The Coming Of Wisdom (5 page)

“It does not seem right, mentor,” he said at last. “I am only a Fourth. That oath sounds as if it should be sworn between equals.”

“It doesn’t say equals.”

Nnanji pouted and tugged at his pony tail.

“I need your help, Nnanji,” Wallie said.

“Help, mentor?” Nnanji laughed. “Mine?”

“Yes! I am a great swordsman, but I am a stranger in the World. I know less about it than Vixini. There are so many things I do not know. For example: why did you keep your sword on your back all night in the boat? That must have cramped your style a little with Cowie, did it not?”

Nnanji smirked. “Not especially.” Then he gave Wallie a startled look. “It is the custom of the frees, mentor.”

“It is not in the sutras, not that I can find.”

“Then it is just a tradition, I suppose. But a free sword never removes his sword. Except for washing—or to use.” He frowned, worried that his mentor did not know something so elementary.

If Shonsu had been a free sword, then the information had not been passed along—Wallie’s memory had been cut off in strange places. Even in bed? That would be part of the free swords’ mystique, of course, but it must be a very inconvenient habit.

“Well, that shows you how ignorant I am. If you are only my protégé, you will not want to criticize me, or offer advice when you think I am making a mistake. Those are the sorts of things that a brother will do that a mere protégé would not.”

“If you would let me swear the blood oath again, mentor,” Nnanji suggested hopefully, “then you could
order
me to advise you.”

“And I could order you to shut up, too! As my vassal, you were little better than a slave, Nnanji. I may never accept the third oath from any man again and certainly never from you.”

Nnanji frowned some more. “But how will I address you? A Fourth can’t call a Seventh ‘brother’!”

It was not a trivial question. A term of address advertised relationships between swordsmen and could warn a potential challenger that there was an onus of vengeance involved. As soon as they had sworn the second oath, he had begun calling Wallie “mentor” instead of “my lord.”

“ ‘Brother’ will be fine. Use any term you like. Probably you’ll want to call me ‘Stupid’ half the time.”

Nnanji smiled politely. “It is a great honor, mentor . . . if you’re sure?”

Wallie hid a sigh of relief. “I am certain—and not all the honor is yours, Adept Nnanji.”

Nnanji turned pink under his smears. “What is the ritual?”

“There doesn’t seem to be one. Why don’t we just say the words and shake hands?”

So, while the waters of the River slapped gently at the base of the jetty beneath them in subtle applause, Shonsu and Nnanji swore the oath of brotherhood and then shook hands. Wallie felt a sense of accomplishment. He had satisfied the first line of the riddle . . . what happened next, though?

Nnanji grinned shyly. “Now I have Shonsu as a mentor and Wallie Smith as a brother?”

Wallie nodded solemnly. “The best of both worlds,” he said.

They continued to stroll along the battered little jetty. Rain continued to ooze in summer drizzle from the low, gray-flannel clouds. Gray also was the River, gray were the cliffs that shut off all view of what might lie ahead. This soggy, barren little place ought to be depressing, especially before breakfast and after an extremely short night, yet Wallie’s mood remained stubbornly euphoric. He had escaped from the temple, from the dangerous trap that had held him for all of his brief existence in the World. He had proved that he could be a swordsman and could satisfy the Goddess in that role, playing it as he felt it should be played and not necessarily as the native iron-age hoplites played it. Now he was going to be given a chance to see a whole new planet and an ancient and complex culture, albeit a primitive one. He felt like school was out at last.

Furthermore, the priestess had said that there were no swordsmen around. Swordsmen held a monopoly on violence. Without swordsmen, danger was unlikely. Whatever his mission might prove to be, it would surely involve swordsmen, so it had not started yet. There might be more tests or lessons to come, but he might also be due for a vacation. He repeated to himself the instructions of the demigod:
Go and be a swordsman, Shonsu! Be honorable and valorous. And enjoy yourself, for the World is yours to savor
. A male fantasy of that elflike priestess flickered momentarily across his mind, and he hastily reproached himself for being as bad as Nnanji. He had Jja. No man could want more.

“What happens now, my lord brother?” Nnanji inquired impatiently.

They had reached the tarpaulin that covered the rest of the party. “Let’s go and see!” Wallie dropped nimbly to the shingle and peered in under the jetty.

Novice Katanji moved hurriedly away from Cowie. Cuddling was a good way to keep warm, but his brother would not approve. Nnanji arrived at Wallie’s side a second later.

The Goddess had selected a strange assortment of companions to accompany Her champion. Seven was the sacred number, so Wallie’s party had to number seven. Nnanji was understandable, and old Honakura was going to be a peerless source of wisdom and information—if he chose to be, for he could be inscrutably obscure at times. But two slave women, a boy, and a baby did not make much sense. On Wallie’s back was the seventh sword of Chioxin, which Honakura had defined as the most valuable piece of movable property in the World. The demigod had warned him that alley thieves would prowl after it. Why the mission required such a priceless sword was a mystery in itself; any ordinary blade would suffice when wielded with Shonsu’s unsurpassed skill. So why give him a treasure, and then withhold adequate protection?

What he needed, Wallie thought, was a half-dozen hard-eyed, hard-muscled swordsmen, not boys and women; yet he had been balked when he tried to enlist swordsmen from the temple guard. He had hinted to Imperkanni that he needed a few and had almost been challenged on the spot. Now he had been brought to a place with no swordsmen at all. Curiouser and curiousest!

He took a careful look at Honakura. The frail and incredibly ancient priest was accustomed to luxury, not this outdoor adventuring in damp clothes. Nevertheless, he seemed to be in good spirits, beaming his gums at the swordsman. Vixini was fretting, and his mother smiled rather wanly at her owner.

Nnanji directed a bleak gaze toward Katanji, perhaps suspecting what had been going on in his absence. “Lord Shonsu and I have just sworn the oath of brotherhood!” he announced.

Katanji contrived to look impressed, if rather cynically so.

“That makes him your mentor, also!”

Now Katanji looked alarmed.

“It does?” Wallie said. “ 
‘Your oaths are my oaths’
? Yes, I suppose it does. And also my brother, perhaps? Well, we shall have to make sure he is a credit to us both, shan’t we?” He stepped over and settled on the pallet beside Jja, having to tilt his sword at an angle across his back and keep one leg twisted under him. If this was how free swords had to sit all the time, then he disapproved. Nnanji moved in under cover and squatted on his heels.

“So you have solved the first line of the riddle,” Honakura said. “Now what happens?” He smirked mockingly.

“Has your mission begun, then, my lord?” asked Katanji.

Nnanji bristled. In so formal a culture, a mere First must not address a Seventh without invitation, but Katanji had already summed up Lord Shonsu and knew he was in no danger.

Hastily Wallie said, “I don’t know, novice. I was explaining to Nnanji that I was not told exactly what my mission is to be. It may have begun, but—”

“My lord brother! He is only a scratcher. He does not know one seventy-five yet!”

Wallie nodded. “Nnanji will instruct you in the sutra ‘On Secrecy,’ ” he told Katanji. “Meanwhile, just remember that this is in confidence, all right?”

The boy nodded, wide-eyed. He had already packed more excitement into his first day as a swordsman than most men would achieve in years. He had even saved Wallie’s life the previous evening—and probably Nnanji’s, too. Obviously he had a part to play also, but whatever it might be, it would not likely require a sword. Nnanji, in his first flush of excitement at being promoted, had impetuously rushed off, bought that ludicrous slave, and sworn his young brother as his protégé. Cowie might make some old man very happy in a comfortable home somewhere, but she was not a swordsman’s woman. Katanji, likewise, was not swordsman material. He completely lacked his brother’s natural talents as an athlete, as Wallie had confirmed with his horseplay on the jetty. Katanji had almost fallen over, even in a straight drop of three feet or so. Nnanji would have landed like a cat.

Nnanji was scowling, playing middlerank as he had seen it played in the temple barracks, wearing his topkick-facing-grunt face.

“You say you’re not good at riddles,” Wallie said. “How is he?”

Reluctantly Nnanji said, “Not bad.”

“Then let’s try him on this one.” Wallie explained the riddle that defined his mission. Katanji frowned. Honakura had heard it before. Jja was certainly trustworthy. Cowie would understand little more than Vixini . . . and yet Cowie had also played an unwitting part in the gods’ plans, a reminder that mortals should not jump to conclusions.

“So the question is: what happens now? I do have a couple of clues. No, three, I think. Two of them are things that . . . my predecessor said, just before he died. He said he had come very far. Well, we were moved very far in the night. Secondly, he mentioned sorcerers.”

“Rot!” snapped Honakura. “I will never believe in sorcerers. Just legends!”

Wallie knew that he would take a great deal of convincing himself, but he had come to believe in gods and miracles, so he was not going to close his mind on the subject of sorcerers. Shonsu had said they existed.

“There would be no honor fighting sorcerers,” Nnanji said grumpily, which was what he had said when Wallie had asked him once before. Then he grinned. “And there aren’t any here! I asked Apprentice Quili! No sorcerers and no dragons.”

“Dragons? Are there really dragons in the World?”

Nnanji sniggered. “None! What’s the third clue, lord brother?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Wallie laughed. “I wanted to enlist some good men to guard my back and my sword. I was blocked. I only got one. Of course that one is remarkably good.”

Nnanji preened.

“But one is not enough! I’m sure that my mission must involve swordsmen. Now we’ve been brought to a place where there are no swordsmen, and there can’t be many places like that in the World, can there?”

“No.”

“So I don’t think my mission has begun yet,” Wallie said cheerfully. “There must be a few more tests or lessons to come first.”

“Dangerous?”

“Probably.”

Nnanji smiled contentedly.

“But this sounds like a very safe place. So maybe we’ve been brought here just to relax for a few days.”

“Or to meet someone? Like Ko!”

“Ko?”

“Have you never heard . . . It’s a great epic!” Nnanji drew a deep breath, a sign that he was about to start singing. Even if the epic was inordinately long, even if he had only heard it once, or even if that had been years before, he would be capable of rendering the whole thing without a stumble.

Hastily Wallie said, “Just the gist!”

“Oh!” Nnanji deflated and pondered for a moment. “Lord Aggaranzi and his band were moved by Her Hand to Ko but the villagers had no work for their swords, and then Inghollo of the Sixth and his band were brought the next night, and the following day two more . . . ”

The Goddess had collected an army at Ko, apparently, and then ambushed a large brigade of brigands, who had been chopped into small fragments. Nnanji approved.

“Sounds reasonable,” Wallie said. “So possibly we have been brought to a safe place to meet someone.”

Then he heard a distant clanking and jingling that must be the long-awaited transportation arriving.

“So there you are, novice,” he said quickly. “Now, why did I tell you all that?”

In the shade, Katanji’s eyes gleamed so bright that they almost glowed. “Because ‘another’ might mean ‘another brother,’ my lord?”

“Correct!”

“What?” Nnanji shouted. “You think you can gain wisdom from
him
?”

“We just did . . . didn’t you?”

Nnanji smiled sheepishly, and then shot another baleful glance at his young brother. “I don’t approve of Firsts thinking,” he said ominously.

The cart was drawn by one of the strange camel-faced horses of the World, and driven—surprisingly—by the little Apprentice Quili herself. She was clearly having some trouble, but she managed to turn the creaking old vehicle, and then she jumped down and bowed to Wallie.

“Lady Thondi sends her respects, my lord. She will be honored to receive you at the manor at your convenience.”

“I don’t feel fit to go calling on ladies at the moment.”

Quili smiled, seeming almost relieved. “You are most welcome to stop at the tenancy to clean up, my lord. The women have prepared a meal. It will be humble fare, compared to what her ladyship could offer, but they would be greatly honored if you cared to partake of it.” She waited hopefully.

“Then let’s do that.” Wallie began assisting his companions into the cart. There was straw to sit on, and a heap of shabby cloaks and blankets for cover.

He liked this diminutive child priestess. Her long hair was matted by the rain, and her yellow cloak a shabby, disreputable thing, but there was a quickness about her that told of humor and intelligence. Of course she was nervous and jumpy, which was quite understandable, merely emphasizing her youthful charm. Better groomed and garbed, she would be at least pretty and possibly sensational. She probably deserved a better life than the one she was having, if he read correctly the dirt ingrained in her fingers. With her mentor living half a day’s walk away, she could have little chance of working toward promotion.

Nnanji was obviously attracted, and she glanced nervously at him as he edged close, beaming down at her . . . no, leering down at her. When she scrambled up to the driver’s bench, awkward in her cloak and priestess’ long robe, he moved as if to join her. Wallie coughed meaningfully and jerked an imperious thumb at the back. He climbed up and sat beside Quili himself.