Greatshadow (14 page)

The Truthspeakers gain certain gifts as a result of their devotion. The most powerful Truthspeakers can see the falsehoods of the world and correct them. For instance, if it’s raining, and a pious Truthspeaker understands that the One True Book foretold that the day would be sunny, he simply tells the sky it’s supposed to be blue. The clouds will part and the sun will come out. This may be hyperbole; I’ve never personally witnessed a Truthspeaker pull off such a feat. But, I have witnessed another magical gift. It’s impossible to lie to a Truthspeaker. Believe me, I’ve tried.

The monks run a vineyard where they produce the sacramental wine used in certain church rites. The wine isn’t intended to be used recreationally, but when I had my first sip at age ten, I appreciated the warmth that spread through me as I swallowed, and wanted more. By age twelve I’d sneak out at night to the pitch dark wine cellars to finish off entire bottles, luxuriating in the mellow heat that spread through my body and washed over my mind in a soothing wave. I’d lie on the frigid stone floor in the darkness and dream of using grandfather’s bone-handled knife to hack away vines from ancient statues in steaming tropical jungles.

Alas, the monks kept meticulous track of their inventory. A Truthspeaker was brought in to investigate the missing gallons. I’d heard from other orphans that you can fool a Truthspeaker if you can fool yourself. You couldn’t lie, but truth wasn’t always black and white. I was certain I’d be asked if I’d stolen the wine, and, technically, I hadn’t. The wine didn’t belong to any one person. It was property of the Church, and I was a member of the Church. It was no more a theft for me to share the wine than it was to drink water from the communal well. I trusted I could slip through this loophole if the Truthspeaker interrogated me.

I remember the moment that I’d been brought into the room where Father Ver waited. He was middle-aged then, his close-cropped dark hair speckled with gray at the temples. His skin was pale from spending most of his life in a cave. There was a large callus in the center of his forehead from decades spent rubbing it against the floor. His eyes were sunk back into his skull, hidden in shadows. The interrogation room was lit by a single candle which sat on the table between us, and the light flickered like twin stars in the void of his eyes.

Despite his stern expression, I walked into the room with a confident swagger. I sat down and faced him, unafraid to meet his gaze. I waited for him to speak to me. Seconds passed and he said nothing. I slid back in my chair, prepared to wait him out, but turned my face away. It was uncomfortable to look at someone so directly without saying anything. As the seconds passed into minutes, I’d glance at him and always find his eyes locked on my face. I began to fidget. I could feel his stare boring into me. I started sweating. My palms were clammy as I wiped away the moisture on my brow. I trembled as I worried he might mistake my discomfort for evidence of guilt. Which was absurd, I reminded myself, since I hadn’t stolen anything. I wanted to tell him this, but my tongue had grown thick in my mouth. If my rubbery limbs had possessed the strength, I would have fled the room. Instead, some horrible internal magnet kept pulling my gaze toward his. I felt as if my face wasn’t truly my own, but was instead a mask I’d all but forgotten I was wearing. The Truthspeaker’s eyes were peeling back that mask to reveal the sinner beneath.

After what felt like hours, he spoke, in a low, gravelly voice. “You are the wine thief.”

I collapsed to the floor, my tongue leaping to life: “Yes! Oh yes! Yes! It’s true! I stole the wine!”

Hot tears erupted from my eyes as I wept, my body wracked with sobs. I was vaguely aware of Father Ver rising and walking around the desk.

“You will stop crying,” he said, standing before me.

Instantly, I stopped. It was like he’d reached in and flicked some unseen switch that commanded my tears. I reached out and hugged his ankles, groveling as I pressed my cheeks against his sandal-clad feet. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “Forgive me.”

“You will stand,” he said.

Though my body felt hollow, gutted by guilt and shame, my muscles moved to obey his words and I rose.

Father Ver frowned. “There’s a weakness in you,” he said. “Unfounded hope is the source. Your grandfather paid you a visit two years ago.”

“Y-yes,” I said, sniffling.

“He filled your head with tales of vanished kingdoms, pygmy tribes, and lost treasures. Seductive visions for a boy your age. You’ve turned your eyes from the path of righteousness and now dream of life outside this monastery.”

I wiped snot onto my sleeve and said, “My g-grandfather is going to t-take me with him next time.”

“We both know this isn’t true,” said Father Ver.

I swallowed hard.

“If your grandfather wanted you, he could have taken you on his last visit. You aren’t our property, boy. We’d welcome one less mouth to feed. The truth is plain; Judicious Merchant loves the jungle more than he loves you.”

I wiped my cheeks and whispered, “He... he said the jungle is too dangerous for a child.”

“Do the pygmies not have children? In any case, your grandfather is a free man, still in possession of remnants of your family fortune. He need not live in a jungle like a savage. He could have raised you in comfort on some modest country estate. His actions show what he truly loves in this world. It isn’t you.”

I dropped to my knees, doubled over, feeling as if I’d been kicked in the gut.

“Your thirst for wine comes from your love of falsehood. In your intoxication, it’s easy to feel as if the dreams you cling to are real. It’s time to let go of your childish embrace of fantasy. Truth will never be found digging among the ruins of failed civilizations. Truth is revealed through prayer and obedience to the church. The great adventure for any man lies not in exploring the ruins of distant jungles, but in navigating the ruins of his own soul. Your soul in particular is a treacherous labyrinth. Your father, mother, and grandfather all live, yet you are an orphan. What a heavy burden, to be so unloved. I understand why your dreams seem more attractive than your piteous reality.”

I dug my nails into my palms, trying to make the pain blot out the words. I sniffled. “H-how can... how can you say such cruel things?”

“It is a measure of your weakness that you mistake truth for cruelty,” said Father Ver. “Within the One True Book, your life has already been written. I know nothing of your future; there is too much contained within the Book for one man to study it all. I have no certainty of your eventual fate, but slaking your blasphemous thirst with sacramental wine is a poor omen. My informed speculation is that one day you’ll die drunk on some distant shore, leaving your bones to rot in an unmarked grave.”

He walked to the door and rang a small bell to summon the monks. He didn’t look at me as he said, “If I were the sole arbiter of your fate, you would be hung. A boy who is a thief will almost certainly grow into a man who is something worse. Alas, the brothers will sanction no punishment more severe than flogging. You will receive ten lashes a day with a braided leather whip for the next seven days.”

My mouth went dry as I thought of the pain I would endure.

“I know you are afraid of what’s to come,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Look at me.”

I turned my face toward him as he untied the knot that held his simple robes at the waist. He shrugged the heavy cloth from his shoulders. He turned, revealing his bare back. He was more muscular than I’d suspected. There was no fat on him; his muscles looked wiry and powerful beneath his white skin. I squinted in the candle light. Quickly, I understood what he was showing me. His back was crisscrossed with scars and countless fresh scabs.

“When the whip touches you, pain flashes through your mind like a light,” he said. “Follow this light. It will lead you to truth. Pleasure leads only to falsehood; pain guides men to what is real. Truth is hard. Truth is harsh.
Truth is all that matters.
It is stark and beautiful and complete. Embrace your pain, child, and you may yet live a righteous life.”

He pulled his robes back up his shoulders. “Should you not heed my words, pray we do not cross paths again,” he said. “When next we meet, I will not show such mercy.”

He left, and I listened to this feet pad away down the stone hall. I was all alone, his words echoing in my ears. All I could feel was gratitude. Father Ver had given me a precious second chance. I didn’t fear the punishment to come; I was eager for it, ready for the whip to beat away my weakness and bring me to the same state of grace as this holy man.

I didn’t find enlightenment in my floggings. The instant the whip touched me I found only hurt and humiliation and a festering distrust for all things labeled holy. I returned to wine theft within the year. When I finally fled the monastery, it was with a belly full of sacramental wine and the contents of the poor box jingling in my pockets.

R
ELIC HAD TOLD
Infidel to wait for his return, but nothing was holding her at the boat beyond her own weariness. As the heat of the day settled over the bay, she was wide awake. Aurora’s cold compresses had helped reduce her lumps and bruises. She looked like her old self as she finished off the last of the whale jerky. She and Aurora cracked crude jokes as they speculated as to what, exactly, Relic might be. There are nineteen sentient species in the Shining Lands; toss in the more popular half-seeds and there were roughly fifty different types of humanoid that could be hiding under that cloak.

There was no reason to limit the speculation to the earthly realms. Aurora’s belief in a Great Sea Above was hardly the only auxiliary reality one could believe in. The Church of the Book believed there were two further realms of existence. Heaven was populated by true men, glorious creatures who had reached the final perfection after passing through the trials of life. Hell was populated by sinners and worse things. There were demons whose very existence was a lie the universe had been tricked into accepting. Only when the Golden Child read the One True Book would these false creatures be eradicated.

Of course, I take these teachings with a grain of salt. The Vanished Kingdom is proof that men lived long before the Church of the Book. I’m sure that these men believed in the stone idols they worshipped, gods whose names are now completely forgotten. If ancient men had been mistaken about their beliefs, why should modern men be any different?

All my life, I assumed that I’d finally discover the answers to these philosophical questions once I was dead. What a gyp that I have more questions now than ever. Still, when I think of the scaly flesh that surrounds Relic’s eyes, I can’t help but think of how closely he resembles the drawings of demons from the books of my youth.

After her meal, Infidel got dressed in the clothes Aurora had found. Though the tan britches and striped shirt were tailored for a man, I thought she looked fantastic. Her sculpted perfection makes her enticing even in peasant clothing, her features unadorned by make-up or jewelry. Royalty breeds for beauty. I can only imagine that, dressed in lacy gowns in a palace, her face framed by pearls and gold, she must be breathtaking.

Aurora created a mirror of ice for Infidel to use to fix what was left of her hair. She had little choice but to crop what was left, trimming away the frizzled ends. While I’d always liked her long silver tresses, I had to admit this new style had a certain charm. It highlighted the graceful lines of her smooth, slender neck, and drew attention to her enigmatic gray eyes.

I wondered where she would go after she was done with her hair; I was certain she wouldn’t simply wait for Relic. Then, fate provided her with a destination. Far out at the mouth of the harbor, dark shapes appeared, a long line of humps rising and falling in the water. At first, I thought it was an enormous serpent, but as it drew closer I could see that it was, in fact, a pod of a dozen whales, enormous blue-gray beasts big as ships. Long strands of woven seaweed trailed from elaborate harnesses that hung over their broad, flat faces. A crew of mermen swam beside them, urging them on, prodding the slower ones with tridents, and trumpeting long, low commands through horns fashioned from giant conch shells.

Behind it all, towed by the mighty sea beasts, was an enormous barge, waves breaking against its squat frame. From the center of the barge a single mast thrust into the air, sporting a banner of white and the silhouette of a black swan.

Aurora rose, shielding her eyes, staring at the barge like it was an apparition. The new arrival looked much like the old
Black Swan
barge, only larger and obviously newer. It now rose three stories instead of two. One by one, the whales were set free of their harnesses as momentum and tides carried the vessel forward. The mermen exceeded even the Wanderers in their understanding of water currents. The barge came to a halt mere feet from a newly built dock the Wanderers had finished only hours before. A crew of men leapt from the barge to lash it into place. Anchors splashed all around the vessel, sinking down to the mud. The
Black Swan
had come home.

Aurora jumped down from the boat, quickly clearing the tangled mangroves and reaching the mudflats. The ground crackled as she froze a long, rock-hard path across the mire. Infidel leapt to follow her, slipping the second she hit the icy mud. She grimaced as she waved her arms for balance, looking around for a less slippery path. She jumped toward a river-pygmy canoe floating about twenty feet out in shallow water. The two pygmies currently occupying the canoe toppled into the bay as Infidel landed in the center of the craft. The canoe spun, capsizing as the lip sank beneath the water, but Infidel had already kicked off again, flying toward a slanted piling that jutted from the water. She barely touched down before she sprang again, leap-frogging her way toward her destination. When she reached the
Black Swan
, she leaned against a wall, crossing her arms. She looked nonchalant as Aurora climbed up onto the deck.