Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"She was not an evil person!"

"I never said she was. I know no unassailable definition of evil. The Old One is greatly feared as keeper of the dead, but we all go to Her in the end. That some of Her minions may be evil I do not deny; that some may not be is a tenable hypothesis. And Saltaja did have evidence—the strange circumstances of her brother's death, Paola's success at escaping and remaining undetected for years, her coup in marrying a man of wealth who could protect her. Even, although this came after the fact, the remarkable toll she took of her assassins and the long time she took to die. One aging, unarmed woman beset by a gang of young louts and she kills even two of them? Is this probable?"

"You are manipulating again!" Although she wanted to shout, Frena managed only a croak. "You tell me that the Chosen are not evil and they have powers to overcome even Werists? Are you suggesting I swear allegiance to the Mother of Lies instead of the Bright Ones?" That was the real question, wasn't it?

"I am suggesting no such thing. The decision is entirely yours. I detect that you are suffering extreme physical distress, possibly a headache. This may be no more than a result of eating bad meat, although I regard that hypothesis as improbable. The most likely alternative, although there may be other explanations that I have not thought of, is that you are already promised to a specific god. This puts you in conflict with your purpose in coming to the house of the Twelve, and the conflict will have to be resolved. A dedication is a form of choosing."

"You're suggesting that I belong to the Dark One," Frena whispered, visualizing open graves.

"She is certainly the most likely candidate."

"But I never pledged allegiance to Her!" Frena wiped away the perspiration running into her eyes.

"Infants can be pledged by others, especially their parents or those in charge of them. For instance, foster mothers." The seer sounded very much as if she were fishing for information. She would be disappointed. "The allegiance must be ratified in adulthood. This is why the dedication ritual requires you to renounce all other gods in general and the Old One by name."

"Then I will be free of Her?"

"So the priests assure us. If you wish to try doing so here and now, just saying the words may reduce your stress to more tolerable levels. Alternatively, if you intend to pledge full loyalty to Her, then a declaration of that intent would probably be equally beneficial to your present comfort. I suspect that it is your undecided status that is causing theproblem. As I have said several times, there is no way of detecting the Chosen—a chthonian could speak the words of the renunciation without flickering an eyelash." The seer looked away as if hearing something Fabia couldn't. "We have been together too long. Twelve times twelve blessings on you—"

"Wait! Just suppose I did decide to ... to investigate the alternative. How would I proceed?"

The seer stood in silence for a long moment, a cloud of draperies. "I suggest you question your foster father's employee, Master Pukar. Based on his habits, if he is not a chthonian himself, he must know some who are... But exercise extreme caution!"

"Wait!" Frena caught the seer's cape. "You would aid a Chosen?"

She jerked loose. "I said I knew no definition of evil, Fabia Celebre, but 'the Children of Hrag' comes very close. I will aid anyone who opposes them, anyone at all, and I am not alone. But beware! There are nine Witnesses in Skjar just now, and not all agree with me. Trust no one who does not come in the name of Mist."

"Mist?"

"Our leader in this. Twelve blessings, Fabia Celebre." White robes swirling, she strode nimbly up the rest of the stairs and vanished through the gate.

♦

High Priestess Bjaria was of mature years, majestic in stature, stentorian of voice, and the biggest bore on all Dodec. She could sit through an entire banquet without ever seeming to draw breath, while eating more than anyone else and chattering on whatever subject currently held her personal fancy. Frena was careful never to invite her unless Saltaja was certain to be present, because the satrap's wife was the only person who ever dared interrupt her. Yet she was inept, not ill-intentioned. She received Frena in a large and crowded robing room—dim, breathless, smelling of rot—and enveloped her in an odor of godswood and a giant sweaty hug. After a mere three or four sentences she pushed her visitor back to arm's length to peer at her with well-bagged eyes.

"Are you feeling well, child? You look poorly. Nerves, I assume; perfectly normal for any girl just before her—"

"Headache... weather—"

"Ah, the humidity, I know exactly how you feel, we have a priestess of holy Nastrar who is absolutely devastated in the wet season, throwing up all day long... Why don't we go straight over to the shrine of holy Sinura and you can say a quick prayer, perhaps leave a small offering, and I am sure the goddess will send you some relief."

"No, I'm quite all right," Frena said hastily, any other form of speech being impossible near the Reverend Bjaria. "When we get there—"

"As you will. Then let me begin by introducing ..."

The high priestess presented a dozen minions and two dozen deputy minions, some male, some female, all unnecessary, but all expecting a gratuity from Frena's purse. None of them managed to slip in more than two words of greeting before Bjaria swept the entire procession off on a tour of the Pantheon.

Very soon Frena discovered that her headache had dropped to a bearable level. She had made a decision of sorts, she realized, by refusing to appeal to holy Sinura—she had decided to put off a decision until she had a chance to reflect on the Witness's astonishing revelations. Daughter of a doge , whatever that was. Fabia was an intriguing name, exotic. Aristocratic. She must practice thinking of herself as the Lady Fabia . Three brothers? Ruler of a strategically important city?

Murder?

Like a mother goose, Bjaria led her entourage along a tended path through irregular parkland, up and down, winding between rocks and ancient trees from one shrine to another, all around the top of the hill. Other worshipers and clerics scuttled out of her way, wide-eyed. Today the monologue was on the history of Temple Island and Skjar itself, the need to preserve and restore. Although she did not mention Horth's gold, that was obviously what had provoked this interest.

She kept saying very old . "Holy ground from ancient times, even older than the Arcana in parts, evidence of very old primitive worship..." All the shrines were made of wood, some in styles of great antiquity, very old . The timbers themselves were quite recent, of course, but for centuries every building had been replaced at intervals of about twenty years, the copy reproducing the original as exactly as possible. This work was now overdue and being planned. Bjaria's only endearing quality was that conversation with her required no effort whatsoever, not even speech.

"This shrine of holy Weru is very old , perhaps the oldest of the preserved designs, because the gorge is called after Him and there is no doubt that in the so-called Expansionist Period the city regarded Weru as its patron god, but of course in those days Skjar was not much more than a pirates' stronghold, although we mustn't say such things, must we, even if we know they're true, and anyway it was their expertise at building more seaworthy ships than anyone else that let the expansionists extend their sway over half the shores of Ocean, and all the lake so that was why holy Hrada was regarded as His consort and They were worshiped as joint patrons—"

Frena managed to squeeze in a word. "I have always understood that holy Hrada is a virgin goddess?"