A Covenant of Justice (25 page)

To the mendicant, the seeming randomness of the process represented an access to influences outside of the realm of human control. Believing that nothing occurred randomly, that everything occurred as part of a much larger set of connected events, this process of nonspecific consultation allowed the Coincidentalist to determine the specific flows which affected his life. Because he served as the focus of events at the selection of the yarrow stalks, the randomness that occurred around him represented the actual flows of his own local condition, thus he would receive precise information from the greater cosmos about his own place in it—if only he knew how to interpret it.

Fortunately, a wide variety of texts existed for the interpretation of the patterns, drawing complex meanings out of the shape of every line, broken or unbroken. The practitioner consulted those texts to determine the how the hexagrams pointed to the underlying structure of the universe that had produced these particular hexagrams at this specific moment in time at this specific place with himself as focus.

Coincidentalists believed that the entire careful process gave them a cross-section of universal intention as precise as any measured by an electron chamber. The consultant's fate sat, poised like a bubble in delicate balance, between the past and the future. The hexagrams gave him information about the shape of each. By consulting the texts about the hexagrams, the petitioner could make himself aware of the greater flows of the universe. He could then choose to direct his efforts either with or against those currents.

Or so the Coincidentalists believed.

For serious questions, the rituals of the hexagrams took the better part of a day to cast and even longer to consider. In such cases, most Coincidentalists would meditate on the meanings of their hexagrams for at least seven days before making a commitment to action. For lesser questions, however, the entire process often took only a few moments.

The most devout Coincidentalists preferred the hours of either dusk or dawn for their consultations of the oracle. As Sawyer and Lee watched, several pilgrims finished their consultations, gathered up their belongings, and left. Other pilgrims entered and took their places at tables within the square. A low level of activity remained constant throughout. Around the edges of the tables, small groups of men stood around in knots, actively discussing the finer points of random happenstance. Several wore gray robes, indicating that others had recognized their expertise in the matter and conferred upon them the acknowledgment of rank.

Suddenly, a wail of despair interrupted the quiet ruminations of the temple. Not too far from where Sawyer and Lee stood, a wealthy-looking porcine merchant stood up from the table where his hexagrams lay before him. He took out a broad knife, uttered a loud cry of anguish, and plunged it into his own heart. His dark red blood immediately soaked his shirt front. For an instant, his face registered panic, then peace—and then he sank to the floor and died.

The other petitioners stared for a moment, then returned to their own meditations. The fate of the merchant did not concern them. One or two of the porcines standing on the edges of the square, however, wandered over to study the hexagrams that the fallen merchant had left on his table. The shook their heads and shrugged, then wandered away. The hexagrams themselves presented a neutral face; the petitioners gave them meaning by the questions they asked. Shortly, several novices in brown robes entered the temple and removed the body. Others stayed behind just long enough to clean the blood stains from the stone.

“Does that happen all the time?” asked Lee.

Sawyer shook his head. “No. I've seen worse.”

“Well, now what do we do?” Lee turned to Sawyer. “I don't consider suicide a viable option.”

“Neither do I,” Sawyer agreed. He took Lee by the arm. “Now, we walk. Around the edges of the square. Six steps at a time. Then we stop for a count of six. Then six more steps and we stop again. When we've completed six circuits, we turn around and go the other way. When we've completed six circuits in reverse, we leave.”

“I see,” said Lee. “And this will solve our problems?”

“No, you don't see anything at all,” said Sawyer. “Let me finish telling you how it works. As you walk around the square, you meet people—”

As if to demonstrate the point, they found themselves stopped in front of a huge porcine woman. Lee wanted to hold his nose against the unpleasant smell of her sweat. The woman had a small female child with her. She looked at Sawyer and Lee with a sour expression. “I need to find a buyer for this child; she won't obey. Can you help me—?”

The two men looked at the child; it had a sad bedraggled expression. They both felt sorry for it, but neither wanted to assume the responsibility either. They shook their heads. The porcine woman snorted in disgust, spattering them with a fine spray, and waddled past, dragging the child by the arm.

“As I said,” continued Sawyer, as if nothing untoward had happened. “As you walk around the square, you meet people. Sooner or later, you'll meet someone who can give you assistance. Or you'll assist someone else with his or her problem, and out of that, you may find the solution you need.”

“And you believe that?”

Sawyer shrugged. “Whether I believe or not, it still works.” To Lee's look, he added. “Trackers learn a lot of different things. You learn to use whatever works.”

Lee looked unconvinced.

Sawyer added, “I had a wild childhood. I ran away once. I lived with a group of Trancers—until Finn caught up with me and took me home. I got curious about how he found me. He told me. I told him how he could have done it better. So he made me a partner. He never asked me to change. He just asked me to use what I had. I figured, what the hell, I liked solving interesting problems. I guess, I had more luck than I realized. Finn found me before I got in too deep.”

Lee considered that for a bit. They completed their first circuit in silence. They exchanged greetings with one or two other petitioners, but neither they nor the others pressed for further conversation. Finally, Lee said, “I always knew my family. We had brothers everywhere, all ages. I never had to worry about my identity—I had already stepped into it. You have a relationship with your brother that I never had with any of mine—oh, don't get me wrong. A clone-family has its own closeness; but the closeness grows out of a common identity. All members share the same Self. You and your brother, you had to create closeness for yourselves; you could just as easily have chosen not to. I find it difficult to . . . understand. But I don't disparage it. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” said Sawyer. “You do me honor with your words. I hope someday I can return the honor a thousandfold.”

“Thank you,” said Lee.

They walked on in silence, occasionally looking around at the other pilgrims, studying them and wondering which if any might present themselves as a possible solution to their problem. “Y'know,” said Lee. “I find this interesting, but I don't think it'll help us. I really don't believe in coincidence. And I don't think we should either expect it or depend it.”

Abruptly, they came face to face with an older woman—human; she looked terribly afraid. She wore a green robe and had stringy gray hair. She had no shoes on her blackened feet. She looked haggard, as if she had not rested in days. She held a bulky travel sack close to her chest. She looked from Sawyer to Lee and back again. “Can you help me? I have . . . a method for madness.”

Lee started to shake his head and move on, but Sawyer held him back. “You haven't eaten, have you?” he said to the woman.

She shook her head. “I don't remember when I ate last. It doesn't matter. I've come such a long way. The Informant said to come here. For three days I've walked the circuit, but no one can hear me. I think—” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Some people have fed me. Will you help me?”

“We'll feed you,” Sawyer said abruptly. “Say nothing else. Come with us now.” He and Lee guided the woman quietly out of the temple and into the shelter of a nearby cafe. Sawyer signaled a servitor and ordered a pitcher of cold refreshing juice, plates of gentle-berries, savories, and other soft foods. He tended the woman solicitously. “I think we can help you,” he said. “And you can help us.”

Lee stared at him in puzzlement the whole time. Finally, he leaned across to Sawyer and whispered, “Why do you do this? We didn't come here to feed beggars.”

“Open your eyes and take another look, dummy,” Sawyer snapped back. “This woman has just answered our prayers.”

She had served the TimeBinder of Burihatin-14 almost all of her life. Three separate bodies had worn the TimeBand during the period of her service, but she served the TimeBinder regardless, not the person.

One night, the TimeBinder had shaken her awake and given her desperate, but precise instructions. “Azra, tonight you must perform the single most important task of your entire life. Take this box. Go to StarPort. You'll have to walk. No one will find you if take the old Superstition Trail. Stay away from settlements. Don't talk to anyone. I'll give you a list of names and passwords. Memorize them. If you can't find any of these people at StarPort, then go to the Informants and tell them this: The TimeBinder has freed the TimeBand. Tell them that the ‘Band must not fall into the hands of the Regency and that the ‘Binders will repay them handsomely for their assistance in this service. Ask them to help you get the TimeBand to the Gathering. If necessary, open the box and show them what you carry. But don't allow anyone to put the TimeBand on. If they do, you must kill them. No one must put the ‘Band on except someone chosen by the other TimeBinders. Do you understand all this?”

Azra nodded sleepily.

“Repeat it back to me.”

She did so, stumbling only once in her recitation.

Satisfied, the TimeBinder hugged her and kissed her. “Promise me that you will do this. I cannot begin to tell you the importance of what you do. I must know that you will not fail.”

Azra straightened, as if offended. “You do not need my promise. I have served the TimeBand for three times as long as you have worn it. If you think to doubt me now, then you shouldn't trust me with this task or any other—regardless of its importance.”

The TimeBinder nodded, as if shamed. “I apologize, Azra. My fear overwhelmed my wisdom. Here, take this and go.”

The TimeBinder took off the headband then, placed it in the wooden box, and handed it across to Azra. “Go now, before either of us stops to consider how impossible a task I have given you.”

Azra dressed quickly. She took down her travel sack, placed a knife, a canteen, as much hardbread, cheese, and sausage into it as she could carry, took the wooden case the TimeBinder gave her and two small purses of coins, and walked out of the TimeBinder's citadel, knowing that she would never return.

She walked more than 300 kilometers to StarPort. It had taken her almost a month to cover that distance. Nobody stopped her on her journey. Occasionally, she had seen other travelers on the road, but she kept away from them, even to the point of hiding in the tall weeds when they passed. Once, Dragons had stopped her; they took her sausage and her money; they did not examine the contents of the wooden box. The TimeBinder had predicted correctly. Nobody would suspect an old woman who looked like a beggar.

The latter part of her journey, she'd had to survive on roots and berries and the occasional small animal, which she roasted by the side of the road. She'd drank ditch water and chewed on bits of hide to stave off the pangs of her own desperate hunger. When she reached StarPort, she could find none of the people whose names she had memorized. They had all disappeared in the Dragons' pogrom. Despairing, she hid in alleys and lived on garbage. She went to the Informants. For a week, they told her nothing. Then, one of them had told her to say her prayers, and she had spent three days walking the circuit of the House of Random Happenstance.

She told none of this to Sawyer and Lee. Instead, she drank and ate hungrily while they watched her thoughtfully. She did not know if she could trust these two strangers, but the hunger gnawed at her belly like a rat. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten this well. She didn't think it would violate her promise to take care of her own welfare. After all, how could she keep her promise if she didn't refresh herself periodically?

Her eyes darted from one man to the other—from the tracker to the clone. She didn't know these men, but she knew their type. If the Dragons found them, they'd kill them—and anyone with them.

She had already made up her mind. As soon as she finished eating, she would bolt from this place. She already knew a hundred different places to hide in the rat's warren of Pig Town. She knew a thousand different ways to get to her hiding places. If they followed, she'd elude them.

Lee started to whisper to Sawyer, but Sawyer shushed him. Instead, he turned to Azra and spoke gently. “I see that you've come a long way. I see that you carry the weight of hunger and thirst as well as the heavier burden of . . . a method for madness. I think the time has come for you to lay down that burden?”

For the first time, Azra looked up expectantly. “Why do you think that?”

“I see Dragons everywhere. I think that we will soon see . . . a time for treason.”

Azra studied the plate before her without looking up, but her voice took on a harder edge. “And if you predict right,” she asked slowly. “What then?”

“We all need to learn where our courage lives. Indeed, I believe that you can help us. I believe that you carry . . . a case for courage.”

Azra's eyes widened. “Who told you to say that?”

Sawyer glanced around the plaza. He saw no one suspicious near, but he still didn't trust their surroundings. He leaned across the table and whispered, “We have an acquaintance who wears a most interesting piece of jewelry.” Pretending to straighten his hair, Sawyer brushed his fingers from one temple to the other, as if in illustration. “He's come a long way, looking for an old friend. But the old friend has disappeared. Perhaps you might have some information?”