Hammer Of God (37 page)

“Vortka…” He sighed. “The god spoke to me in Na'ha'leima, it told me I must stop the killing. You say it did not, I say you are wrong. Since Na'ha'leima have you heard the god, Vortka? Has the god told you things the empress does not want to hear?”

Now Vortka looked stricken. The high godspeaker pushed to his feet, he walked a little distance away. Zandakar tried to stand too, he needed Dexterity to help him. The pain was gone from his body but his bones were still weak.

“Vortka,” he said, insisting. “What does the god say?”

With his back turned, Vortka answered. “There was a desert, beyond Na'ha'leima, you remember?”

“Yes.”

“The warhost could not cross that desert, it was full of demons, every warrior died,” said Vortka. His voice was sad, remembering. His shoulders were not straight and proud, they slumped as though he was too old now to stand like a proud man. “I could not break it. I sacrificed without ceasing, I prayed until I could not speak, I prayed until I nearly died for lack of sleep and nourishment. It made no difference, the desert prevailed.”

“And yet you are in Icthia.”

Vortka turned slowly. “Because your mother broke the desert, Zandakar. Because she found the power to slay its demons. I could not do it, I could not think of such a thing, but your mother is Hekat. She is the god's empress. She thought, she acted, and the warhost crossed that desert. We crossed many godless lands, we smote them to their sinning knees, we came to Icthia.”

Zandakar heard his heart beating, he felt the sickness in his mouth. “Yuma gave the desert human blood.”

“How do you know this?” Vortka whispered.

He wanted to weep, there were tears in his eyes. Iwanted this to be a lie, I wanted the Tzhung to be untruthful. “It does not matter. I know.”

“She drowned those desert demons in human blood, Zandakar,” said Vortka. His dark eyes were full of tears, too. “Five thousand slaves she sacrificed to the god.” A ripple of horror passed over his face. “So much blood. So much death. One by one she slit their throats, men, women and children, they all died by her will. When she was finished she was an empress of blood.”

Five thousand slaves…Zandakar heard the sound of protest in his throat, he felt the tiled floor tilt beneath him. He saw Lilit, he saw his dead son, he heard the cries of those doomed slaves. Yuma…Yuma…what have you done?

“Zandakar! What is it, what's wrong?”

He looked at the toymaker, feeling sick, feeling cold. “Is true, Dexterity. Yuma spills human blood.”

“You thought it wasn't true? You thought Emperor Han lied?” Then Dexterity shook his head, so sad. “No. You just hoped he did. Oh, Zandakar. I'm sorry.”

Vortka slapped him lightly. “What does the man of Ethrea say?”

“He is sorry for the dead slaves. He is sorry for me.”

“Tcha,” said Vortka, he was still not convinced Dexterity was a friend.

“Vortka…” With an effort he thrust his sorrow aside. “Did you say Yuma should do this? Do you say this is a good thing?”

Vortka looked away. “No.”

“Then why did you let her kill five thousand slaves?”

“She is the empress,” said Vortka bleakly. “She is the god's chosen, she dwells in its eye.”

And you love her, you love my mother. Are you afraid of her also? Do you fear what she does? Do you fear she will kill you if you do not obey?

“Vortka…” He took the high godspeaker's hands in his own. They were cold, they were thin, they were an old man's hands. “You are Mijak's high godspeaker. What does the god say? Does it want human blood?”

Vortka looked shaken and uncertain, no high godspeaker, just a man. “I have made a godpool in this godhouse of jatharuj,” he whispered. “I swam in the sacred blood. The god said no more human sacrifice. It told me this clearly, Zandakar, I heard its voice in my heart.”

“And you told the empress? What does she say?”

Vortka's face crumpled. “I told the empress, she will not listen.”

Aieee, god, the pain in him. Yuma, Yuma, are you lost?

“We are becalmed in Icthia,” said Vortka, unsteady with distress. “There are trade winds, they do not blow, the warhost cannot sail into the world. Hekat says this is demon doing. This highsun she killed the last living slaves in Jatharuj. The demons weaken but still they defy her. She has sent beyond Jatharuj for more slaves to kill. Zandakar, she has sent for ten thousand, she says she will spill their blood to destroy the demons and make the trade winds return.”

“What?” said Dexterity. He was watching their faces. “Zandakar! What's happened now?”

He answered Dexterity, he did not turn from Vortka. “Yuma sends for slaves to kill. I think you say…ten thousand. For trade winds.”

“Dear God,” said Dexterity faintly. “She can't. She can't kill so many.”

“Zho, Dexterity. She can.”

The tears in Vortka's eyes began sliding down his face. “Zandakar, she does not hear me, she hears only the god. But how can the god tell her to spill human blood and tell me the spilling of human blood must end?”

“The god told me to stop killing in Na'ha'leima,” he replied. “It did not tell Dimmi, or you, or the empress. You said in Et-Raklion I was sinning, I did not hear the god. Are you sinning in Jatharuj, Vortka?”

Vortka shook his head slowly. “I heard the god, Zandakar. Only the god can speak in the godpool.”

“Has it ever before told you one thing and Hekat another?”

As though the air was burning, Vortka breathed in with care. “No. For its own purpose Hekat and I are godchosen, when we were young in the world the god stung us to its service. We have not always walked its path together but we have always walked its path.” His face twisted with deeper pain. “Until now. Since that desert beyond Na'ha'leima, since those five thousand sacrificed slaves—” His voice broke, his eyes were grieving.

Dexterity cleared his throat. “Zandakar? Can't this Vortka stop your mother? What kind of a priest is he if he can't—”

“Tcha! Jabber jabber, you wei understand!” He punched his chest. “Vortka wei stop, Vortka hurt for this, zho?”

“You're right,” said Dexterity, contrite. “He does look distressed. Is there something I can do?”

Aieee, god, Dexterity. The Ethrean toymaker. He would mend the world if somebody asked him.

“What are the words of this Ethrea man?” said Vortka, frowning. “He speaks my name, what does he say?”

“He says you are right, Vortka, he says Yuma is wrong,” he said. “He says the god does not want this killing.”

That made Vortka's eyes open wide. “This is a godless man, he cannot speak for the god!”

“Vortka…” Zandakar closed his fingers around the high godspeaker's frail wrist. “I have seen things, you must trust in my eyes.”

Vortka pulled back. “I think you have seen demons, the godless world is full of demons, Zandakar, you – aieee, the god see me!”

Zandakar turned, to see Dexterity burning.

“Vortka high godspeaker, the god's voice in Mijak, listen closely, your great time has come.”

“What is this?” said Vortka, his voice strangled in his throat. “He speaks as a Mijaki, you said he does not know our tongue.”

“I speak for the god, Vortka, in the tongue the god gives me,” said burning Dexterity, the bright flames curling round his untouched flesh.

“Aieee, Zandakar, how can this be?” cried Vortka. “He burns in fire, he is not consumed!”

“You swim in the godpool, Vortka,” said Dexterity. “You lie in the wilderness with a blanket of scorpions. You are high godspeaker, the god's power is in you, when you breathe upon a sacrificed lamb it goes to the god. You are the god's chosen, it chooses you to live in the godpool, to live in the wilderness, to find its secret in the wilderness. It stings you with scorpions yet you do not die. The god can choose anyone when it wishes to speak.”

“Vortka?” said Zandakar. The high godspeaker looked near to fainting with shock. “Do you know what he means?”

“He cannot know these things,” said Vortka, shaking his head. His godbells shivered, sounding his dismay. “This is a godless man, he is not Mijaki, his people are slaves, he—”

“I can know what the god chooses to tell me,” said Dexterity. “The god is the god, it is the world, it is Mijak. You are high godspeaker, Vortka. Do you hear the god?”

“Answer, Vortka,” said Zandakar. “Dexterity will not hurt you.”

At first he thought Vortka would not speak, he thought Vortka might be over-ruled by fear. And then the high godspeaker stepped forward, his head high, his silver godbraids – aieee, so silver! – chiming softly, lit to brightness by the flames.

“The god speaks to me in the godpool,” Vortka said proudly. “It speaks to me in sacrifice, it speaks in my heart. It chose me in the scorpion pit, the others died and I did not.”

Dexterity nodded, his crown of flames dancing. “The others died, they were not chosen, you were chosen by the god.”

“I am Vortka high godspeaker. Tell me, who are you?”

“Let me show you,” said Dexterity, and wrapped Vortka in flames.

Zandakar tried to cry out, his voice was stopped in his throat. Dexterity held Vortka in his burning arms, he held the high godspeaker as a mother holds her child, he held him tenderly, he pressed Vortka to his chest. The flames of Ethrea's god surrounded them, they were men of fire, they lived in flame.

Unlike Marlan, Vortka did not die.

When he saw this, Zandakar breathed less painfully, his thundering blood began to ease.

Aieee, god, how you frighten me, how you tear me to pieces with scorpion fear.

For so long Dexterity stood there burning, burning Vortka standing with him. The world was this chamber, there was nothing beyond its closed door. No Yuma, no Dimmi, no Mijak, no warhost. There was no ocean, Sun-dao did not wait. Rhian did not worry, Alasdair king did not gloat.

The whole world is nothing but two good men, burning. When the god breathes on them the world will return.

He did not know how long he stood there, watching Dexterity and Vortka burn. The light from them was blinding, it did not hurt his eyes. Their flames did not touch one thing in the room, no godspeakers came running to see their high godspeaker on fire.

Then Dexterity released Vortka, he stepped back with his arms spread wide. The flames wreathing Vortka flickered, flickered and died. He was unharmed, he seemed at peace, but there were fresh tears upon his face.

“Vortka high godspeaker, I have shown you the truth,” said Dexterity, still burning. “The dreadful truth is in you, all lies are burned away.”

“Yes,” murmured Vortka, dazed. “I know the truth now. I know in my heart what I must do.”

“Oh, good,” said Dexterity, and slumped extinguished to the floor.

Zandakar leapt to him. “Dexterity! Dexterity? Speak, toymaker. Dexterity!”

Slowly Dexterity opened his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, his face filled with confusion. “Zandakar? What happened? I feel dreadful. Was I on fire again? I don't remember…”

“Zho, you burned, you spoke Mijaki. Be still.”

“Oh dear,” said Dexterity, he sounded vague, he sounded dizzy. “I do wish Hettie would warn me first.”

“He suffers?” said Vortka, standing above them.

Zandakar glanced up. “Yes. No. I am not certain, when he burned for his god in Ethrea he grew sick, he nearly died.”

“Leave him,” said Vortka, and lowered stiffly to his knees.

Zandakar shifted aside and watched as Vortka withdrew his healing crystal from his robe. Aieee, that crystal, how often had he wished for it when all he had to heal him was the crude medicines of Ethrea.

“Lie still, godspeaker,” said Vortka to Dexterity. “You have healed me, now I shall heal you.”

“What's that?” said Dexterity weakly. “What's he saying, Zandakar?”

“Hush, Dexterity. Lie still,” he said, but he did not look at the toymaker. He looked at Vortka, whose eyes were quiet.

Dexterity healed you? You call him a godspeaker? What happened in the flames, Vortka? What happened in your burning?

With his healing crystal Vortka gave Dexterity strength, he took pain from the toymaker and left peace in its place. When he was finished, Dexterity cautiously sat up, flexing his fingers, looking astonished and pleased.

“Good gracious. That's even better than Ursa.”

“You are all right, Dexterity?”

“Yes, yes, Zandakar, I'm fine! Even my blisters have vanished. Here – help me get up.”

Zandakar helped him to stand, one hand ready if the toymaker should stagger. He did not.

“See?” said Dexterity, smiling. “Fit as a fiddle. Please, thank Vortka for me.”

Zandakar looked at Vortka, who had stood without help. “Dexterity says thank you.”

Vortka slipped his healing crystal back in his robe pocket. “You must go now, you and this man Jones. It is not safe for you to stay in Jatharuj.”

“I cannot go,” said Zandakar, shaking his head. “I must see Yuma. I must—”

“No,” said Vortka, taking hold of his hands. He was an old man now but his grip still had power. “Hekat cannot know you are here, Zandakar. She must not see this Ethrea man. She will not understand. She will not listen.”

“She will listen to Dexterity, the god burns in him, Vortka.”

“Tcha,” said Vortka. He shook his head, his godbells mourned. “She is not the Yuma of your childhood, Zandakar. Hekat is…changed. I will tell her what the god wants her to know. She will listen to me, I am her high godspeaker. You are in danger, you must leave while you can.”

Zandakar stared at him, there was pain in his heart. He had come so far to Jatharuj so he might see his mother.

“Zandakar. If I thought you should see her I would take you to her now,” said Vortka, so fierce. “If I thought you should see Dmitrak we would run to his barracks. I do not think so, I think you must go.”

“Zandakar?” said Dexterity. “Is something wrong?”

He did not answer, he looked only at Vortka. “You are frightened,” he said slowly. “Vortka, why do you fear? What did the god tell you?”

Vortka stepped back, his eyes were full of shadows. “It told me many things. Zandakar, newsun is coming. Your danger grows.”

His belly was churning, his heart beat so hard. “The god told you many things, tell me one thing, Vortka. Does it desire Mijak in the world?”