Sterling Lanier - The Unforsaken Hiero

The abbot called to a guard stationed in the passage. In a short time, a young man stood at salute in the doorway. He was no larger than Hiero and quite slender. He wore the standard garb of leather and, like all the others, a silver pendant of the Cross and the Sword on his breast. He was clean-shaven and seemed hardly out of his teens at first appearance, but Hiero was not fooled. The man’s black eyes were dreaming and remote, as if he looked beyond things, rather than at them. Under the painted yellow leaf and the green caduceus on his forehead, they seemed to gaze far beyond the little, smoky room and out into vastness, Hiero felt a wave of power such as he had seldom encountered before, and not of his own kind, for that was primarily mental. This man’s power came from the spirit. Once in a while the Church Universal threw up a great leader, a healer of souls; priest though he himself was, Hiero felt humbled in the presence of the youth who stood before them. If this priest lived, the church would have a prophet and a reformer such as had been rarely known, even in ages past. He radiated calm and inner power so strongly that it was almost an aura. Hiero knew without being told that he was a celibate. No earthly ties could ever bind such a spirit.

“This is Per Cart Sagenay, Hiero. Sit down, my son, and listen to what we have to tell you. You have heard of Per Desteen, who has done mighty works for us in the South. Per Maluin you also know. I have asked them, especially Per Desteen, to look you over. While we toil back here, building our strength for the onslaught of the enemy, Per Desteen will lead a scouting party to spy out the enemy strength. I wish them to say whether you should accompany them on their journey. I know that you, of all the sons of the church I have ever known, will obey any orders given you. But it is for Per Desteen to say whether I have chosen rightly.”

Hiero had no hesitation at all. “Anyone you chose, Father, would be welcome. But I should like to hear from Per Sagenay’s lips exactly what he himself thinks.”

The young man inclined his head gracefully. His voice was soft and pleasant, but in no way weak. Indeed, it seemed to hum and ring in the room, even after the man had fallen silent. An orator, too, Hiero thought. Well, that would follow.

“Reverend Father, noble Pers of the church, I am not the world’s greatest warrior. Such small gifts as God has given me lie rather with things of the spirit. I have a small talent for the Forty Symbols—”

Demero interrupted. “He sometimes can get twelve at a time. The Abbey schools have never produced anything like him!”

Hiero’s only response to that was a mental “Wow!” Casting the Forty, the tiny, wooden, carved symbols, and trying to see the future with them was an art taught in all the Abbey senior classes. Hiero could get two or at most three and use those only uncertainly. He was about average. He had never heard of anyone who could cast and still make sense out of more than six. Any expedition which had this man as a member would be strong indeed and, he could not help feeling, blessed as well.

Giving the abbot a pained look, Per Sagenay continued. “I am greatly honored by this suggestion. If it be an order, I am more honored still, since I am young and without much experience of the world outside the Abbey walls. I can only wait upon your decision, sirs.”

The decision was unanimous. They talked and discussed plans until the dawn came stealing through the narrow window, then separated for a much-needed rest. The scouting party would leave quietly and as unobtrusively as possible on the following evening.

S’duna was raging, but it was a cold rage, as everything about him was cold. “Namcush totally gone, not that it was ever entirely and completely ours. But we had no warning! The two secret ships which guarded the south sea—gone! Neeyana taken and sacked. Only two Brothers escaped of the five who were there. Do you realize, my friends, that S’ryath, the ruler of the Yellow Circle, is a fugitive in the wilderness, barely able even to communicate with us? We are almost cut off from the South, the source of our strength! S’tarn and I, the Masters of the Red and the Blue, we are alone to all intents and purposes. All of our strength now is here in the North.”

The Blue Council of the Dark. Brotherhood was silent. Then one of them, raised a pale hand. “Surely there is some good news from the South, Elder Brother. The savages of D’alwah have been broken. The starveling slut who calls herself a princess is destroyed. Our allies hold the kingdom under our rule, do they not?”

S’duna withered him. with a glance. In the cavernous chamber, before the great screen of lights and wires, his pupilless gaze was baleful. “Oh, yes, my Brother of the Green, Slorn, has accomplished great works. He has the southern kingdom under his yoke.” The gelid eyes glowed with a light that came from the Ultimate Pit. “And what of his profound assurance about our deadliest enemy? What about Per Hiero Desteen, the prince of D’alwah? The only being ever to escape from dead Manoon? He lives, Brothers, he lives! So much for assurances in the South!”

His voice sank to a hiss. “What wots it that the barbarian kingdom of the South is felled? What does that mean for us, here and now? It is our rule of the North, steadily over the years increasing, spreading and ready to overwhelm the weaklings who call themselves the true church, that is threatened; that is what is in deadly peril. The kingdom of D’alwah may be destroyed. Their wretched king may be in our hands, the slut, as you rightly call her, may be ruined. But what of us, here in the North?”

With rising anger, he paced about the long oval table, a smaller simulacrum of the table of the Great Council. At length he paused and contained himself with an almost visible effort. “In the last year, too many unlooked-for things we never expected have happened. Item, the Eleveners have openly come out against us; only a fool would think they have no powers; they have forsaken peace, as they call it, and are for the first time in their stupid history on the other side, actively on the other side. Consider that!”

The four shining heads, the four pallid, impassive faces, moved with him as he went on. “And S’ryath saw him as he fled the wreck of Neeyana. Whatever may be said, it was he who destroyed those ships! I have heard reports from our spies of the crude things the Metz have put on the waters. They could not have done so, I swear it. No, it was Per Desteen, who will hang on my torture racks before he dies slowly. Curse him! He himself is a mutation and does not even know it. How could he leave the distant South a drugged prisoner, helpless, utterly doomed, and then appear many hundreds of leagues to the north at exactly the right time? Perhaps those accursed Eleveners know something about this. One thing is certain—he had help and help that we know nothing about. There are currents working against us; I grow more sure of it daily. Something impalpable, something that lurks and pries and frustrates our plans in ways we cannot prevent. I shall root it or them out! Exterminate them!”

He ceased pacing and turned to face the others again. With another almost visible effort, he controlled his fury, and the faint flush over the pale cheekbones disappeared. He began to give orders, seek out information, and formulate plans. His colleagues leaned forward, their styluses ready, and proceeded to make notes as he spoke.

There were no horn calls, no salutes, and no ceremony as the patrol went forth from Namcush Fort. It was the cloudy dark just before the coming of dawn. Hiero wanted no eyes to spy out his leaving. He had bidden farewell to the Father Abbot in his chambers earlier, and that was sufficient. The little party left by a small postern, not by the main gate. Its members loped along the back alleys of the port, avoiding even the few Metz guard details until they came to the edge of the small town. Here they left the path entirely and at once plunged into the fringing bush which the inhabitants burned yearly to clear their garden patches. In less than a half hour, the last trace of civilization was behind them, and they were deep in the southern borders of the Taig, the mighty forest which spanned the continent, heading north.