Bloodstone (58 page)

“It is true,” Xevhan asserted.

“The man confessed?” Vazh asked.

“He will.”

“A man will say anything under torture,” the Supplicant noted. “In a day, we could make him swear to being Eliaxa’s father. May his spirit dance forever through the green hills of Paradise,” she added piously.

“Then let us consider issue four,” said Xevhan. “The Pajhit’s obvious affection for all these tree lovers. For years, he has protested against our raids. He has protected this boy since he arrived. He even got a son on one of their whores. Furthermore—”

The Supplicant’s hand gripped his forearm. But Vazh was already on his feet, his shouts overriding Xevhan’s voice. “Bury you! Slander the Pajhit further and I’ll challenge you, priest or not.”

“Enough! Sit down, Khonsel. Zheron, you will moderate your tone.”

“And furthermore,” Xevhan continued in a softer voice, “the man in question is not merely a performer. He is considered a hero among his people. The leader of the players recognized him. Are we to believe that the Pajhit—with his extensive knowledge of these people—did not?”

Malaq laughed. He kept on laughing until he had mastered the overwhelming desire to rip Olinio’s flapping tongue from his head and batter Xevhan’s triumphant face with his fist.

“Forgive me,” he said, still breathless. “Of course, I know the legend of Darak Spirit-Hunter. But that’s all it is. A legend. About as plausible as their belief that the man’s brother turned into a tree. To believe that a man could march into the Abyss and free the spirit of a god makes about as much sense as . . .”

“Believing the Son of Zhe could come to earth?” the Supplicant asked.

Eliaxa gasped. “That is blasphemy.”

“His hands are maimed,” Xevhan pointed out. “Just as the Spirit-Hunter’s are supposed to be.”

“I’ve got scars on my back,” Vazh said, “but that doesn’t make me the Flayed One.”

“Then we must probe the man’s spirit,” Xevhan said.

“And the boy’s. Today. That’s the only way to learn the truth.”

The queen shook her head. “I’m not yet recovered from The Shedding. Neither are the Pajhit and the Motixa.”

“Then at least hold them prisoner until you’re stronger.”

“All this talk is giving me a headache,” the king whined. “Why don’t we just execute them now?”

“Sky’s Light, the boy might be the Son of Zhe!” Eliaxa exclaimed. “We cannot—”

“Well, execute the man then.” The king grinned. “Or better still, sacrifice him to Zhe.”

“But he is maimed,” Eliaxa protested. “It would not be fitting.”

“That’s what makes it so perfect. Was not Zhe maimed as well? His feathers blackened and burned?” The king sat back on his throne, sickeningly proud of his reasoning.

“How wise you are, Sky’s Light.” Xevhan was practically purring with satisfaction. “What gift could please Zhe more than the living personification of his pain?”

“The Motixa is right.” Malaq fought to keep his voice level. “Earth’s Beloved, you cannot permit this sacrilege.”

“It’s not sacrilege,” the king insisted. “Not if I say it isn’t. I want him sacrificed. I am the king and I say we shall. Oh, let’s do it, Jholianna. I know it would please Zhe. And it would please me, too.”

Before she could answer, a guard tentatively asked permission to enter.

“What is it?”

“Forgive me, Earth’s Beloved. Sky’s Light.” The guard ducked his head. “It’s the Qepo. He says there’s a problem with the adders.”

The queen frowned. “Very well. Send him in.”

The Qepo trotted forward and prostrated himself.

“Speak.”

“Forgive me, Earth’s—”

“Speak!”

“The adders. They are restless.”

“That’s all? We’re dealing with important matters here.”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved. Forgive me. But the last time they were so restless, Womb of Earth shook.”

The queen’s frown deepened. “You believe an earthquake is imminent?”

“I don’t know, Earth’s Beloved. I only know the adders are restless.”

“More restless than they were before the last tremor?”

“Well . . . it’s hard to say.”

“Yes or no.”

“No, Earth’s Beloved.”

“Then we have no reason to suspect anything more than a mild tremor.”

“I cannot say, Earth’s Beloved. But we’ve already had two in the last moon. In the past, a series of mild tremors preceded a more serious one.”

“Only once,” Besul said. “Ten years ago. During the Milk Moon.”

“What does the season matter?” Vazh demanded.

“I simply noted—”

“The boy is apparently on cordial terms with our sacred adders,” the Supplicant interjected. “Why not let him speak to them?”

“Yes,” Eliaxa agreed eagerly. “If the adders are uneasy, he will surely find out why.”

The queen considered and finally nodded. “Take the boy to the pit. If the adders tell him that a serious earthquake is imminent, we will evacuate the city. Khonsel—”

“The plans are already in place, Earth’s Beloved. They were drawn up ten years ago. During the Butterfly Moon.” Besul’s strangled sound of protest drew a smile that immediately faded. “But evacuating the entire city requires time.”

“I realize that. Qepo, we thank you for your diligence. Report the boy’s findings directly to me. You may go.”

After the Qepo had withdrawn, Xevhan cleared his throat. “As to the cripple . . .”

Everyone began speaking at once, but the queen only had eyes for her brother.

“We have allowed him to distract us long enough. Sacrifice him. Tomorrow at dawn. The boy is not to know. After he has spoken to the adders, I want him confined to his chamber. No one is to speak to him.”

The queen’s eyes demanded his obedience. Malaq could only nod.

“Since none of my priests has been able to ascertain this boy’s identity, it falls to me to do so—even if that means invading his spirit.”

“But that would be a sacrilege!” Eliaxa exclaimed. “The prophecy makes clear—”

“Prophecies are never clear. If he is the Son of Zhe—a fact of which I am very much in doubt—he will understand our need for proof.” The queen’s gaze swept across the face of each priest and lingered on the Supplicant. “Your counsel is too often absent from our meetings. And your assistance this last moon was sorely needed.”

“My god is a demanding one, Earth’s Beloved. In fact, he summons me now. During your seclusion, he showed me many signs—good and bad—that suggest great changes are coming. But with so many signs to interpret—and so many possible interpretations—it has been difficult for me to advise you. So I have remained silent, communing with the god and hoping for revelation. But no matter what may befall our people, you have my assurance that I will always love those who worship the god I serve.”

The supplicant rose and bowed, first to the queen, then to the king, and quietly left the chamber. For a moment, they all stared after her.

“Zheron.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Malaq saw Xevhan start.

“While we appreciate your diligence in attempting to discover the boy’s identity, allowing him to take qiij was a grave error. Neglecting to mention it to us, a worse one.”

“Forgive me, Earth’s Beloved.”

“After Midsummer, you will retire to the sanctuary of Avhilat for a moon to reflect on your shortcomings.”

A miserable eyrie in the most forsaken part of Zheros. Where he would be cut off from his supply of qiij.

“I will appoint another to carry out the duties of Zheron during your absence.”

And that would hurt even more than the loss of qiij.

“Motixa.” The queen spoke gently. “Instead of probing the boy’s spirit yourself—or pressing the Pajhit to do so—you allowed your hope for the coming of the Son of Zhe to blind you to the possibility that the boy is a fraud. We do not chide you for your faith, but in the future, we hope you will leaven it with skepticism.”

“Yes, Earth’s Beloved.”

“Pajhit.”

No gentleness in the voice now and none in the face that regarded him.

“You have allowed your affection for this boy to take precedence over your duties to your people. We must reflect on whether your past service to us outweighs your divided loyalties. After we have examined the boy, we will decide whether you are fit to continue as Pajhit. Until that time, you are relieved of your responsibilities and confined to your chamber.”

Malaq bowed his head. “Yes, Earth’s Beloved.”

H
IS ROOM FELT LIKE a cairn. Malaq’s chamber held the memories of his encounter with his father. So, despite the relentless sun, Keirith took refuge in the garden.

He sat in a small patch of shade, knees drawn up to his chest. The air was almost too hot to breathe. His head ached. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, but he didn’t dare close them for then he might dream. If the Big One didn’t pursue him, his father would. Or Urkiat.

Niqia had fled indoors, irritable from the heat. Malaq was at the reception. Ysal kept poking his head through the draperies, trying to tempt him with a game of dice, a plate of food, a cup of cool water.

His worried face appeared again. “That girl is here. Hircha. I told her I didn’t think you’d want to see her, but she won’t go away.”

Before he could reply, the draperies were flung aside. Ysal gave a startled yelp as Hircha pushed past him.

“I told you to wait—”

“I need to talk with you.”

She seemed tense and agitated. Her fingers kept plucking at her gown.

“It is all right, Ysal. Thank you.”

Ysal shot a pained look at Hircha. “I’m only trying to do my duty, you know. It wouldn’t kill you to be polite.” Still muttering, he left them alone.

“What is it?” Keirith asked. “Is something wrong?”

She hesitated a moment, then blurted out, “I saw something. When I took the kitchen scraps to the gate. For the poor. We do that during the festival. After the sezhta. We take food to all four gates—”

“Aye. And?”

“I was at the western gate. I saw the Zheron’s guards coming up the path. Your father was with them.”

“That’s impossible. My . . . the Spirit-Hunter’s gone. He left the city.”

“It was him. He stood head and shoulders above the guards.” She refused to look at him, just stared at the stone flags while her fingers creased her gown and smoothed it again. “They were headed toward the slave compound.”

All he could do was shake his head.

“I couldn’t come before. I only just finished in the kitchen. I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you. But . . . he’s your father. And I thought you should know.”

Finally, he managed to move, but as he pushed past Hircha, she grabbed his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to go to him!”

“You’ll only make things worse.”

“Then I’ll find Malaq.”

“Only the queen can help him now.”

“Then I’ll go to her!”

“Xevhan probably ran to her while the blood from this morning’s sacrifice was still warm.” Hircha grimaced. “Unless he waited until he was finished with the blind girl.”

The thought of what Xevhan might have done to the little singer only fueled his bloodlust. His mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed hard, refusing to give in to the overwhelming urge to find Xevhan and kill him.

He shook off Hircha and began pacing Malaq’s chamber. He had to do something. He couldn’t just wait here while they tortured his father to get the truth from him. Then he saw the snake earring, lying on the table. He scooped it up and was heading toward the doorway when Hircha said, “If you’re looking for me, I can save you a hot, dusty trip.”

It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t Hircha’s voice, another to turn and discover the apparition, lounging in the doorway of the garden. Part of his mind registered her strange appearance; the other was trying to imagine how she had scaled the wall to Malaq’s garden in her long robe.

“We can talk more privately outside.”

He exchanged a quick look with Hircha before following her.

They found her lolling on the bench at the far end of the garden. “In a few moments, the queen’s guards will arrive to take you to the adder pit, so I fear we must dispense with pleasantries. I am the Supplicant of the God with Two Faces. How I got here is unimportant. Your father will be sacrificed at dawn tomorrow on the altar of Zhe. And if you’re going to faint, I suggest you put your head between your knees and breathe slowly.”

The scorn in her voice brought his head up. “I’m not going to faint.”

“I’m relieved.”

“And I
was
coming to you. You gave my father this. He gave it to me.”

“I’m aware of the chain of events.”

“Can you help him?”

“I’ve already given Darak the help he requires.”