The Quartered Sea (25 page)

The acolyte's wide-eyed gaze followed them as they crossed from the inner to the outer edge and Benedikt remembered a question he'd been meaning to ask.

"Why do the priests shave their heads? I thought shave was what you did to children?"

"We are all children in the house of the gods." Xhojee snorted. "Or at least that's what they say. If I went in under the pillars, I'd have to unbraid my hair. I
should
unbraid it even out here—that's probably why we're being stared at."

"You have if the tul says you have." Dropping his voice, Xhojee punched the other man lightly on the arm. "Besides, what else have you got to do?"

Fortunately, since Benedikt had no answer, the view from the outer edge of the temple drove the question right out of his mind. "The sea."

"Sorquizic. Not worshiped but respected. Giver of bounty. Dangerously unpredictable—not that I need to tell you. Do you want to go closer?"

Set back from the tiny crescent of black sand beach, a dozen wooden posts supported a roof over what looked like the pieces of a boat.

"The tul's, before he was tul," Xhojee explained. "They say he used to come down here a lot, but now the boat master's left pretty much on his own. He lives over there behind… Benedikt?"

But Benedikt wasn't listening. Stumbling a little on the loose sand, he walked until he stood just beyond the touch of the surf. This sea did not look as if anyone had ever been shipwrecked in it. It stretched out toward the horizon, turquoise, then blue, sunlight kissing the upper curves of lazy waves.

It was hard to believe that under the beauty, under the seduction, lay the broken remains of the
Starfarer
and the bodies of her crew.

He could see the kigh beginning to gather, not the huge kigh of the outer sea but smaller, familiar kigh that he knew from the shores of home. He wanted to Sing, Sing his grief, Sing his loneliness, Sing his sorrow, but he held his lips tightly closed. Not even Xhojee knew about the kigh. He had begun to tell the tul about them twice, and now he found himself glad that they weren't a part of what the tul wanted from him. The kigh were still his alone.

"Is this where I was found?"

"No. That way." A gentle touch turned him to the south. "The village is in the next cove; two children found you a bit beyond that."

Xhojee thought about that a moment. "Good point," he admitted at last. Squinting up at the sky, he looked dubious. "I'm not sure we can get there before you have to go back inside, but…"

His next observation was cut off by the sound of sandals against gravel. A very young man, his hair a short brush over his scalp and the skin around the first of his tattoos still red from the needle and dye, pounded down the path, onto the beach, and fell to his knees as his feet sank into the sand. "The tul," he gasped, "wants to see the warrior of Tulpayotee."

"Some of your skin is touched with red." Gathering up the folds of his robe in one hand, Tul Altun rose, walked over to the kneeling man and laid the fingers of his free hand on Benedikt's shoulder. "It's heated. You haven't injured yourself, have you?"

"No, gracious one. The heat will fade." Tul Altun's touch was as cold as his tone had been, and it sent an involuntary shiver skittering across the muscles of Benedikt's back. A line of sweat ran down his spine. His skin felt tight, too small for his body in a way that had nothing to do with a minor sunburn.

The touch became a caress that lifted strands of hair, and rested for a moment on the other shoulder. "It doesn't seem to be fading. Never mind, I brought you here for other reasons. Why do you think I wanted Becan and Campeche to see you?"

He had a sudden vision of a dancing bear Petrolkian traders had brought to his village when he was boy. It wore a coat and a hat, and it shuffled about on its hind legs pretending to be a man.

"Benedikt?"

"Because if one assumed to be from the god is in your house, you will be in a strong enough place to find…" He didn't know the word for allies. "… to find friends."

There was something in his voice, a dark edge, that made Benedikt suddenly afraid for Xhojee's safety. "You did, gracious one. You spoke of it to the priest."

"Did I? And then you had the boy explain?"

"Yes, gracious one."

"Ah." Pivoting on the ball of one foot, the tul sank gracefully back onto the cushioned dais amid the billowing, multicolored folds of his robe. "You're right about your presence in this house; the rumors alone have brought me some small benefits, and today I've secured the support of Becan and Campeche—lesser houses, but they'll help strengthen my position. You see, Benedikt…" He leaned forward, eyes glittering, "I'm taking you to court."

"He asked if you'd cooperate. Perhaps he truly believed you were a warrior of Tulpayotee and that, therefore, you had a choice. You understand that you don't, don't you, Benedikt? You owe me your life, so I choose what to do with it."

He would have died on the shore if not for the tul. Perhaps he should have died, but he hadn't. He wondered, briefly, what kind of life that Petrolkian bear had lived before it began its impersonation. What had brought it to the coat and the hat and the shuffling walk. "You can't make worse choices than I have," he sighed.

"Good. Come…" A gesture indicated the cushions on the lower dais where the Becan-tul had sat. "… and I'll go over more of what you'll need to know to survive."

"You'll die. So if you have any idea of throwing yourself on the mercy of another house when we arrive in Atixlan, it wouldn't be wise."

"I have no idea of doing that, gracious one." He sank awkwardly down into the cushions.

"Very nice." The tul waited as, ears crimson, Benedikt shoved his sawrap down between his legs. "But what happened to the
breeches
you were to have made?"

"I want you in
breeches
for court. Am I to wait on the pleasure of this karjan tailor?" He threw the braided skein of hair and feathers behind his shoulder. "Would the loss of a foot encourage him to sew a little faster?"

To his horror, Benedikt realized this was not a rhetorical question. Spinning around, he locked eyes with the tul. "That's insane! You can't take a man's foot just to make him sew faster!"

Tul Altun stared at him for a long moment, nostrils flared and lip curled. Then he leaned back, lifted a handbell from between the cushions, and gave it one violent swing.

A guard appeared while the summons still echoed off the walls. She had to have been waiting in the hall—although the hall had been empty when Benedikt had arrived moments before. Guards and karjen appeared and disappeared so quickly, he'd begun to suspect the walls were hollow. The guard approached the dais, rapped her spear butt twice on the floor, then waited for orders.

Benedikt knew the tul was about to prove he could do exactly what he said he could. He was no longer punishing the tailor, he was teaching Benedikt to think before he spoke.

"Please forgive me, gracious one." Charm, like Command, was a bardic skill Benedikt had never had the self-confidence to fully master but it
was
a bardic skill and he used what he could of it now. Sliding off the dais, he rose up on one knee, head bowed. "I should have said, please don't."

"You should have said nothing at all," the tul snarled. "This does not concern you." He drew in an audible breath and said, a little more calmly, "Why do you care about this tailor?"

"Where I come from, gracious one, the punishments are not so severe."

"But you are not
there
now, are you?"

"No, gracious one." In the dark on dark of the tul's gaze, Benedikt saw a mutilated tailor and truly realized for the first time that he was not in a world he knew. He had one card left to play. "Will you not grant the mercy of Tulpayotee?" he asked, using just enough Voice to touch the words with power.

Behind him, the guard gasped and Benedikt risked a glance at Tul Altun's face. The finely arched brows were knit together, but after a moment he slowly smiled.

If cats could smile
, Benedikt thought.

"The mercy of Tulpayotee is not to be ignored," the tul allowed graciously. A raised hand dismissed the guard. "Very convincing," he declared when they were alone again. "If you can be that convincing at court, we should have nothing to worry about."

We
? Benedikt wondered. But the tul continued speaking before he could ask.

"Ooman Xhai will arrange your visit to the Great Temple as soon as possible after we arrive. You'll sing, just like you did in the temple here. That, and your appearance, should be enough to convince most of the court you're from the god. I'll do what I can to keep you from having to deal with awkward questions, but the Tulparax will want to speak with you and that I can't control."

He motioned for Benedikt to rejoin him on the cushions and waited until he settled before asking, "What will you say when he asks you if you come from Tulpayotee? Remember, to do me any good, you have to make him believe the lie."

"Then I won't lie, gracious one." Benedikt risked a small smile. "I'll ask him, in turn, if the sun is not the giver of all life."

An ebony brow rose. "Are you sure you're not a priest?"

Tul Altun studied and discarded a piece of melon. Examined and rejected a bunch of grapes. It was the waiting that was the hard part, the preparing.

It would have been easier to have had Benedikt killed and his golden body found in such a way that the blame was laid on one of the other houses. On the Kohunlich-xaan if he could have gotten close enough.

"My sister has killed a warrior of Tulpayotee!" He took a bite from a piece of fresh sugar cane and threw the rest aside. Unfortunately, although the rumors would have weakened her, they wouldn't have strengthened him.

"And why waste a perfectly good warrior of Tulpayotee?"

Sometimes he caught himself believing that Benedikt came from the god. Sometimes he caught himself wondering if there might not be other uses for him.