Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Then there’s Ngandib-Mar. Tahli-Damen?” Erri called, and the blind man, trembling, stood up. “Turn around, my friend.” The former merchant obeyed, and many of those seated on the beach behind him gasped at the sight of those empty, pale blue eyes. “This man lost his sight to powershaping. But he says he sees life more clearly now than he ever did before. He’ll return to the land of magic, to the realm of this evil Flayh himself. Who will be his eyes? Who will walk beside him?” Erri paused then, searching the crowd. He saw a hand slip furtively into the air and smiled knowingly. “Good. That’s settled then. As for the rest of us, it’s time we returned to Lamath. Not as a group, however. Rather, we go in teams of two or three. Someone will need to go with me—”

“I’ll go!” said an enthusiastic young man in the front of the crowd, bounding to his feet.

Erri’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “Strahn? You want to travel with me?”

“I do indeed, sir.” Strahn nodded, blushing now at his own forwardness.

“You think you can handle it?” Erri asked, and the young man nodded energetically. The real question, the prophet thought to himself, was whether he could handle traveling with Strahn.

He smiled warmly, however, and announced, “Very well then. Strahn it will be. As for the rest of you, find partners. Get well acquainted. Tomorrow morning we’ll all be on our way.” He was finished. He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

’Tomorrow?” Naquin said a bit peevishly. “Some of us just got here!”

Erri smiled at the man and reached out to pat his shoulder apologetically. “I know. I wish there was more time. But there’s not. You’ve got to get back to warn Bronwynn. Don’t expect her to listen to you,”

Erri added, grinning brightly. “Bronwynn doesn’t listen to (anybody much. But you just be faithful to your task, and encourage her to pay heed to the problems in her own land before trying to solve problems elsewhere. The Power will use you.”

Naquin looked mournfully out at his ship, anchored in the tiny harbor. “I don’t relish getting back on that thing again.”

“By all means, sleep on dry land tonight,” Erri urged. “You look weak. Have you eaten lately?”

“Oh, I’ve eaten all right.” Naquin nodded, rolling his eyes.

Erri understood. “Strahn?” he called.

“Right here, sir!” Strahn barked, causing the prophet to jump. Erri hadn’t realized the young initiate was hovering right behind him.

“Ah, take Naquin and find him some food, then get him a good place to rest for the night.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?” Strahn was a handsome boy with very bright, even teeth. These gleamed as he beamed his smile at Erri, causing the prophet to sigh.

“Not at the moment,” he mumbled, and Strahn marched Naquin off toward the makeshift kitchen.

Now Erri was able to turn to Tahli-Damen, who stood several feet away, waiting uncertainly. Ten feet beyond him stood the young merchant woman who had arrived in Lamath the night the dogs came in. Erri beckoned her over and asked, “Does he know you’re here?”

Wayleeth shook her head.

“Do I know who’s here?” Tahli-Damen asked suspiciously. He didn’t look happy at all.

“I requested a volunteer to travel with you, Tahli-Damen. This is that volunteer.” Erri looked at the woman. “Speak to him.”

Wayleeth cleared her throat. “Hello.”

“Wayleeth!” Tahli-Damen exploded, and several nearby conversations stopped as bluefaithers turned to watch. “Wayleeth, did you follow me here?”

“If she did,” Erri interjected, “it’s because the Power prompted her to come.”

“No, it isn’t!” Tahli-Damen roared. “It’s because she feels sorry for me! She’s afraid I’ll get hurt! She can’t let me out of her sight!”

“All of which seem good qualifications for the woman to serve as your eyes.”

“She can’t be my partner!” Tahli-Damen thundered. “She’s my wife!”

“And just what do you think a wife is to be!” Erri thundered back. Then he glanced around at all the staring eyes and waved them away. Bluefaithers all around made a great show of returning to their conversations. “Now listen to me, Tahli-Damen. I’ve talked with Wayleeth myself at length. She is as committed to this task as you are. Will you deny her the opportunity to perform it simply because the two of you happen to be married?” The prophet glanced at the sky, then back at Tahli-Damen’s scowling face. “It’s dusk. The two of you need to talk. Go find a quiet spot and do that. The ship leaves for Lamath tomorrow morning, and Strahn and myself will walk with you to Dragonsgate. Go now.”

Tahli-Damen waited until Wayleeth took his arm and led him away. Then Erri tilted his head back and spoke to the darkening sky: “Exactly what, in my twenty some years of life at sea, qualified me to be a marriage counselor?” Then he shook his head and walked away, muttering under his breath “Strahn…”

His arms no longer ached. They tingled now, as if asleep. Yet that was no relief, for along with the dulling of the pain came a heaviness that he was certain could not have been worse had boulders been manacled to his wrists. His mail shirt had become a portable oven as sweat coursed down his chest and back, drenching his belt. His feet, too, seemed weighted with lead. There were times when he could do nothing but cling to the topless pipeline and gasp for breath.

His emotional state ranged from elation to despair—sometimes swinging from one extreme to the other in a moment. Occasionally, as he looked downward to find footing on a ceramic joint, he would catch a glimpse of the land below. He no longer regarded it as just ‘the ground.’ He had climbed high enough to stretch the horizon out for miles. Sometimes he rejoiced because this was his land; he loved it and gloried in looking down on it from on high. Moments later he might look down in terror, certain he couldn’t make it to the top, but just as certain that to try to climb down would prove suicidal. Those were the times when he gripped the round pipe and hugged it close, laying his cheek against its cool surface and fighting the childish urge to weep. He longed for the ordeal to be resolved some way, any way. His climb was one of those feats sometimes undertaken as a means to an end which come to demand such effort that the original purpose is eclipsed. After the second hour, Rosha thought little of Flayh anymore, of how he could enter the High Fortress, or of the pyramid he intended to steal. He thought instead of his life and wondered if this day would be his last. He thought, too, of his wife and sorrowed for her, imagining her mourning when she heard of his death. He thought of Pelmen and muttered a fervent prayer to the Power. He made his appeal in the form of a contract—if the Power would get him safely off this endless water pipe, he would once again don the sky blue robe and become a true initiate. He thought of a host of other things he’d not considered in years. That led him to reflect on things he’d always intended to do.

He thought a lot about thinking itself. He wished he could block out all his thoughts and concentrate solely on climbing. But each time he tried, he became so aware of the heaviness in his arms and legs and the knotted muscles in the back of his neck that he welcomed back the distraction of his memories. And still the pipe went up.

There were several blessed interruptions. These helped him solve the riddle of how this ancient pipe had once lifted the water so high. There was not one pump, but several, and several pumping stations. These were located in small caverns chiseled out of the cliff face. The water was relayed upward from one cavern to the next—or had been. The pumps were decayed beyond all usefulness, and the small pools within the caverns were brackish. How long had it been since the water flowed through this system?