
The other face was the one revealed in Tynec’s reflection, except stronger here, more malevolent. She was staring at the source.
The boy turned round to face his master and Pavra immediately sensed the bond: puppet and puppeteer. The true Tynec had been locked away, unable to do more than call out for help on a plane where no one could hear him, not even in dreams. The power of the one at the door was awesome.
She knew she should flee but she wanted desperately to contact Tynec, to let him know that someone
had
heard and would carry his warning. His cries continued unabated. The monstrosity paid them no mind.
Tynec called out and she answered, “Don’t worry, we know.” It was the gentlest whisper of a reply. Yet the tailor stopped his stride forward and made a hissing sound.
His head turned by mechanical degrees until it stared straight at her. The awful eyes that lived in shadow behind the tailor’s pulsed with fire.
And who are you?
the puppeteer asked. Its voice could have frozen the stars.
Now Pavra reeled back as fast as she could. Even so, she heard the crackle of something behind her, something coming after. She dared not shift her attention to it, but raced desperately to the safety of the triangle.
The crackling became a roar, drowning out the minor voices that zipped past. Surely they could hear, she thought, or sense such a monstrous presence. Surely they must stop and gawk at the invisible signal shredding the very air between them.
Her body exhaled sharply as she plunged into it. The arms jerked and she nearly fell over.
Before she could draw a breath, the roaring energy leapt upon her. The air around the triangle spat and sizzled and sparked. And, although she had protected herself properly and completely, as the last flash of pursuant energy burst forth, it breached her barrier, lifted her up like a straw doll and threw her across the room where she slammed into the far wall.
She slid down and lay on her side. A tiny trickle of blood began to form a pool in the uneven stonework of the floor.
*****
The streets leading to the heart of the city were clogged like a river jammed with debris and overflowing its banks.
Lyrec had to walk the lathered horses to get anywhere at all. The woman-child, Yadani, lay pressed against her horse’s neck, a rope tied around her waist. She had fallen from the animal twice before Lyrec accepted the inevitable and strapped her on. The streets were totally chaotic. Music from a dozen different groups vied for dominance—twelve different tunes meshed and shattered in continual cacophony.
People stared at him in his uniform, but none could recognize the Ladomantine colors beneath the dirt and blood. They found Yadani’s plight either disgusting or amusing. Some bellowed at him to set her free, but they quickly fell silent once his attention had been gained—dirty and black-bearded, trudging silently through the crowd, Lyrec did not look like someone who was interested in anyone else’s opinions on anything.
He pushed his way through the crowded avenues, ignoring the curses that followed him. The temple of Chagri was to the south and the crowd flowed toward the castle on the north hill—he had seen it before the rest of the city had appeared, huge upon its hilltop. The hillside beneath it had wriggled with life as interwoven currents of people battled their way to the heights. On entering the city, he’d paused long enough to buy a pastry stuffed with meat for himself. He hoped the priests at the temple would see to feeding Yadani. He had no time to force her to eat.
Away from the river, the crowd thinned somewhat. Fewer bannered stands decorated the edges of the streets and most were unattended. The people here offered him courteous assistance. He took their directions and arrived shortly at a wall with an open gate. Inside, he found a wide dark yard in the center of which stood a surprisingly small building. He had been expecting a fortress at the very least. The yard was thick with trees and sheltered in shadows. He failed to notice the people around him until someone coughed. Lyrec’s hand went to his sword. He stared hard into the darkness. The beggars lay all around him, some propped against trees. Their eyes remained invisible in the darkness, but their heads lifted and turned at the sound of his approach, following him by whatever senses they had. These creatures would not be attending the coronation; a new king brought no change in their lives. The smell of urine was on the air.
This
was where Hulda wanted him to leave Yadani? He could see Yadani’s plight eating up all his time.
“Might I help you?” A priest was just closing the inner gate to the temple. Like the gate in the wall, this was black iron. Lyrec could see a hallway lined with candles behind the priest.
“This girl,” he said, “she’s …”
“Is she your wife?”
“Wife? No. A friend—of a friend. Who asked me to bring her here.”
“The miracle of Chagri,” said the priest sourly.
Lyrec looked around. “I was expecting something, well, more tidy.”
The priest shook his head. “These aren’t your people, nor are they mine. Would you be here at all except for this unfortunate? Look, you even had to tie her to the saddle. Do you think she’s going to mind the company at all? She won’t even notice.”
“I’m not sure she’s staying.” He saw faces out of the darkness and they looked hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. “I made that promise before I saw this.”
“Understandable reluctance, I would say. There are probably more thieves bedded out there than hopefuls or penitents. They’ve been dying in droves nightly. Oh, I know what you’re thinking with that look, but just
you
try and drive them back to their homes. If they have any. At least with the coronation crowd, most of their enemies are out doing business elsewhere.”
“Can you recommend what I should do with her, then?”
“Well, she can hardly stay inside the temple now. No one is here tonight—all attending at the castle, which is where I myself am bound. And I’m late.”
“But otherwise she could just go in? What about these people? Can’t they?”
“Listen, my friend, let me clear away your ignorance.” He started to walk toward the gate, forcing Lyrec to turn the horses and follow. “Each one of these hapless ruins has been in there three times at least. Some as many as ten. They leave a coin or a tooth and touch the fountain, and, after nothing has happened, they go out, thieve another coin or pull out another—well, nothing at all changes save that they’re a little poorer one way or another.”
“Then, some
have
been cured. She could be helped? I have to know.”
The priest slowed up to get beside Yadani and view her more closely. “A few, a random few, were cured. Most gave it up. But, you see, Chagri is a god of strength and endurance. He doesn’t aid the weak of heart, the cowards. To return again and again doesn’t mean you have the strength of heart necessarily—it could as easily mean you are a fool.” He lifted Yadani’s head and saw the emptiness of her eyes. “Oh. No, my friend, there is no aiding this one. None of
these
have been cured. They don’t even know where they are.” He turned back to Lyrec, a sad smile on his broad face. “I am sorry. You’ve come a long way, obviously.”
“What do I do, then? I
must
get to the castle.” His urgency was plain.
“The sisters of Anralys is what I recommend. Their dwelling is not far from here. Back out this gate, but where the road branches there, take the fork away from the castle. It is also a walled place. Somewhat larger than ours.”
“Thank you,” he said and started to go, but the priest stood in the gateway. “Be advised,” the priest warned him, “the sisters are a strange group, rarely associating with anyone, even us, their brothers. We tread with caution beyond their walls and all men are forbidden inside their doors. Even a priest granted favor from Anralys herself must spend the time in a separate building, awaiting a visitation away from them.”