Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

Winter thought about starting with the fact that the Priests of the Black had been out of business for a good hundred years now, but decided to start with something more basic. “Do you know the story of Karis the Savior?”

“No. Your Captain Vahkerson gave me a copy of the Wisdoms, but my Vordanai is not yet up to the task.” Feor had taken to learning Vordanai with the same quiet determination with which she approached everything, and the sight of her face screwed up in earnest concentration always made Winter grin.

“The story goes,” Winter began, adopting the language of half-remembered sermons from her childhood and parsing it inexpertly into Khandarai, “that there was once a time when men were so evil, so prone to consorting with demons and practicing sorcery, that the Lord Almighty decided to destroy them. He sent a great monster, the Beast of Judgment, to scourge mankind from the world. As the destruction began, God heard many prayers to halt it, but the hearts of all of those who begged for mercy were tainted, and He turned a deaf ear. When He heard Karis’ prayer, though, He found his heart was pure, and the Lord agreed to give mankind a chance. Karis walked up to the Beast without fear and banished it with a word. He said that the Lord had spared humanity, but only temporarily, unless men could be persuaded to change their ways. The people who listened to him went on to found the Elysian Church, and as you say, they dedicated themselves to hunting down demons and sorcerers.”

Feor, somewhat to Winter’s surprise, seemed genuinely interested. “But you said they don’t believe in those things.”

“Karis lived more than a thousand years ago. This is the Year of His Grace twelve hundred and eight, so it’s been that long since God agreed to spare mankind.” A thought occurred to her. “Maybe the Black Priests got the job done and wiped out all the demons. In any case, by a couple of hundred years ago they were more in the business of putting heretics on trial and interfering in politics. A bit like your Redeemers, really.”

“Not so awful, I hope,” Feor murmured.

“I wouldn’t know. The King of Vordan got fed up with it and threw them out. Ever since, there’s been the Sworn Church, ruled from Elysium, and the Free Churches, which don’t have to swear fealty to anyone. Vordan is a Free Church country. Maybe they take all the sorcery in the Wisdoms seriously up in Murnsk or Borel, but in Vordan. .” She shook her head. “Our priest explained to me that it was all a metaphor. The demons stood for the evil that men do to one another, and what the Wisdoms really meant was that we should all be nice to each other.” Winter glanced sidelong at Feor. “I thought there was something fishy about that at the time.”

“What are ‘Borel’ and ‘Murnsk’?”

“Other kingdoms,” Winter said, aware of her acutely limited knowledge. “Well, Murnsk is an empire, I think. There’s the Six Cities League, too, and. .”

She trailed off. Feor was staring out at the drilling troops, but her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

“I will need to learn these things, I suppose,” the girl said dully, “if I am to live there.”

“Live there?” Winter said, confused. “I thought you wanted to find your Mother here in Ashe-Katarion.”

“She would not have me,” Feor said, very quietly. “Not now. I have bound my naath to a raschem . This is heresy.”

“You think she’d exile you?”

“I hope she will. She may wish to kill me instead.”

“What kind of a mother murders her children?”

“My life is hers to begin with,” Feor said. “If she wishes to take it, that is her right.”

“Well, you’ll always have a place with us.” And, Winter privately resolved, if “Mother” decides Feor needs to die, she’ll have to go through me. “What about Bobby?”

“He will be safe, I think. To interfere with a naath , once bound, would itself be heresy.”

Winter nodded grimly and looked back at the field. The drills were ending, and Bobby was re-forming the troops to march back to the barracks. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, and Winter wondered if she’d been sleeping.

“We have to tell her,” she said. “I don’t know how much she remembers, but she knows something happened.” She could scarcely miss the fact that a palm-sized patch of her skin had turned to something closer to marble than flesh.

Feor sighed. “ You have to tell her.” She paused, concentrating, and switched languages. “Me. . Vordanai. . not. . good. . sufficient.”

“You still need to be there,” Winter said. “She may have questions I can’t answer.”

“Are you going to tell her that you know her secret?”

“I think I have to,” Winter said. “Graff knows as well, so we can’t keep Bobby in the dark that the truth has gotten out. I think we can trust Graff to keep his mouth shut, but. .”

“And what about yours?”

Now it was Winter’s turn to fall silent. That was the real question, and she didn’t have a good answer. She was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that Feor knew, and had known for some time. No matter how many times the Khandarai girl had insisted it was some supernatural naathem sense that had told her, Winter couldn’t help but feel like there was some flaw in her disguise. What if they all know, and they’re just laughing at me behind my back? That was ridiculous, of course-Davis, for one, would never settle for quiet mockery when there was a chance to push someone in the mud and kick them while they were down.

“You don’t trust Bobby?” Feor asked.

“No, not that,” Winter said. “God, if there’s anyone I can trust, it’d be her. And you, of course. It’s just. .”

“Just?”

“It’s been two years.” Winter drew her knees to her chest. “I feel like I’d nearly convinced myself .”

MARCUS

Marcus pushed open the door and found that he was the last to arrive. Val, Mor, and Fitz were all seated in flimsy wicker-and-wood chairs around a lacquered monolith of a table that even the Redeemers had found too heavy to move. Mor was putting a deck of cards through an elaborate shuffle.

“Finally,” he said, as Marcus entered. “We were about to start without you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Val muttered. “If it was just me against you and Fitz, I might as well hand over my purse and be done with it.”

“So I’m the other sucker, is that it?” Marcus said.

“Every table needs at least a couple,” Mor said.

Fitz coughed. “You saw Adrecht?”

The mood darkened. Marcus nodded, and there was a quiet moment as he pulled out one of the chairs and sat gingerly, lest it collapse.

“And?” Val said gruffly. “How is he?”

“Better,” Marcus said shortly. “He’s still not awake, but the cutter told me his fever is down and there’s no sign of festering at the. . site.”

“I knew he was too irritating to die,” Mor said, a little too cheerfully.

“Liar,” Val said. “You were practically dividing up his things already.”

Marcus looked down at his hands where they lay on the tabletop. He closed his left hand slowly, then shook his head.

“It’s a shame,” Fitz said unexpectedly. All three captains looked at him, surprised.

“Course it is,” said Val.

“That’s war,” Mor said. “Or at least, it is if you’re fool enough to get within sticking range of someone with a bayonet. Getting shot I can understand, but-”

“He saved my life,” Marcus said quietly.

That brought another moment of awkward silence, which Marcus felt duty-bound to break. He slapped his palms on the table with a dull thud and put on a grin he didn’t feel. “Right!” he said. “Deal the cards already.”