Judge (15 page)

Kien called down the cold, bleak, echoing street. “In six days, the Infinite will destroy Adar-iyr. Repent and be saved!”

It was a wonder his voice hadn’t given out—with his mind. Each morning, he cheered himself along, celebrating by changing one word in his predetermined litany. He’d begun at twenty-one days. Today was six. Tomorrow would be five!

Unless he was blessed enough to be stolen by pirates and rowed out to sea.

No . . . Forget anything to do with sailing. The sea beast would be waiting to gulp him down and heave him up again in Adar-iyr. Better to keep walking and watch where he was going—the clouds had darkened the daylight to twilight murkiness. He trudged into an alley and called out his obligatory twelve words. But why was he yelling down a deserted street?

Picking his way across a fly-swarmed rubbish heap, Kien turned wearily down the next street. Somewhere, a door slammed. Nearby, a shutter snicked closed. He bellowed his warning, then ambled to the next thoroughfare and frowned at the quiet marketplace.

Where were all the citizens this morning?

Kien sighed, raised his voice, howled the admonition, and
trudged onward. Something bashed into his chest, making him gasp. A loaf of bread dropped at his feet. What a waste.

Surely there were people starving in this city who would welcome this now-dusty bread.

Such as him.

Infinite? May I speak to these men, to return this bread and to warn them?

Yes.

Thank You. Kien looked around at the lifeless marketplace and its idle vendors. “Whose bread is this?”

“Yours now!” one of the vendors snapped. “No one else is around to eat it!”

Did he catch a whiff of blame in the man’s words? Kien approached him. “Why are you so upset? Look—here’s your bread.” He set the bread on the edge of the vendor’s stall. “I’m returning it.”

The vendor shoved the loaf back at him. “Keep it! Everyone’s fasting.” The vendor’s sculpted mustache twitched above his skewed lips as his tone and words accused, “Because of you! The king’s ordered us all to pray to the Infinite and fast and mourn and repent with all our hearts.”

The king had . . . what? Kien stared. Fast? Mourn? Repent? Seriously?

“Well, look at the bright side,” another vendor called out in a cheery voice. “I haven’t seen a murder all day. And the sackcloth merchants are earning their keep for once! Poor fools. Usually no one touches their wretched fabric.”

Kien eyed the man’s sleeve and noticed its coarse material. That stuff had to chafe. He winced. “Everyone’s fasting and wearing sackcloth? And repenting?”

The cheery one grinned. “Isn’t that what we just told you? Look here.” He poured Kien a cup of liquid. “Purified fortified water. Help yourself. Go sit down and eat that bread. Have some meat. There’s some fruit. No one’s buying and it’ll just rot.” Quietly, he added, “With my thanks. The marketplace hasn’t been
this calm and safe in years! You need to keep up your strength while you continue to curse our city, eh? Blessings of our Creator as you go.”

Dry-mouthed, Kien accepted the water. But he didn’t consider eating the bread until he’d walked through half the marketplace with all the merchants handing him food—accompanied by their opinions of his mission’s success. A marketplace cook slapped a heap of grilled meat into flatbread for Kien. “You’ve ruined us financially for now, but I haven’t seen a theft in two days. I say, bless the Infinite!” He chased Kien onward with an encouraging nod and a wave of his sackcloth sleeve.

The entire city was fasting. And wearing sackcloth. And praying. Infinite . . . !

A slender, pretty girl with golden-brown hair stopped before him, hefting a roll of sackcloth. She smiled at Kien, elated. “If my arms weren’t full, sir, I’d kiss you!”

He stared, then recognized the young prostitute who’d accosted him on his first day in Adar-iyr. Clean-scrubbed now, and the most radiant sight in the overcast marketplace, the girl hugged the sackcloth close. “My father has finally agreed to wear this stuff and bow to the Infinite! Furthermore,
I
am becoming a proper seamstress and determined to remain so—though I hope I’ll progress from stitching only sackcloth robes.” Lowering her voice, she added, “You frightened me to bits when I first saw you, but thank you for caring! Bless the Infinite and His monster that spat you onto the beach!”

Dazed, Kien watched the girl near dancing from the marketplace with all the giddiness of a freed soul. Surrounded by the Infinite’s joy.

Infinite? I almost didn’t recognize her.

An overwhelming whirlwind of jubilation spun Kien, as if his Creator had swept him into an impromptu dance of celebration.
She is new in My sight—My own precious child!

Astounding . . . Kien staggered, laughed, scoffed at his own clumsiness, then gripped a marketplace stall to settle his
euphoria-smacked mind. The young girl’s fresh hopes, contrasted with the undoubted squalor of her previous life, chased his own miseries into nothingness.

Surely for her sake alone his task here
was
worthwhile.

His thoughts still spinning, Kien left the marketplace, too dazed to eat the food in his hands. After wandering down numerous streets, he noticed two rough-garbed men consistently turning after him at each corner. His senses sharpened. Were they following him?

Testing them, Kien turned another corner. When he was halfway down the street, they appeared. Definitely following him. Grim-faced. Swords readied.

Infinite? What now?

 16 

B
efore Father could step into the house, Ela grabbed his sleeve. “Father, do you know anything about Parne’s provisions?”

Dan lifted an eyebrow. “Provisions? What do you mean?”

“I mean, the marketplace looks sparse. Doesn’t Parne have food stored for emergencies?”

Covering her hand with his own, Dan said, “We’ve had no rain since the start of spring.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“There’s been no harvest of any kind from our lands. Parne has been living on its reserves. We’ve sent traders to Siphra and Istgard for grain and fruit, but they haven’t returned.”

Ela pressed her knuckles against her mouth.

Father was talking, drawing her attention. “The fields flowered early this year—they were beautiful. Filled with blooms that even the elders had never seen in their lifetimes.”

My last gift to Parne.

“Everyone believed we’d have a magnificent harvest this year, and the entire city celebrated.”

They made offerings to Atea and gave themselves over to her.

Sensing the endless depths of her Creator’s grief, Ela felt the blood drain from her face.

I will send no more rain to refresh Parne.

Instead, He sent her glimpses of forthcoming misery. Buckets
lifted from Parne’s wells. Dry. Grain bags emptied. Cattle, pets, and mice consumed. Emaciated faces staring at her. Accusing her. The trickle of imagery multiplied, pouring through her thoughts like an unleashed flood. Caught in the vision’s current, Ela rocked on her feet, covering her eyes with her hands.

Father gripped Ela’s shoulders and steadied her. “What are you seeing?”

“Famine,” Ela whispered. “Disease . . . rotting flesh.” Why couldn’t she stop her arms and legs from trembling? The vision’s pain increased. Multiplied to agony.

She dropped into darkness as Father yelled her name.

“I suppose,” Prill said, watching Ela dig out the linen sash from its hiding place at the public well, “if it’s not too filthy, we could sun-bleach it.”

“There’ll be no bleaching this. Just as there’s no bleaching Parne.” Ela caught the sash’s edge and drew it from the crevice at the well’s base. The thick stink of mold clogged her nostrils even before she unfurled the fabric. She no longer recognized the exquisite sash. Gray. Not a hint of white anywhere. And the spots that weren’t gray were mottled black. Or not there at all. Ela laced her fingers through a series of holes, amazed at how quickly the linen had rotted.

Prill knelt beside her now, lifting an edge of the ruined fabric. She looked from the sash to Ela, speechless at the ruin five days had wreaked on this linen.

Ela stood, raising the moldy fabric like a desolate banner in the dry, quiet air. Parne’s women and children watched while waiting their turns to draw water from the well. As they smirked and scoffed at the useless cloth, Ela called out, “Parne, here is your soul!”

A violent wind blasted downward from Parne’s walls, encircling the public square, startling some of the women to shrieks. Within a breath, the angry current whipped the rotted sash from Ela’s hands and sent it skyward, toward the temple.

Ela watched until it vanished behind the temple’s ornate walls.

And until she realized Prill was crying. The woman dabbed at her dark eyes. “That’s how the Infinite sees Parne’s soul? Oh, Ela! What can we do?” She covered her face with her hands.

“We pray.” Ela hugged the sobbing matron. “And I need to go home.”

To wait for her enemies.

Before Mother noticed, Ela hurried outside in the evening light to prevent the unwelcomed visitors from entering the house.

Their features set in unforgiving lines, the delegation of priests glowered at Ela. The eldest priest enunciated each syllable. “We want that rotten fabric off our temple’s banner pole!”

“Why?” Ela demanded. “That rotten, moldy priestly linen allows Parne to see its soul as the Infinite does! Parne’s decisions—its faithlessness!—has caused its destruction. Just as priestly hoarding of gold and rare ores brings Parne’s enemies to its gate!”

A younger priest stepped forward, his marvelously groomed and oiled beard twitching with agitation. “You’re refusing? That fabric is an insult to us and to the temple!”

“Why don’t you discuss your concerns with the Infinite?” Ela snapped. “He would love to hear from
you
for once!”

Before she could blink, the young priest struck her, his fist a hammer-blow that sent her crashing against the front wall of the Roehs’ home. Metallic bitterness seeped through her mouth. Blood from her lower lip. As Ela straightened, the eldest priest also hit Ela, his elaborate gold cuff gouging her left cheek as he slammed her against the wall once more. A woman—Mother—screamed from the doorway. “Ela!”

The younger priest beat Ela until the sky dimmed to gray. A deep humming filled her ears—cut through by his sudden bellow. “Augh!”

A woman’s scream revived Ela. “Unhand my daughter! Stop!”

From a distance, a man yelled, “Disperse, all of you!”

The priests scattered like an ostentation of startled peacocks. Mother was beside Ela now, holding her, crying, shaking her. “Why didn’t you tell me! Ela! Next time, you warn me!”

Ela lowered her face into her hands, staving off a wave of faintness. The humming and grayness eased. From within the house, Jess began to squall. And Tzana’s thin voice piped up, “Mother? Mother?”

Father was holding Ela now, but he shouted over her head, “Jon, stop! Let them go.” To Ela, he said, “Can you walk? Let’s get you inside.”

She stood, stumbled over something, and nearly fell. Mother’s big wooden laundry stick rolled away from her toes. Ela crooked a smile at Mother. “You were going to beat them.”

“Well . . .” Kalme hesitated. “I . . . I hit one of them.”

Despite her bruises and the renewed taste of blood, Ela laughed and mumbled, “Mother, you would’ve been a wonderful prophet.”

“No I wouldn’t! I wanted to kill them all!” Kalme’s fingernails dug into Ela’s arm, making her gasp. “Oh. Sorry!” Kalme relaxed her grip and urged Ela toward a mat.

The instant Ela sat down, Tzana was in her lap, touching Ela’s cheek, peering into her eyes, then checking her lip. “Does it hurt too much? Can I help you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Kalme hurriedly scooped up the wailing Jess, then snatched up a clean towel and crossed the room to the family’s big golden-clay water jug. Father half knelt beside Ela.

Jon, standing guard at the door, stepped aside, allowing Beka to enter, her arms full of parcels. While Jon shut the door, Beka dumped the parcels on the floor and knelt. “Oh, Ela, what an awful cut! Your poor face! Who were all those men?”

“Priests.” Ela accepted the damp towel from Mother and rested it against her lip. A sharp sting of pain made her flinch before the water’s coolness soaked into the wound.

She looked from Beka to Jon, then to Father. “You were in the marketplace again?”

Father glanced up at Mother, then at Tzana, as if deciding whether or not to speak. He squared his shoulders. “I’m trying to gauge Parne’s food supplies.”

Mother sat down, with Jess tucked beneath her mantle, nursing. Dark eyes wary, Kalme asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Dan sighed. “If Parne is besieged by Belaal within a week, as Ela says, then we’re all in danger. Parne will be out of food as the siege begins, unless our traders arrive from Istgard and Siphra.”

Ela braced herself, catching renewed glimpses of the beleaguered, sodden traders. “They won’t.” She licked her swelling lip again. “The rains that are bypassing Parne are delaying the traders.”

“What will we do?” Kalme hugged Jess’s bundled form closer.

Shifting the cloth from her lip to her bruised left cheek, Ela said, “We must urge everyone to not fight Belaal—or anyone.”

Dan grunted. “They won’t listen to us. We’re in disgrace and untrustworthy.”

Sounding a bit shamed, Beka said, “Jon and I think that perhaps we should stop buying supplies from the marketplace. We’re taking food from Parne.”

“You’re obeying the Infinite,” Ela soothed. “Both of you. And your attendants. You mustn’t feel guilty.”

“We’ll protect anyone who comes with us,” Jon promised. He looked at Kalme now. And Tzana, who was leaning against Ela in silent sympathy. “Perhaps you should accompany us to Istgard.”

Kalme stiffened, clutching Jess beneath her mantle. “I’m not leaving unless my entire family does.”

“I can’t leave,” Ela said. “But, Mother, Father, think of Jess and Tzana. You should go.”

Father shook his head. “No. Those renegade priests will kill you, Ela, if you stay.”

“If I’m meant to die, Father, we won’t be able to prevent it.”

Dan shot her a look of fierce disagreement. Ela shut her eyes,
sending up a silent prayer for her family’s safety. For the safety of Parne’s remaining faithful ones. Tranquility answered, reassuring her, though she couldn’t offer the answers her family and friends wanted. “All we can do is pray and know that He is here.”

Quiet tapping sounded on the doorpost. Jon readied his sword, then nudged open the door, revealing a young couple, both draped in subdued mantles. The man’s thin face was bruised, and the young woman’s eyes were reddened and swollen from crying.

Ela had seen the young man only once, but she remembered him. Ishvah Nesac. Parne’s new chief priest, whose heart ever longed for the Infinite. At their Creator’s command, she’d declared Ishvah as Zade Chacen’s successor. Now, obviously, Ishvah and his wife were suffering for their love of the Infinite. Aching, Ela murmured, “Jon, you can trust them.”

Dan Roeh stood. “Come in. Both of you, please.”

Balancing herself with the mantle-swathed Jess, Kalme stood beside her husband. “We’re honored. Please sit down. Can you eat with us?”

While Ela pondered a way to stretch about five portions of bread and lentils to feed eight, Ishvah Nesac worked up a wry smile. When he spoke, his voice was bleak. “Honored? Thank you, but I don’t deserve such kindness.”

Tears slid down his wife’s soft face. As she lifted her mantle to dab at her eyes, Ela realized the Nesacs were expecting a child. Soon. Oh, Infinite, not during a siege! Her heart skittered, caught mid-beat by a rush of compassion from their Creator.