Collected Short Fiction, page 196
“Oh, Kris! When?”
“Three days is the proper time after announcement, isn’t it? I’ll announce it today.”
“Fine,” she said happily. “You’ll have to ask Norvis peKrin first, though.”
“Norvis? Why Norvis?”
“Didn’t you know? Father signed guardianship of Ganz and me over to Norvis in case of his death—he did it several years ago.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Kris said. “But do you need a guardian? You’re old enough to know what you’re doing, you and your brother.”
“Nevertheless, you’ll ask Norvis. This has to be done properly.”
“Anything you say. You’ll have both him and Ganz as escorts, then?”
She smiled. “I think that would be the best. While you’re talking to Norvis, I’ll see to this list. But I’ll need money.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Kris said expansively. “Since the cobalt’s back in the Bank, all that Dimay scrip I bought up at half price is worth face value again. Just tell the merchants to collect from Norvis, that’s all.”
She leaned over the desk and kissed him before she left.
It was more than the customary three days before the marriage could take place. On the scheduled wedding day, four more priests turned up with claims for the Elderhood, and each of them had to be considered in turn by the Council. Annoyed, Kris postponed the wedding two days and presided over a hearing, Mam peFulda at his side.
Two of the priests turned out to be of the Clan Shavill, and the younger of the two had to be sent back to his village with regrets. That left three vacancies in the Council: the clans Nitha, Sesom, and Gormek. Rumor had it that a Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek was going to sail soon from the Bronze Islands, but so far there was no sign of him.
Also, by a solid vote of acclamation, the thirteen Elders decided to appoint Merchants’ Party Leader Kris peKym Yorgen as Executive Officer of Nidor, the investiture to take place on the day of the Feast of the Sixteen. Clans, which fell a day after his revised wedding date.
The wedding itself was a simple affair, held in the little Temple of Kivar on the southern side of the city. The Elder Grandfather Mam peFulda Brajjyd officiated.
The little temple held only a few people. The Council Elders attended, and a few personal friends, but the streets were blocked off by Peacemen to prevent the curious gawkers from interfering.
Norvis and Ganz stood on either side of Marja, who was dressed in the traditional purple cloak of maidenhood. Behind them was the altar, before them the open door of the temple. Kris stood in the doorway, resplendent in the black-and-red uniform of the Hundred Men.
Off to one side, Grandfather Marn gave a signal, and Kris strode toward the altar. Four paces before the trio, he stopped and said: “Norvis peKrin Dmorno, Ganz peDel Vyless, I greet you. I come to declare my love for the woman you have sworn to protect.”
“Will you swear to protect her as we have?” Norvis asked.
Kris’ answer was a long and involved oath, which he couldn’t remember and had to read from the Book of Liturgy. When it was over, Norvis said, “If she will accept your oath, we will relinquish claim.”
“I accept him,” Marja said. “Then we charge you, Kris peKym, to take her and feed her and clothe her and protect her. She is yours.”
Marja stepped forward, and, as she did, Grandfather Marn raised his hand. “Hold! I ask both of you—have you asked the Great Light’s blessing on this union?”
“We ask your blessing now, O Ancient Grandfather,” Kris said. “And we ask that you pray for us.” Grandfather Marn gave his blessing and the ceremony was over.
It was over, and Norvis, for one, was glad of it. He watched Kris ride off on a deest with Marja in the saddle in front of him, while the Hundred Men led them on a triumphal parade to their new home.
Norvis felt a warm glow of accomplishment as he watched them round the corner and head northward. Kris had done his job and done it well; he deserved what he was getting—wealth beyond any ordinary person’s dreams, and one of the most beautiful girls on the face of Nidor.
Quite a triumph, Norvis thought, for one who would have been a simple peasant’s son had all gone well with Nidor.
Norvis shrugged and mounted his own deest. He had other work to do. He, too, trotted northward, but by a different route; he had no desire to take part in the parade. As he wended his way through the streets, no one seemed to pay any attention to him. He was a nonentity, a nobody, merely the Party Secretary. Which was just the way he liked it.
He was only a few blocks from the Temple when he saw a familiar figure turn onto the avenue from a side street just ahead.
“Dran!” he called. “Dran peDran Gormek!” He urged his mount to a faster pace.
Dran reined in and turned his head. “Hoy! Secretary!”
Norvis pulled up beside him. “How was the trip?”
“I is dirty and tired,” Dran said.
There was a grin on his owlish face. “Climbing mountains is hard work.” As they trotted on down the street, side by side, he added, “I is got good news for you, though. I find—”
“Not yet,” Norvis interrupted. “This is too public. You can tell me what you know about them at the office.”
“But that’s just it,” Dran said, still grinning. “We isn’t got anything to worry about! They isn’t there!”
Norvis jerked his head around. “What? What’s that?”
“They isn’t there,” Dran repeated. “I find the place you mention—a wide, flat area. But there isn’t anything there. No buildings, no magic machines, no nothing.”
“I see,” Norvis said slowly. “Yes, I see.”
“That means the captain really is driven them off Nidor! We is free—really free!”
Norvis nodded abstractedly. When they pulled up in front of the Temple, he said, “Since you found nothing, Dran, there’s no need to tell anyone of my foolish suspicions, is there? We’ll just forget it.”
“Sure, Secretary,” Dran agreed. “You is done the right thing. You has to know the truth. Now we knows.”
“That’s right, Dran. I’ll see that you get a bonus for this—and you can do a little celebrating.”
“Hoyboy! Thanks to you, Secretary Norvis!”
An hour later, Norvis was saddling his deest and slinging two saddlebags of supplies over the animal. He had told Kris that he was going to Tammulcor on business, to check on the Bank of Dimay, which was still in the throes of reorganization.
But he had no intention of heading south; he was going east, to the Mountains of the Morning. Dran peDran had seen nothing—but that meant nothing. Norvis recalled his mother’s telling him how the Earthmen had taken a part of his father’s memory. Rahn peDorvis had never remembered anything about that trip to the mountains.
If the Earthmen could take a memory away, couldn’t they replace it with a false one?
Maybe there was nothing up there; maybe there never had been. But Norvis realized he could never take another’s word for that. Dangerous jobs could be delegated, sure—and, Norvis thought, it was best for all that dangerous jobs be done by someone else. But there were times when a job could only be done by one person—and in this case, that person was Norvis peRahn Brajjyd.
He pushed a pair of pistols into his belt and lifted himself into the saddle. Twenty minutes later, he was trotting across the Bridge of Gon, heading eastward across the Tammul into Thyvash towards the Mountains of the Morn.
XXII
The day of the Feast of the Sixteen Clans brought a brisk wind from the east, heavy-laden with dampness.
Kris looked out the window of his office, watching the lower wisps of the eternal cloud blanket scudding across the sky.
“I hope we’re not in for a storm,” he said. “This would be a poor time for the Great Light to send His Flashing Emissaries across the sky.” He smiled grimly. “The noise they make might drown out my speech.”
Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda chuckled. “The investiture takes place immediately after the midday services, and the sky ought to be quiet by then. Don’t worry about it.”
Kris turned from the window and settled himself in his chair. “You know, Grandfather, it’s a peculiar feeling to realize that more than four thousand sacrifices have been made to the Great Light on the Feast of the Sixteen Clans at the Great Temple—and this year there will be none.”
“I know,” the priest agreed. “It is His will.”
Kris stared at the surface of his desk for a long moment, and then pulled himself out of his introspective mood with some effort. “You’ll be the celebrant at the services, of course?”
The Elder Grandfather nodded. “We’ll start at the Temple of Kivar, just as we did with your wedding—but this will be an official ceremony, and, if I may say so, much more imposing. The actual investiture will take place on the balcony of the Great Temple, as you asked.”
Kris nodded. “Good. You—”
There was a rap at the door. “It’s Ganz peDel, Leader,” came the voice.
“Come in, Ganz,” Kris called out. He was getting to like the boy; except for the hatred for the priesthood that his father had instilled in him, young Ganz might eventually have made a good Party. Leader. Perhaps, even yet—
The boy walked In. There’s a priest to see you, Leader.” There was no distaste in his voice; he had learned to conceal it well. Or perhaps he was actually changing his mind about the priesthood.
“Who is it?” Kris asked.
“A Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek, of the Bronze Islands.”
Elder Grandfather Mam peFulda stood up. “The Gormek Elder! Excellent! Send him in, my son.”
Ganz stepped back, closing the door.
Grandfather Marn turned to Kris. “This makes fourteen! The Elder Council will soon be complete, my son. I hope he’s as good a man as his predecessor, Elder Vesol peSkel Gormek; in spite of the fact that he was . . . ah . . . under the influence of Darkness, he was a wise old man.”
Kris shrugged. “Darkness take Vesol peSkel; let’s see what this Bronze Islander is like.”
The door opened, and a blue-robed priest stepped in. His face was like a piece of wrinkled leather, covered with sparse silvery fuzz. He peered around the room with bright, clear eyes, seeming to take in everything at a glance.
He nodded his head at the Elder Grandfather. “Elder, I asks your blessing. I is Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek.”
Marn peFulda gave his blessing. Then: “May I ask the date of your birth, Grandfather?”
The priest smiled. “On the ninth day after the Feast of the. Great Lawyer, in the Year of Dmorno, of the 320th Cycle.”
Kris sat up in his seat. The old Gormek was older than Marn peFulda—and theoretically deserved to be Leader!
But the old priest raised his hand. “You doesn’t need to worry, Elder Grandfather; I is heard about Leader Kris peKym’s order. You is the Elder Leader, and I does not wish to make any claims. I is an old man; I knows nothing about governing a world. I is been isolated on my Islands for more than seventy years. I has no political ambitions, but when I is called, I comes.” He turned to Kris. “I gives you my blessing, Leader Kris. You is been needed on Nidor.”
Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda relaxed visibly. “I welcome you, Elder Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek. Will you be ready to take part in the investiture of our Executive Officer after the midday services?”
“I is happy to,” the Elder Gormek said.
Marn peFulda looked back at Kris and said, “The Council is about to meet I’ll be with you at the services.”
Kris nodded. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
Kris peKym Yorgen, Executive Officer of Nidor, stood upon the balcony of the Great Temple and faced the throngs of people in the Square of Holy Light.
The investiture ceremony was over; a long triumphal procession through the streets had preceded it, with the people cheering on every side. And all the way up from the smaller temple, Kris’ name had been shouted.
The procession itself had been colorful. Half of the Hundred men were in the lead, their red-and-black uniforms worn proudly; the other half brought up the rear. Between them, mounted on brightly caparisoned deests, had come the new Council of Elders, with their blue-and-gold robes and their bronze coronets gleaming in the filtered light. And then, surrounded by yellow-robed acolytes, had come Kris peKym Yorgen, the Great Exorciser and Executive Officer of Nidor.
The wind had added its own touch, whipping the robes around, making them flutter brightly beneath the effulgence of the Great Light.
All this was a bright memory in Kris’ mind as he stood on the balcony of the gutted Great Temple and looked at the cheering throng below. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd stand and raise his crossed arms in a general blessing. The crowd became quiet.
The Grandfather looked at the sky. “O Holy Light, we have, this midday, offered our sacrifice in Your name, and now, we ask Your blessing on Your people and on Your Priesthood.
“Led by those who had fallen under the influence of the accursed Earthmen, we have erred in Your sight. But now we have been illumined by Your light, and we seek to repair the damage that has been done and atone for the injury we have done You. We pray for Your blessing upon us.”
He lowered his arms and looked out over the Square of Holy Light. “We, the Elders of Nidor, in Council assembled, have come this day to invest in a great man the powers of a special Office. All of you know what has happened—”
The Grandfather continued his introduction for several minutes, but Kris’ attention drifted away. He thought of what he was going to tell the people. What he said today would not only be spread all over Nidor, but would ring through history for all eternity. It had to be just right. It had to be perfect.
So intent was he on his own thoughts that he barely noticed when the Elder Leader put the bronze chain around his neck—the chain carrying a specially struck medal signifying his office. He scarcely noticed as the other Elders gave him their blessing. Only when the Elder Leader said, ” . . . and now your Executive Officer will speak; I charge you to pay strict attention to what he has to say,” did Kris return fully to his surroundings.
He stepped forward to the rail of the balcony and raised his hand to still the shouting and applause.
When the crowd finally grew quiet, he said, “Bless you for your righteosuness, my friends. The Great Light has granted us His illumination, and the—”
He got no further. He saw what had happened only a fraction of a second before he felt it.
Across the Square, from a window of one of the buildings, had come a puff of smoke, which the wind had quickly whipped away. Then had come the sound of a loud cough.
And then had come a painless shock, as though someone had hit him hard in the chest with a pillow. Kris fell back, more with surprise than anything else, looking down at the tattered hole in his vest and the blood that seeped out of it.
There was confusion all around him, but still he didn’t pay any attention. Someone grasped him by the shoulders and eased him to the floor of the balcony. Someone shouted for a surgeon and a physician. From somewhere came the crack of rifles. But to all these, Kris paid no attention.
He put his hand up to his chest, and someone pulled it away.
“Is he dead?” asked a voice behind him.
“No,” said another. “He’s badly hurt, but it didn’t strike his heart.”
“We must get a doctor—quickly!” said a third.
And then sight and sound and feeling dissolved into the darkening blur of unconsciousness.
XXIII
Norvis peRahn Brajjyd wanted to snarl and curse, but he hardly dared breathe. The wind-whipped night rain had made his body-hair cling soggily to his body, his clothes were dripping with water, and the rocks were so slippery that it seemed almost impossible to climb them—especially with the wind sweeping down the mountains, tugging at his clothing and splashing rain in his eyes.
Still he pushed on; he didn’t want to be caught on the mountain when firstlight came. He had waited at the foot of the towering pile of bare rock until nightfall. His mother had climbed it successfully at night, and that was the way he was going to do it.
He knew he was in the right place; it was the only place that locked as though it might be a gap in the mountains through which one could reach Vashcor.
At last he reached the top, and was overjoyed to see the oddly-shaped rock his mother had described to him. Now he knew beyond doubt that he was in the right place.
He edged his way up to the rock and peeped over.
And a vast disappointment washed over him, hardly diluted at all by the faint sense of relief he felt.
There was nothing there at all. There was nothing but the broad, flat area that Dran peDran had described. The dim glow of the Lesser Light didn’t show much detail, but it was obvious that there had been buildings of some kind here once—the flat plain itself was artificially leveled.
But it was empty. Nothing moved on it, nothing but the little rivulets of water that skittered across its surface ahead of the driving wind.
The Earthmen were really gone, then. Somehow, it didn’t seem right. There seemed to be something left unexplained.
“Welcome, Norvis peRahn Brajjyd,” said a soft baritone behind him. “I thought you’d never get here.”
Norvis turned slowly. The only surprise he felt was in the fact that he was not surprised at all. He knew who it was, and it seemed right somehow.
“Hoy, Smith,” he said. He drew his gun and aimed it at the Earthman’s midsection. “Wet out, isn’t it?”
Smith, standing tall and solid a few feet away, pretended not to notice the gun. “Wet? Yes; I’ve always hated Nidorian weather. But then, I doubt if you’d like Earth. Direct light from the sun wouldn’t be too good for your skin.”
Norvis looked at the man he had hated for so long, and felt an almost overwhelming desire to press the trigger. But he stayed his hand. He needed information first.
