Hederick The Theocrat (11 page)

Norah continued to reach a knobby hand toward the High Theocrat. “You look awful, Your
Worship, if you don't mind my sayin'. I could make up an herb charm for you, a tea or
poultice, say a few special words over't. My mother used to make 'em, and my grandmam
afore her. It'll fix you right up, sure.” She smiled reassuringly. “A bit of harmless
family magic, y'see.” Her hand picked at his sleeve. “Magic! Witch!” Hederick cried out,
recoiling. “You are Ancilla! You are the witch in mortal form.” “Ancilla?” Bewilderment
crossed the woman's features. “Who? But I told you, m'name is...” The flat of Hederick's
hand struck the side of Norah's startled face. Her basket soared over the stair railing. A
dish shattered. She pitched backward and careened headlong down a flight of stairs to the
temple floor. There were a few groans, a luckless attempt to rise, then... nothing.
Hederick waited on the stairs. The double doors banged open under the pulpit. Dahos
hurried into the room and stopped short. Two temple guards, arrayed in their ceremonial
blue and gold, followed. “What has happened?” the high priest asked, alarmed. “Your
Worship, you are harmed?” “No, Dahos,” Hederick said. The tall priest knelt over the
crumpled figure. Large hands moved deftly. Dahos loosened the woman's clothing and chafed
her hands. He gently tapped her face, then bent close to see if she still breathed.
Finally he sat back and sighed. Blood stained his face and robe. “She is dead.” Dahos
bowed his head and began the Prayer of the Passing Spirit. “Great Omalthea, accept the
commitment of this guiltless soul...” “Stop,” Hederick snapped. “The hag was evil. She
deserves no final blessing.” Dahos's head shot up. “Your Worship?” Hederick made his way
past the high priest, moving toward the door. “She was a witch, Dahos,” he spat over his
shoulder. “A witch?” Horror showed on Dahos's face. He edged away from the corpse. “This
is Norah Ap Orat,” he said. “She baked bread and blended special teas to sell in the
marketplace. We were one of her customers, Your Worship!” “Be quiet.” Hederick replied.
“Have the guards remove her. Burn herno, better yet, have her fed to the materbill; the
creature likes carrion.” Hederick watched the high priest as a pair of guards hefted the
woman's slight body and bore it out of the room. The High Theocrat felt the strength of
leadership rekindle within him. “Personally oversee the destruction of any of this witch's
wares in our stores,” he commanded. “And order all who have partaken of her wares to
undergo immediate emetics and begin two days of prayer and fasting.” A thought occurred to
him. “Was her tea served at my table, Dahos?” The priest shook his head. “To the
novitiates, mostly.” “A week of prayer and fasting, then. Tell them immediately, Dahos.”
As the high priest rose, Hederick stopped him. “Wait. Bathe first. And change your robe.
It disgusts me.” Dahos nodded mutely. “You are dismissed,” Hederick finally said, and the
high priest hurriedly left the chamber through the doors beneath the pulpit. Alone again,
Hederick glanced upward and around the Great Chamber. Statues of Omalthea and the
pantheons stood behind the top tier of benches. There was no sound, no sign of Ancilla.
The sun was sinking low. It was the sweetest, holiest time of the day. Usually. Hederick.
With no warning, the thing stood before him. Part lizard, part dragon, part woman, part
smoke, its shape shifted ceaselessly. Whatever Hederick tried to focus on melted and was
no longer there, or became something else. The only way to see it, apparently, was out of
the corner of one's eye. He did not doubt that if he reached out to touch Ancilla's
apparition, his hand would pass right through. The shadow Ancilla held in its filmy claw a
lance the length of a man. The lance was real enough, and the monster seemed to have
strength enough to wield it. The lance began as green and purple mist and solidified to
terrifying sharpness just under the High Theocrat's breastbone. The tip of the lance
severed the fibers of his robe, but stopped short of

pricking him. If Hederick moved at all, if he shouted for help, he knew the projectile
would pierce him through his heart before anyone could rescue him. Before, the Presence
had appeared as smoke; this was a more solid emanation. “You are forbidden here,” he
whispered. “I blessed this chamber in the name of Sauvay and Omalthea themselves.”
Sauvay's Diamond Dragon has failed to protect me here, he thought in panic. What have I
done to offend the New Gods?

Do you remember the Garnet Mountains, Hederick? He dared not move. The creature's whispery
voice continued. They stood to the east of our village. Sunrises in Garlund village were
nothing to boast of, but we had sunsets to inspire the gods. I see you continue that
tradition here. When Hederick again refused to answer, the sibilant voice resumed.
Remember, little brother? We were refugees. Con, our father. Venessi, our mother. A
handful of lost souls from Caergoth who believed that a new god had spoken to our parents.
Do you remember the tales of that time, Hederick? “I forget nothing,” Hederick muttered.
“Ever.” Alas, I have watched you for years, and I believe you have forgotten much that
matters. Hederick realized the numbing terror that the Presence originally inspired in him
had lessened. “It is time for my evening revelations, lizard.” He turned his back on the
Presence and made his way toward the pulpit stairs. Will she kill me? he thought. He
risked a glance back. The Presence was gone. Dahos stood at the double doors. He had
donned a fresh robe, as ordered, and waited for Hederick. Novitiates were making their way
up the aisles. The audience would be seated before the Seekers began the nightly
procession. Hederick hurried to join his high priest. Tonight, as always, he would
prophesy for the New Gods.

People crammed the benches, knelt in the aisles, and squatted on the floor of the Great
Chamber. Children sat on parents' laps, but did not chatter or fuss. Everyone watched the
High Theocrat as he busied himself in the pulpit above. Hederick sipped yet another
chalice of mead and examined the sinners below him. The crowd sat mesmerized, like fat
blueberries, ready for plucking in late summer.

The High Theocrat imagined himself harvesting souls a handful for Omalthea, a bucketful
for Sauvay, a basketful for Hederick.... He resisted the urge to giggle. Truly the mead
was working miracles tonight. Hederick swayed in the pulpit, lightly touching the Diamond
Dragon. All was going well.

The High Theocrat had delivered the greeting, encouraging Omalthea and Sauvay and those of
the pantheons to enter the hallowed ground of the Great Chamber. He had already downed two
goblets of mead ... or was it more? His head was swimming devoutly.

He'd gone on to exhort the crowd to abandon sin, to reject magic and spellcasters, to
ferret out and punish all who continued to show fealty to the Old Gods. And, especially,
to report the sins of their neighbors. The crowd had followed the novitiates' lead
admirably, nodding when they did, weeping when two neophytes burst into noisy tears of
repentance, and surging forward when Hederick issued the call to the converted: “Come to
the altar. Receive the blessings of the New Gods. Join with them, O Faithful Ones.”

“Join with them.” The priests, led by Dahos, echoed the response. Converts moved their
lips: “We come to the altar of the Seekers, O New Gods, to receive the blessings and to
mingle our wealth with yours.” They presented their offeringscoins or precious stones
wrapped in parchment and purchased at exorbitant prices from the Seeker peddlers who
roamed Solace and the rest of Krynn. The peddlers, in turn, handed over most of the
proceeds to the Seeker organization. As always, High Priest Dahos handled his offices with
aplomb. He looked each convert in the eye, and remembered to follow the sipping of the
mead with the welcoming handshake. “The eyes of the New Gods smile upon you,” Dahos
intoned to each penitent, directing them toward the two priests who would retrieve the
chalice, take down each individual's name, and receive the pledge of further money and
goods for the holy cause. Hederick looked down upon the winding line of would-be Seekers
and swallowed more mead, always tilting the glass first toward the marble-and-gilt statues
of the members of the pantheons that stood by the slit windows at the upper back of the
chamber: Omaltheatall and forbidding, with an unsheathed broadsword in one hand;
Sauvaybroad-chested, with flowing hair and implacable visage; Feraepale and womanly, one
hand stroking a doe and the other cradling a basket of grain; Cadithalthe laughing god,
hands on hips and head thrown back; and Zeshunearthy and sensuous. Excited signs from the
two priests told Hederick that people were far exceeding the usual gifts this evening.
There was a sense of tension and excitement in the air. “Nothing like an execution to
increase the pledges,” he murmured. All of this was for the glory of the New Gods, of
course. The Highseekers Council be damned, Hederick thought, momentarily considering the
Seekers council in Haven that, theoretically at least, ran the holy order. I have more
wisdom and holiness than that whole lot combined, he thought. Now the people had returned
to the benches and were watching the High Theocrat intently. They knew what came next: the
revelations. The priests doubled the incense and began to drone. As always, Hederick's
first words were barely above a murmur, a private conversation between supplicant and
gods. “Omalthea, be with us, who adore you,” Hederick whispered. “Likewise Sauvay. Bring
with you the Greater and Lesser Pantheons. May all New Gods know that I, Hederick, am here
to serve as your dutiful voice. Devoted am I to you, to the order, and to your work in
this world. I join my will to yours, O New Gods, secure in the knowledge that you will
never betray us as the Old Gods did.” His voice grew in strength as he repeated the
invocation. His eyes closed. The divine ones approved of him. He, Hederick, was their
chosen vessel on Krynn. All eyes were upon him. Hederick infused his voice with throbbing
passion. “Omalthea of the Greater Pantheon and mother of us all, be with us, these who
adore and exalt you.” “So be it,” Dahos replied. “Likewise Sauvay, Fatherlord of the
Lesser Pantheon. Bring with you tonight your hierarchy.” “So be it.” Dahos's voice gained
power. Hederick felt the strength of the New Gods surge through him. His head began to
drum. Exultation rose, and his voice thundered. “May all New Gods know that I, Hederick,
High Theocrat of Solace, builder and leader of Erolydon, am here to serve as your voice on
Krynn.” “So be it.” “Devoted am Ito you, to the order, and to your sacred work on this
world.” “So be it.” “I give up my will to further yours, O New Gods,” Hederick intoned.
“I, and all those in this temple blessed by you, stand secure in the knowledge that the
New Gods will never betray us.” “So be it.” “The New Gods plan no Cataclysm, no vile
abandonment of their children on Krynn!” the High Theocrat shouted. “They are true
parents! We, your Seekers, are secure in you, our gods!” “So be it!”

Hederick opened his eyes slightly, peering around the Great Chamber. Several novitiates
were rolling on the floor and crying out. Others had begun to dance cautiously in the
crowded aisles, arms above their heads. The novitiates were singing an old Seeker hymn:
"We are the Seekers.

We seek the New Gods. We give our souls to the true gods, Who will not abandon us.“ One
priest pounded a large wooden drum trimmed with steel and silver. Hederick's heart seemed
to beat in time with the pounding. He felt young and powerful, tall and vital as a
vallenwood. The priests joined in. The Great Chamber rang with a chorus at least two
centuries old: ”Centuris shirak nex des. Centuris shirak nex des. Centuris shirak nex des.
We seek the truth of the New Gods.“ ”I invoke you, Omalthea,“ Hederick shouted over the
voices. ”I invoke you, Sauvay, once her consort!“ ”Centuris shirak nex des.“ ”I call to
your daughter, Ferae, issue of Omalthea and Sauvay!“ The converts had joined in. Some of
the newcomers couldn't keep from sobbing, Hederick noted through slit-ted eyelids.
”Centuris shirak nex des.“ ”I cry out to you, Cadithal, consort of Ferae! Share your
gifts. Offer us wealth!“ ”Centuris shirak nex des.“ ”Come to us, Zeshun, queen of the
night!“ ”We seek the truth of the New Gods.“ ”Be with us now, New Gods, true gods! Speak
to the faithful! I, Hederick, High Theocrat of Solace, await your healing wisdom!“ The
crowd sang the hymn again and again. Finally the room was still, its occupants waiting in
an expectant, breathless hush. Hederick pressed his hand to his chest until the diamond
figure cut into his flesh. Be with me now, Sauvay, he prayed. Hederick took his time. He
stared pointedly at one convert after another, holding each one's gaze until he felt the
person grow frightened, then he frowned and moving on to the next victim. When the tension
was at the breaking point, the New Gods would speak through him. The revelations would
commence. This had never failed. Hederick beheld a young woman. She flushed deeply but
dared not look away. He felt himself draw power from her. Then suddenly Omalthea, not
Sauvay, was upon him, the first of the divine visitors tonight, filling him with her
strength. Hederick closed his eyes. He sensed, without seeing, the woman collapse against
the young man at her side as the High Theocrat's eyelids fluttered shut. ”Omalthea,
arbiter of all virtue, is with us.“ To begin with the Motherlord of the Pantheonswhat
promise that held for the night! Hederick rocked back on his heels, smiling up at the
ceiling. An auspicious beginning. Then he frowned again. ”Omalthea is displeased. For some
of you talk of virtuebut talk more than you care to practice.“ Hederick suddenly looked
again at the young woman. She was pretty, with a face and form that surely attracted the
attentions of many men. Now her face was colorless, lips parted. Seeing Hederick's gaze,
her husband looked at her with horror. ”Some of you sin greatly ... and regularly ... and
happily,“ Hederick intoned. ”To sin against virtue is to blaspheme Omalthea herself. Truly
the Motherlord is angered.“ Hederick touched his chin: the signal. Dahos, out of sight,
touched a flame to a hair-thin line of string. The flame coursed on its track beneath the
aisle stairs, turned at the highest step, and shot toward the statue of Omalthea that
graced the top of the amphitheater. ”Omalthea, be with us!"

At that instant, an explosion rocked the room. Red smoke billowed from the base of
Omalthea's statue. Smelling of burned metal, the cloud spread over the room. The young
woman gave a cry and fainted. Her husband let her slip unchecked to the marble floor.
Smoke and noise did wonders for increasing people's faith, Hederick thought. It was all
perfectly acceptable in the service of the New Gods. The people demanded the spectacular.

The explosion over, he let his gaze rove toward a man in the first row whose face wore a
decidedly self-satisfied expression. The man, probably a merchant, wore silk hose,
billowing silk shirt, and a fine leather doublet tooled with griffins; the splendor of his
outfit matched the arrogance of his expression. Hederick pressed the dragon to his breast
and waited for another spirit to inspire him Cadithal's, this time.

“Cadithal, God of Wealth, is with us. He is pleased at our generosity this evening.”
Hederick's voice was practically a whisper, yet the room was so still that every word was
audible, even to the last row, he knew. The smug-looking man was smiling and nodding, chin
outthrust. “And yet...” Hederick drew out the words as he stared at the sinner. The man's
smile faded.

“And yet. .. Cadithal, consort of Ferae, Goddess of Growing Things, is unhappy tonight.
For there are some here ...” Hederick let the suggestion trail off meaningfully. He stood
in the gods' stead now; he was imposing and terrifyingand godlike. “There are some tonight
who remain miserly, who think the New Gods can be fooled by a 'considerable' gift measured
in mere steel coins, but a gift that in reality amounts to a pittance of what ought to be
contributed.”

The well-dressed man whom Hederick had targeted slouched as if trying to make himself
smaller. “What a cruel, cruel joke to play upon the godsand upon one's own soul,” Hederick
said softly, “and upon the souls of one's family.” Suddenly the man was back before the
pair of priests at the side table, speaking urgently and emptying his pockets. Hederick
looked around, even more pleased than before. Which god would guide him next? Which
onlooker would he draw power from? Then he spied her. Ancilla's Presence occupied an aisle
seat in the top row.

No one but Hederick appeared aware of her. The High Theocrat lost confidence momentarily,
and the Diamond Dragon slipped from his grasp. He heard the artifact clang to the floor.
The lizard-woman in the Great Chamber sat up immediately, eyes wide. In an instant, she
vanished from the bench and reappeared on the pulpit next to Hederick, apparently visible
only to him. She reached for the glittering artifact.

And her clawed hand went right through it. Ancilla tried again, with the same result. For
a moment, sister and brother locked gazes. Hers brimmed with frustration, his with drunken
joy. Then the High Theocrat reached out to reclaim the Diamond Dragon. Unfortunately, the
mead made his brain swim, and he inadvertently knocked the artifact down the stairs.
Hederick took a step toward the staircase. But at the moment his outstretched hand brushed
against the mist of a scaly body, panic assailed him. The Presence was chanting softly.
Despite the terror, Hederick fought to get control of himself. “Sauvay, come to me,” he
pleaded softly. Sauvay, once Omalthea's consort, now god of vengeance, surely would dash
this lizard- woman to bits on the floor of the chamber. “Sauvay, attend me.” Hederick
forced his thoughts away from Ancilla's Presence. “Sauvay, stand with me!” he cried. He
prayed desperately. His mind's eye still saw the green orbs of the Presence. The red smoke
had dissipated, but the metallic odor remained. The thing chanted monotonously. Then, at
last, Hederick felt the reassuring touch of the gods. Sauvay had arrived at Hederick's
behest and now demanded his turn to speak. It must be Sauvay. The High Theocrat forced
himself to stop thinking about Ancilla. The revelation was everything now. Ancilla could
not harm him during the revelation. “I dreamed last night,” Hederick whispered. Each word
fell shimmering into the amphitheater like a glass bead dropping into a lake. But
something was wrong.

Always before, Hederick had known that deep down, on some level, he controlled his
wordseven though the gods provided guidance from some distance. But this time he lost
control. He stood atop his vaulted pulpit like a gasping carp, words erupting out of the
depths of his belly. Was this, then, what a true revelation felt like? V\fere the New Gods
physically directing him?

“I had a dream last night,” he blurted. “I dreamed I was in my parents' house in Garlund.”
He'd nevernever revealed his roots. Garlund didn't even exist anymore. “I was in the root
cellar. It was damp. We lived near the river, and the cellar was always damp.” Someone
giggled; Hederick looked around the room, mouth agape. He could almost hear the priests
wondering aloud. The High Theocrat in a root cellar? And where was this Garlund?

Indeed, Hederick had had such a dream, between the executions of Mendis Vakon and Crealora
Senternal. But what purpose could the New Gods have in exposing him to ridicule like this?
The High Theocrat prayed to Sauvay, but no relief came. Just the voice, so much like
Hederick's own, spilling forth, babbling.

“I was alone in the cellar,” the voice boomed. “It was dark, but I could see a crack of
light. There was a door somewhere. There'd always been a door, but now I couldn't find it.
They'd moved it! Venessi and Con, my parents, had hidden the door. On the opposite side of
the cellar, they'd opened a crack to provide air.”