He turned his head slightly so that it faced John. "You have said that you cannot trust me. But unless you trust me enough to free me, I cannot give you my answer."
He turned his attention back to the view. I could no longer see his face.
"Trust . . ." murmured John. He raised his mask slightly, and I wondered whether he would consult the god. Then he let his hand drop, and he said, "I trust Andrew, and Andrew knows whether you are to be trusted. I will leave it to my blood brother to decide."
Peter did not face my way. He continued to stare out the window – not at the city, I now realized, but at the mountains beyond. I said, my voice shaking with emotion and exhaustion, "No doubt the Chara will continue to believe that I am being treacherous, no matter what my answer. So I will not try to determine here to whom I should be loyal, as I have been struggling to do for the past day."
I paused, but Peter remained motionless. John was standing close to me; I kept my gaze focussed away from him and instead stared into the darkness of the sanctuary. "What I think is this," I said, my voice turning flat with dispassion. "The first time Peter spoke to me, I was a Koretian slave, and he spoke to me in friendship. I have never seen him show less care toward the Koretians than he does toward the Emorians. I do not know whether he will free our land, but I trust that he will make the decision he does from love, and you told me—" I turned to John and said, "You told me that there is nothing more that you and your thieves can demand of each other than love and trust. The Chara has shown that he loves this land by risking his life to come to Koretia. I think that you must match his sacrifice by giving him your trust." I looked back at Peter.
Barely audible over the whisper of the wind, John said, "You have heard Andrew. You are free to leave when you wish."
For a moment, Peter did not move. Then, as though he had been bodily released, he slid down the wall and sat with a thump on the windowseat, leaning his head back against the wall. The mask upon his face dissolved, and I saw the tears of my dream.
o—o—o
He said nothing for several minutes, but breathed raggedly, trying to swallow his tears. John and I waited. In the end, Peter's breathing calmed, and he turned his head toward John. "
Now
I can tell you what I was thinking in my cell in between counting those twenty-four cursed spiderwebs. I was thinking about the other difficulty I mentioned, of finding a Koretian ruler. I told you I knew no one whom I could trust to work with both me and the Koretians, no man who would be loyal to the Koretians' best interests rather than to some narrow view of Koretian independence. That was true until I met the Jackal today. Will the Jackal take over the government so that I can free Koretia?"
My breath catching, I turned my gaze toward John. I saw for a moment a look of shock in his eyes that matched my own. Then his eyes grew quiet again, and he scanned Peter's face, as though looking for something he had not seen before. For the first time that evening, a smile travelled onto John's face, one of his old smiles that transformed his serious expression. Without a word, he turned and walked beyond the patch of moonlight into the darkness of the sanctuary.
When he turned again, it was as though he had been swallowed up by the darkness. All that I could see were three lights: a red light burning from the god-mask badge above his heart, a silver light shining from his dagger, and a gold light glowing from his eyes.
"Oddly enough," he said, "I too have spent the day thinking about this question, because of a conversation Andrew reported to me – a conversation he held with one of the governor's subcaptains. But as I told you not long ago, Chara, it is the god who must answer your question." And he put on the mask.
My eyes were fixed on the Jackal, but I heard the swift intake of Peter's breath as he rose to his feet. The god's power was all around us, surrounding us in its smoky fold, feeding upon us and transforming us through that feeding into something new. Fifteen years before, something had brought forth this power as I stood in the cave looking at Peter. Now it was John's eyes that captured my thoughts.
Then the Jackal reached up and pulled away his mask, as though he had only placed it there to give us warning of his approach. He spoke to us through the body of John, but his voice was that of the god in my vision.
"Place the Koretian people under my care, Chara Peter," he said in a voice more soft than a whisper but more pronounced than a shout. "For the people must be taught one last lesson in how to wear the Pendant of Judgment, and that lesson they must learn from the servant who wears this mask, not the Chara. Thirty-five years ago, as men count time, I took the first steps to give my people into the care of the Chara, that they might learn through his vengeance and mercy what it means to judge. Yet, for to keep the Koretians from enslaving themselves and losing the courage to break their bonds, I have hunted my own people and commanded that brother shall shed the blood of brother. Thus have I suffered for my people and taught them to suffer, for there can be no judgment without sacrifice. And as they have been taught what it is to judge, I have taught you today what it is to be judged, that you need never again wear my pendant in fear."
I heard the Chara breathing heavily beside me. He spoke in a voice low but firm: "Take your people, then, for you are their master."
"I am indeed their master, and they are my servants," said the god with his low, thundering voice. "They are my servants, as you are my servant, wearing my mask and speaking in my voice the laws which I gave to the Emorian people. For I care nothing for blood vows or blade vows to brothers or lands; these I gave to my people only that they might understand the meaning of sacrifice. To mortals who have the eyes to see, there are neither Emorians nor Koretians, but only those who receive peace by being servants of the god."
He was silent again, and we watched and waited, but I did not see the moment when the power left John, for his eyes remained the same.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
John spoke finally in his own voice, saying, "But I will need your help, Chara, for while the god may be all-knowing, his servant John is not, and you will have to teach me what I must do, as a man teaches his younger brother. I thank you for entrusting me with this duty."
Peter gave a sigh like an explosion. His face had gone from grey to moonlight white, and his hand was shaking as he raised it to steady himself against the window jamb. But as I watched, there appeared for the briefest moment the rigid expression I had seen on his face for ten years and had never recognized for what it was. Then the god-mask was gone, and Peter whispered, "Yes," and I knew that he had recognized the truth of the god's words.
He took another deep breath before saying to John, "I could not ask you while you still held me in your power."
There was a pause before John replied. As I looked over at him, I saw that a cautious look had entered his face, and I realized that he too had previously been shielded by the god from the knowledge of what Peter was. Then he smiled and said, "And I could not have accepted your offer had you made it then, so I am glad that I asked Andrew's judgment in this matter. My own would have been different. That is twice I have been wrong and Andrew has been right, and I am beginning to wonder whether the god has been speaking through another man today. But I will go now and let the thieves know what has happened here. Andrew can escort you back to the palace when you are ready."
Peter waited until John was at the door, and then said, in a low voice that barely carried to the end of the hall, "Before I leave, I would like to pay my respects to your wife."
John's smile turned light. "She is not my wife. But I am sure that she will be glad to see you." He closed the door.
Peter stared at me, and I waited to see what he would say, whether he would doom me with further recriminations or give me the mercy of forgiveness. But what he said was, "What did he mean, that she is not his wife?"
"Ursula is not married to John. They have lived as husband and wife to the world, but she is like a sister to him."
"And what is she to you?" Peter asked abruptly.
I stared at him, wondering whether he had guessed who her mother was. Peter went on, his voice turned harsh, "I saw how you held her in this very chamber. I know that you cannot love her in a normal way, but if you have found some way of – of showing love to her and making her love you, then I wish to know this."
It seemed to me that my life could grow no darker than this, that Peter would hate me so much that he would not bother to speak of my betrayal, even to condemn me, but would rebuke me for some small matter. And yet the darkness I found myself in was still the darkness of my vision, so I said to him calmly, with no anger or pain, "She is my sister. Her mother was my mother, and her father was the Emorian soldier who enslaved me. Chara—"
He turned abruptly, looking at the door. He stood very still as he gazed at it, and I sensed that he had forgotten I was there. After a moment, without looking my way, he walked out of the sanctuary.
I remained in the shadows, remembering the darkness that had enclosed me in the vision. Somewhere beyond the darkness, I knew, was severe pain, the pain that I had betrayed the Chara and that he had not forgiven me. If I left this sanctuary, I knew somehow that the darkness would be gone, and I would feel the pain.
I walked over to the window and sat down, then took the Chara's dagger from my belt and held it over my wrist, crossways from the white scar I had made for John so long ago. The dagger tingled in my hand, as it had when I had tried to kill the soldier and Lord Carle and the Koretian in the market. All of these events, I realized, had just been death shadows of the temptation that lay before me. I was tempted, as I had been three times before in my life, to stay in the shadow of the god and share his painless existence. This time I would not be called back from the darkness by Peter's voice speaking to his father in anger or John's voice speaking to me with judgment or Ursula's voice praying to her god for mercy. The only voice that could still send me back from the darkness was the god's, and I listened for his command.
I thought of how I had betrayed the Chara and betrayed the Jackal, of how I had betrayed Emor and betrayed Koretia; I thought of all the pain that awaited me if I once more left this room and faced the light. I waited for the god to explain why he had commanded me to do these things; I waited for him to explain why I should undergo further pain. And then I remembered John's voice as he spoke the god's words, and I knew that the Unknowable God had no need to speak to me, because he had told me all that I desired to know in his final words in this room.
So I went in search of the Chara.
As I slipped into the corridor, I found myself in a maelstrom of excitement as the thieves received the news of their land's freedom. Too well trained to shout, they contented themselves with pounding each other on their backs and throwing their weapons into a silver pile in the corner. John was at the far end of the corridor, talking to Brendon. I walked toward him, and as I passed the main door, I caught a glimpse of the farmer as he disappeared down the mountainside. I could guess that he had finally been given permission to search for the missing thief.
Unnoticed by the joyful thieves, I paused at each cell to look inside. In the background of the thieves' low voices, I could hear John still talking to Brendon – I caught the word "Chara" and then, a little later, "Ursula." Catching sight of me, John gestured with his head toward the closed dormitory door as he pulled Brendon further down the corridor to where the other thieves were waiting, eager to question the Jackal.
I opened the door to the dormitory, and there I found Peter, kissing my sister.
I stood there for a moment, my mind whirling with yet more images from the past few weeks: Peter sitting on his bed next to me, saying, "I want to remove my mask"; Ursula sitting on my bed next to me, saying, "I have fallen in love." Then the lovers looked over and saw me. Ursula glanced back at Peter and read something in his face. Without saying anything to him, she left the room, glancing uncertainly at me as she passed. Peter waited, and it was though I was seeing through his eyes what he must have seen the night he had me brought to him for judgment.
I said, "You did not tell me you loved her."
He replied, in the casual manner he would have in the old days, "I didn't know that she loved me or that she was free to love me. Do I have your consent to marry her?"
I walked over to where he stood, framed against the window facing north. Behind him were the black border mountains, untouched by the moonlight that spilled like snowfall onto the ground. I took too long to reply, for Peter asked, "Do you hate me that much?"
"Hate you?" I stared at Peter.
"For betraying you."
I shook my head, incredulous. "It was I who betrayed you."
A look came into Peter's eyes, the look that had been in his eyes after the Unknowable God spoke to us. He said in a low voice, "I don't know how I could tell anyone of what happened tonight. I don't fully understand what took place. If anything is clear to me, it's that the Power I heard in that sanctuary has commanded me to give him my service, not through the performance of religious rites, but through my proclamation and enforcement of the laws of Emor. This is something I can understand. Therefore, I won't say, as John said, that you were speaking today with the voice of the god, but I will say that you were following a law that is unknown even to the Chara."
Peter reached over and touched me lightly on the arm as he added softly, "You betrayed John and you betrayed me, but you did not betray this higher law – and I never believed that you did. I only said otherwise because I was terrified of dying and even more terrified that I would betray my duty as the Chara to avoid dying. So, to avoid this fear, I hurt my wine-friend. Please forgive me."
I felt as though the hard bonds of diplomacy and silence that I had forged for myself during my years in Emor were breaking around me, and that I would never again be able to hold my heart completely in hiding. "It makes no sense for you to ask my forgiveness, after what I did."
"No. Nor did it make any sense for you to do what you did. But because of you, I am free and Koretia is free and we are able to be friends once more. Whatever this voice of yours is, it is not something that follows logic."