Judge (6 page)

Obviously, if he wished to halt any murderous rites, then he ought to approach the door as anyone else would. Thin slivers of light showed beneath the door and near its hinges. Kien focused on those slight gaps at the hinges. He crept up the stone steps and leaned down, shifting until he gained a fractional view of the hall’s interior.

Lamps rimmed what he could see of the walls. As for the worshipers . . .

Granted, he saw no evidence of ritual strangulations being performed. But murder was, perhaps, the only thing Kien didn’t glimpse within the hall.

As the pulse-beats of the chants intensified, some of the worshipers ran blades over their arms and chests, allowing blood to flow down their skin. Others were disrobing and indiscriminately reaching for partners. And there was young Otris, reveling in the midst of it all.

Kien winced and turned away from the door. This was Atean worship? An orgy of bloodletting and intimate intermingling?

Appealing rites, in the most primitive way. Provided one didn’t, or couldn’t, consider the potentially dire disease-sharing consequences of such licentious behavior. Shuddering, Kien hurried to collect his gear. He felt unclean, longing to scour those fragmented images from his eyes and his thoughts.

No wonder the Infinite had sent him here.

Tomorrow, he must deal with the Ateans. Lifting his knapsack, Kien gritted his teeth against the stabbing ache in his shoulder and against images of the worshipers capering through his thoughts.

How could he speak to those reprobates civilly with such dissolute images frolicking in his mind?

Impossible!

If the Ateans said or did anything offensive tomorrow, he would run them from ToronSea at sword point.

 6 

S
eated outside the inn’s benches in the early morning light, Kien watched Chully and Giff’s bleary faces as he told them of the Atean rites. “Believe me, I know what I saw, and I wish I hadn’t seen it. Otris was cavorting with them, unclothed.” Both men flinched, clearly squeamish at the thought. Kien continued. “Who knows how many of your young people will be lured into this licentious behavior? The Ateans will corrupt this town—and others—if they remain.”

Giff rubbed his hands down his unshaven face, then sighed. “We considered it an act of mercy to shelter them after everything they’ve suffered.”

“You have only their word that they suffered. Did they appear to be starved, mentally tormented, or beaten when they arrived?”

“No,” Giff muttered.

“Send them away!” Kien urged, impatient to be gone himself. “Those of you who follow the Infinite should have nothing to do with them.”

Giff shook his head in apparent disbelief. Beside him Chully looked up at the gray skies, tight-lipped. After an instant of heavy silence, he said, “We’ll consider what you’ve said.”

“Don’t
consider
. Take action!”

Now Chully glared. “Who are you to be rushing in here and telling us how to manage our town? What if I tell you that the
citizens of ToronSea voted to allow these refugees to live here, eh? What if I tell you that we regard it as a point of honor to provide sanctuary as we’ve promised?”

“You were not in possession of all the facts,” Kien argued. “What will happen to honor when all your citizens are disease-pocked and the Ateans have usurped control of your town and thrown you out?”

“They haven’t yet!” Chully snapped. “And Tracelander you might be, but you aren’t one of
us
, so back off and let us manage our own concerns!”

Not good enough. Kien growled. “Who is your mayor?”

Silent, Giff nodded toward Chully, who folded his big arms and lifted his chin.

Forcing down his frustration, Kien tried another angle. “Who leads the Infinite’s followers in ToronSea?”

“My family,” Giff admitted, as if the words cost him something. “But—” A hint of defiance crept into his voice. “From what I’ve heard all my life, we’re the last of the Infinite’s faithful in the Tracelands. No one else honors the ancient ways, and our gathering isn’t much more than my own kindred. Which means the Ateans outnumber us. Moreover, we haven’t found them to be dishonorable in their dealings with us.”

Giff was siding with them? Undoubtedly beguiled by the Ateans’ ways. Kien measured his words. “You’d allow them to remain, though they’ll ultimately corrupt your town?”

As Giff shrugged vague agreement, Chully said, “Listen. You and the others from up north have no right to meddle in our affairs here. We say they stay unless they give us good reason to cast ’em out. Until then, Judge, leave us alone.”

“If that’s all you have to say, then I’ll repeat my message to you, Giff, from the Infinite. He’s displeased that you and some of His followers are beguiled by the Ateans. He reminds you to be faithful to Him and seek His will.” Kien bowed to the men, knowing the motion was as sarcastic as his words. “By-your-leave, sirs.”

Scowling, Kien strode toward the Ateans’ stark sharp-roofed wooden hall. He would deliver the Infinite’s message to the first Atean he saw, then return to the inn, gather his gear, and ride out of this place to seek help in Munra for Parne.

The Ateans’ hall seemed unremarkable this morning, its edges softened in the gray mist, its newness already faintly weathered by the ocean’s salt air. Laughter echoed toward Kien from within the building. An agreeable sound. But agreeable laughter or not, he wasn’t about to set one foot inside that structure.

Kien leaned against a young tree in the green open space before the hall and watched, fingering the hilt of his Azurnite sword. The voices, men’s and women’s, lifted in idle-sounding chatter and amiable taunts. Soon, a man and a woman, both simply clad in flowing gray and green robes, stepped outside and headed for a nearby lean-to, which was filled with wood.

As they returned, arms full, Kien intercepted them at the hall’s entry. The woman smiled at Kien and the man started to speak, but Kien aimed his warning at the pair like a verbal weapon. “The Infinite sees your failings and seeks your deluded hearts. If you’re wise you will hear Him!”

They both gaped. Kien turned away. Done.

He marched toward the inn, determined to forget ToronSea. Stubborn, foolish . . . !

Turn right.

“What?”

The Infinite repeated the command in Kien’s thoughts, calm and deliberate.
Turn right.

Kien turned, baffled. Wasn’t his designated task here finished? “Do you want me to walk down this lane?”

Yes.

Why? Kien strode along the designated road, a pleasant-seeming route of mist-veiled stone houses and towers, many edged by evergreens and moss. He hadn’t realized ToronSea was so quaint and rustic. The farther he walked, the more Kien wished he had
a better opinion of the place. It would have been an excellent vacation town.

Before long, the rhythmic liquid hiss and tumult of ocean waves crashing against rocks met Kien’s ears. A brisk air current whipped his hair. “How far should I walk?”

He shouldn’t have asked. An invisible hand gripped his unbruised shoulder and forced him onward. The sensation was akin to the day Father had caught Kien’s three-year-old self dropping Mother’s best dishes one-by-one for the pleasure of seeing and hearing them shatter on the kitchen’s stone floor. But this was worse. The stern, invisible grip informed Kien that he’d be unable to cajole his Creator into excusing him as easily as he’d charmed Father.

Did you follow My orders?

Hadn’t he? The unseen hand was propelling him onto a cliff. “I thought I did.” Kien’s own thoughts rebuked him now, like tattletale traitors: You acted as you pleased. You said what you thought and did more than you were commanded. You spoke in hatred and haste! You didn’t consult your Creator! Your attitude was the same as any rebel’s!

Despite the mist and the chill breeze, he began to sweat.

The Infinite gave him a scruff-of-the-neck shake.
Did you seek My direction before pronouncing your verdict upon
random
Ateans, Judge Kien?

“No.” He’d spoken to the wrong Ateans. . . .

Do you believe that you have a better understanding of mortals than their Creator? Can you see their souls, Judge? Do you perceive their hearts?

“No.” Kien was within a foot’s width of the cliff’s edge now. The water below was visible despite the mist. Dark, angry waves foamed against the stones, dashing upward like living things striving to climb up that rocky wall. To snatch at him. Like claws. Actual seafoam claws. Kien felt his knees weaken, but the Infinite held him upright.

What is the proper sentence for one who has disobeyed Me?

In a whisper nearly drowned by the raging surf, Kien said, “I don’t know.”

Death!

The hand swept him off the cliff, casting him sideways, far into the mist.

When the breathtaking momentum of the Infinite’s blow faded, a sickening wave of vertigo curdled his stomach, and he fell toward the hissing, raging sea. Kien gasped. Was this how he would die? Infinite! Forgive me. . . .

Dark waves rushed at him, seething.

He hit the water boots first. Brine bubbles swept over his face and into his nostrils as he sliced deep into the ocean. Above the surface, the clouds parted. The sun’s glow suddenly pierced the waters . . . and illuminated an eye as large as Kien’s head. An immense sea beast’s silver iris, its dark pupil reflecting Kien. Seeing him. Perhaps considering him a meal.

Hit by sunlight, the monster’s iris contracted in a flash, its pupil suddenly a thin slit of ominous black in a pale iridescent circle.

Jolted, Kien stared into that fearsome giant eye and resisted panic. Infinite?

No answer. His lungs constricting, Kien struggled backward in the water. Unfood-like, he hoped. Would wielding an Azurnite sword make him appear dangerous? Difficult to digest? At most, Kien guessed he could blind that colossal eye, and hack at one of those tough pectoral fins. Not enough to kill the creature. Even half blind and minus a bit of flesh, the beast could still swallow Kien whole.

And there was the risk of dropping the sword—he’d never recover it in this ocean.

Air. He needed air. Would he seem too much like prey if he worked toward the surface?

Cloak and boots dragging at him, Kien pushed upward, away from the beast. In the current below, the perverse creature swung about, aligned itself alarmingly beneath Kien’s feet, and swept toward him.

No! Kien kicked, fighting to reach the surface. A shoal of slender crimson fish dashed around him, their panic mirroring his terror.

Below Kien, the beast opened its mouth. The cavernous yawning maw surged toward him, sucking him into darkness within the thud of a heartbeat. Mingling Kien with tiny flapping fish and a sludge of seaweed. Surrounding him with the beast’s slippery interior—the horrific give of living muscle.

This is how he would die. . . . Smothered and digested within a sea monster’s gullet.

Suffocating, Kien tugged at his sword. If he could somehow cut through the beast’s belly—but the monster’s guts tightened around Kien, constricting his arms.

A sickening downward plunge in his own belly told Kien the creature was swimming toward the ocean’s floor. Away from air and light. And any hope of survival.

Ela had warned him to obey. Ela!

With the beast’s descent, a crushing pressure clamped around Kien. Intensifying. Overwhelming him until he expelled his final breath in a scream.

Infinite!

Speckled lights danced behind his eyelids, then faded.

 7 

S
traightening herself wearily on Pet’s back, Ela looked ahead at the narrow, wild river valley. Tall, lush evergreens crowned gray rocky cliffs, which descended sharply to the rushing river below. And the hard-packed cliff road was widening—an indication that they were nearing the next overnight stop on their journey. The Tracelands’ border city of Ytar.

Seeming to echo Ela’s thoughts, Jon Thel looked over his black-cloaked shoulder to grin at Beka and Ela. “We’ll be in Ytar before sunset!”

“Finally!” Beka exulted, patting her lovely destroyer’s dark neck. “A bath and real food!”

“And sleep,” Ela agreed. They’d need to rest before heading into the southern borderlands that separated the Tracelands from Istgard and Parne. Ela winced. She mustn’t think about Parne. Tzana’s head lolled against Ela, her small body limp as she dozed astride Pet. Ela snuggled her little sister closer. Pet’s big ears perked, listening. He rumbled an alarm.

Infinite? Ela tugged the vinewood branch from its place on Pet’s war collar and raised it to halt Jon’s staff and servants, who trailed them on the road. Behind her, Jon’s subordinate-commander, Selwin, had to rein in his destroyer. Beka’s elegant destroyer squealed, and Jon’s destroyer turned about and huffed, alert. Jon drew his Azurnite sword, holding it high, readied.
They all looked up at the low tree-fringed rock formations to their left.

A ragged figure hurtled from a shaded ledge onto Jon, knocking him off his destroyer, sending Jon’s blue weapon over the cliff into the river below. Beka screamed. “Jon!”

Jon yelled and grappled with his assailant. Jon’s destroyer, Savage, bit into the man’s tattered garments, lifted him off Jon, and flung the howling offender over the cliff, into the river after Jon’s sword. Jon scrambled to his feet. “Beka, wait here!” Yanking a short-sword from his destroyer’s war collar, Jon turned and ran along the cliff road, evidently scanning the rocks below for his enemy.

Tzana awoke and squirmed. “What’s happening?”

Pet stomped, gouging potholes into the road. He started to turn, but Ela restrained him, fearing he would plow into Beka’s destroyer. “Halt!”

The destroyer groaned.

Behind them, Jon’s servants bellowed as a motley throng leaped from the foliage above, wielding clubs and knives. Ela cried, “Infinite, stop them! Blind them!”

At once, the attackers fumbled, dropped their weapons, and yelled in sightless panic.

“Oh . . . !” The robbers
were
blinded! Could she truly call on the Infinite to create such calamity? Frightful power! She must be more careful. And yet . . . Infinite, it would have been helpful to know of this prophet-trait months ago!

By now Jon was running toward them again, but his attendants didn’t need his assistance. Led by Selwin, they were beating the helpless men. Ela hesitated. Disgusting as these failed robbers were, she felt responsible for their safety. She’d prayed for them to be blinded, and now they were defenseless. If one of them died while debilitated, she’d be eaten with guilt. Reluctantly, Ela called out, “Stop beating them—they’re blind! Find cords and tie them.”

Pet’s noises of ferocious complaint shifted to grumbling.

His expression cold with suppressed fury, Jon hurried to Beka. “Everyone seems safe for now, except the reprobate Savage threw over the edge—that cursed man made me lose my sword!” Jon swung at the air with a fist. Composing himself somewhat, he said, “I’ll send others back to retrieve his body after we’ve dealt with these thugs. Beka, are you well?”

Beka faltered, “Um . . . yes . . . but what should we do now?”

Jon scowled at their prisoners. “We lead these criminals into Ytar, though I’m half ready to thrash them all. My sword—the military’s Azurnite sword—is lost in the river! General Rol will lock me up for the remainder of my life.”

Infinite? Ela appealed to their Creator. Could she retrieve Jon’s sword? Images slid through her thoughts, stole her breath, and left her disgusted. This was more information than she’d cared to know. “Is this another test?” she demanded. If the Infinite
was
testing her self-control, she was on the verge of failing. “Ugh!”

“Ela?” Beka leaned toward Ela, alarmed. “You’re not suffering another vision, are you?”

“Not a big one,” Ela sniffed. “Just two small ones—the second
very
irritating.” If only Kien were here. Praying, she descended from Pet, who gave her a dire glare, as if warning her not to leave him.

Tzana frowned at her, still sleep-grumpy. “Where’re you going?”

“Down to the river—we won’t be long. Stay with Pet.” To emphasize her order, Ela gave her destroyer a low growl. “Wait.”

Pet stomped. But he waited.

Beka also commanded her destroyer to wait, then dismounted to join Ela and Jon. Still disgusted, Ela shook her head. “You won’t believe my vision!”

Jon looked sickened. “You’ve seen that I won’t find my sword?”

His sword? “Yes. I mean—let’s hurry.” She’d cool off beside the river, then deal with her anger and its cause.

While they walked toward a lower portion of the riverbank, Beka cajoled her husband. “Jon, dear, with everything we’ve been through, I ought to have a sword.”

“You don’t know how to use one. You’d need lessons. Besides,” he warned, “if we don’t find mine, we’ll be unable to buy you a needle, much less a sword.”

They picked their way down the rock ledges and stepped onto the narrow riverbank. Ela stared out at the rapids, then at the cliffs above, gauging the proper location. “Where, exactly, did it fall? Here?”

Bleak, Jon eyed their destroyers above, aligned his steps near Ela’s and nodded toward the river’s center. “You’re right. I’m sure it was there, more or less.”

Ela threw her prophet’s branch into the river.

Beka gasped. “Why did you do that? The branch was your insignia!”

“It’s still my insignia. Look.” She nodded at the water. Jon’s sword popped up in the current, suddenly buoyant as a leaf. “Grab it!”

Jon whooped and bounded into the water, reaching for the sword, which glided into his hand, contrary to the river’s flow. He clutched the silvery hilt and kissed its dazzling blue blade, then danced out of the river, making Beka laugh. “Infinite, bless You!”

Ela bowed her head, also thanking the Infinite. When she opened her eyes, the branch was floating directly in front of her at the river’s edge. She lifted the precious vinewood from the current and stared. Not a drop of water on it. Useless to show Jon and Beka this marvel; they were kissing. Well, at least two members of their group were happy.

Now to deal with the second portion of her vision. Ela tucked up her tunic and used the branch for support as she hiked up the small rock incline, leaving Jon and Beka behind. On the hard-packed cliff road, Ela smoothed her garments and lifted her chin. “Behave,” she ordered herself. She marched toward their small entourage.

“Are we leaving now?” Tzana demanded, looking down from the disgruntled Pet’s back.

“We’ll leave as soon as the Thels return,” Ela promised. “Be patient, both of you.”

She must take her own advice. Be patient. Self-controlled. As must Pet. Poor dear monster. Ela couldn’t blame him for being upset. Obviously he feared she was in danger.

The eleven prisoners were sitting in a tattered, woebegone line at the edge of the road. Ela stopped directly in front of their renegade leader—a thin man, not quite as ragged as his followers, but definitely not as elegant as Ela remembered. Lord Ruestock. Siphra’s former ambassador to the Tracelands, a spy, and her own pitiless abductor. Not to mention a lecher who made her feel unclean with his every glance. Shuddering, she snapped, “Ruestock!”

His blinded brown eyes widened. A sneering smile lifted his narrow face. Oily and fawning as Ela remembered, Ruestock crooned, “Ah, Ela. Parne’s loveliest prophet! Really, your apparel was so dowdy I didn’t recognize you in the least—when I could see you. It
is
you, my dear, am I right? I never forget a beautiful woman’s voice.”

Ela clenched her teeth and reminded herself not to kick a man she’d disabled. “I am not your ‘dear’!” She half knelt to ensure he would hear her clearly. “Why did you imagine you’d be safe attacking us, particularly when we were riding destroyers?”

Ruestock sneered as if considering her question silly. “My orders were to attack the servants only, to snatch a few valuables and flee. Wylie, the fool who attacked your leader, disobeyed.”

“Still, your action was inexcusable.” Ela hardened her tone. “Our leader is Commander Thel, whose home you raided last year while abducting me.”

Ruestock’s scorn thinned. “
I
raided the Thels’ home while abducting you?”

“Your hired thugs, then—don’t mince matters!” Ela snapped. “The Infinite has given me authority to repay you for everything you’ve done. Tell me, sir, why should I allow you to live?”