Hederick The Theocrat (2 page)

*****

The boy saw Garlund as though through Tarscenian's eyes as they approached it early the
next day, Hederick perched on the big man's shoulders. The village rose from the lush
prairie like an abscess. Hungry-looking people stared from windows and doorways. Venessi
appeared in the square and halted, struck as dumb by this towering visitor as the common
villagers were. She made a gesture for the stranger to halt, and Hederick suddenly
realized how short his mother was. Of course, he told himself, wouldn't fate enjoy the
joke of him, the son, taking after tiny Venessi, whereas Ancilla had inherited Con's
height, strength, and good looks?

Venessi's faded blond hair, cropped just below her ears, waved in uncertain curls around
her round face. Her eyes, which appeared green in some light, were frigid blue in the
early morning. Hederick saw in Venessi's face the same round nose and protruding eyes that
he bore. “That's your mother?” the priest asked beneath his breath. “The round one with
the nervous hands?” “That's her.”

“I'd certainly not take her on unarmed,” Tarscenian said sotto voce. Hederick waited for
Venessi to order the attack. Could even a man such as Tarscenian stand long against the
united villagers? The priest had spent a few moments earlier in special prayer, muttering
rhymes and tracing figures on the ground with colored sand. He seemed to think that would
evoke his Seeker gods to protect him. But Hederick pulled at the stranger's hair.
“Tarscenian, maybe we should ...” “Hush, lad. I'm well-armed, and with more than a sword.”
Tarscenian's pack was too small to hold more than food, bedroll, and perhaps a small hand
weapon or two. “A knife?” “Ah, you disappoint me. I am a priest; I have my gods at my
back. Follow my lead.” Tarscenian's head swung to the left. “That's the building where the
precious icons are stored? The stone-and- daub hovel?” “The prayer house.” “It is locked?”
“Only from the inside, when someone is within. It's for the use of the common folk. Mother
prays in her own house.” The priest grunted. Then the convivial Tarscenian of the night
before was back. “Greetings, people of Garlund!” he boomed. “I bring you joyous news! I am
Tarscenian, Seeker priest. I have news of wondrous gods who can ease your lives of strife
and trouble and promise you immortality! ”What a splendid community, and what pious
residents. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to visit with you and bring you the word
of the New Gods.“ ”Stranger,“ Venessi said coldly, ”you are not welcome here. Nor is this
boy.“ Tarscenian stepped back as if slapped. Anger colored his face. ”You are Venessithe
one who dared to banish this brave lad? This boy who last evening helped me beat off a
deadly predator thrice his size? Truly he walks in the grace of the New Godsyet you reward
him with banish- ment? Don't you care about your soul, Venessi?“ Tarscenian stood taller.
His voice was so deep that it growled like thunder. ”Have you no idea how much youand
these poor folk who have followed you in innocent trusthave sinned in the eyes of the New
Gods? Do you intend to make that sin even greater?“ ”Kill them,“ Venessi snarled to the
villagers. Hederick closed his eyes. Certainly Tarscenian could not hold off so many armed
villagers. No doubt the priest was afraidhe was mumbling distractedly. The villagers had
formed a ring around Tarscenian, Hederick, and Venessi, but they had not yet made their
move. Hesitantly, Hederick opened his eyes again. ”Kill them!“ Venessi screamed.
”Tiolanthe orders it!“ The men and women shuffled their feet. They exchanged nervous
looks, yet none dared act. When the Seeker priest finally spoke, his voice was gentle.
”Good people of Garlund, has Venessi ever shown you a sign from this supposed god,
Tiolanthe?"

No answer came from the villagers, but Venessi shouted, “I order you to slay them!”
Tarscenian ignored her. “Has this Tiolanthe appeared to any of you? Has he given you a
personal sign of his regard? Have you any evidence that he is more than this deluded
woman's imagination?” Furtive looks passed between husbands and wives. Venessi's face grew
livid in her rage. “Begone, stranger!” she shrieked. “And take that sinner of a boy with
you.” “I challenge you, heretic,” Tarscenian said, facing her anger with calm confidence.
“My Seeker gods demand a duel. You speak for this Tiolanthe. Do you consent to a duel?”
Venessi, the paleness of her face giving way to mottled pink and red, gawked around the
circle of villagers. “Gar-lunders, you are ensorceled!” she cried. “He is a witch! You
have pledged your lives to me and my god!” “I'm no witch, and no mage, either, Venessi,”
Tarscenian responded. “I am only a priest for the real gods. Do you accept my challenge?
My gods will act through me, yours through you. Or would you prefer to concede defeat now
and allow these poor folk to begin working immediately to save their tarnished souls?”
“Tiolanthe, destroy him!” Venessi raised her fleshy arms, then gestured toward Tarscenian
with a flourish. “Destroy them both'.” The observers took in a breath and held itall but
Tarscenian. He cocked his head like a bird viewing the curious movements of an insect.
After a time, Venessi lowered her arms and smoothed her dress. She looked flushed but
stubborn. “My god speaks when he chooses, not when heretics demand,” she said primly.
Tarscenian set Hederick upon the ground without comment. The priest held his hands skyward
and shouted, “Omalthea the Motherlord! Sauvay of the blessed revenge! Cadithal, Ferae,
Zeshun! Bring hope to this village! The people here long to know you, to feel your
approbation. If you are loving gods, give them the sign they so desperately need!” He
swung his hands down and out to the sides. Fire danced around him in a ring, leaping
between him and the watchers. “Show them your power!” Tarscenian demanded. “Show them that
you, unlike their false god, are not afraid to demonstrate your force to those who would
believe.” The fire ebbed and surged. Then it vaulted over the heads of the people and
encircled them. Flame crackled. Tarscenian gestured, and the blaze died. “The Seeker gods
are prepared to accept you, people of Garlund. Renounce this false deity.” “No!” Sweat
beaded Venessi's red face as she hurled a desperate warning at the villagers. “This is a
test, you fools! Can't you see that as soon as you accept this cheat's words, you are
through? Has my work been for naught? Have you learned nothing?” The people seemed barely
to hear her. Tarscenian said quietly, “My New Gods have provided further proof,
Gar-lunders. Open your storehouses. At my words, they are full.” “But they are empty,” one
man faltered. “We've been rationing----” “No longer. Seeker gods provide for their
faithful. Open your storehouses, people of Garlund. Behold your new riches.” Venessi's
eyes bulged, and she made a choking sound. As always when she was having a vision, she
fell to her knees and groveled in the dust. “Tiolanthe, help me!” she cried. But this
time, the villagers paid her no heed. They plucked the keys from her waist, unlocked the
swinging doors of the storehouses, and gaped at enough food to feed the village ten times
over. “Praise the New Gods!” cried one scrawny woman. The crowd cheered and surged
forward, filling their arms, aprons, and pockets with much-needed foodstuffs. Tarscenian
directed his next words to Venessi. His gray eyes were sympathetic. “You may keep your
house, Venessi. I will take up residence in the prayer house. My duty is to tutor the
villagers in the true religion. Especially brave, wise Hederick.” He patted the boy's
shoulder. “Hederick will be released from field work. He is too frail for coarse labor,
anyway. His talents are more cerebral. He will be my assistant.” Venessi watched with eyes
like stones. Silently swearing retribution on the evil child who had

brought about her downfall, she returned to her house. She remained there, closeted behind
locked doors, for four days, while the grateful Garlunders feasted and celebrated.

*****

“... and Sauvay, Zeshun, Cadithal, Ferae, and Omal-thea,” Hederick finished, anxiously
watching Tarscenian's face for sign of approval. The priest nodded. “You're a quick
learner, sonyou know both pantheons and their histories by heart, and your prayers are
wonders of rhetoric. Your gift of words will stand you in good stead, should you ever
consider joining the priestly orders.” Tarscenian reached for a wooden tray that held a
half-eaten loaf of bread and a porcelain tub filled with soft butter. “Another portion of
this blessed bread?” he asked.

Hederick nodded eagerly, grateful for the words of praise and the attention he received
from Tarscenian. The boy, who had seldom known kindness before the arrival of the Seeker
priest, had become the man's near-constant attendant, caring for his quarters and
assisting him at the services the villagers willingly attended.

The priest had transformed the dilapidated prayer house into a home. A braided rug
concealed the dirt floor, and long, flat cushions lay on the pair of benches. A
tile-topped table held the tray and bread. A brazier heated the room, for the temperature
grew brisk at night, although the days were still stifling. Tarscenian led daily worship
just outside the prayer house, much as Con had years ago, but Tarscenian's performances
lacked Con's wrath and threats of doom, holding instead the promise of full bellies and
better times.

If Tarscenian were the messenger of gods, he was the most genial messenger the village had
seen. Certainly, he lectured on sin and redemption, but he also instructed the villagers
on how to brew ale and urged them to drink it with each meal. It was a gift from the New
Gods to aid the digestion, he said. He sang songs until the shutters rattled. And he drew
children to him with the enthusiasm of his embraces and the freedom with which he
dispensed sweets from the deep pockets of his brown robe.

In addition, he ordered one of the villagers, Jeniv Synd, to make Hederick some new
leggings and a loose over-shirt with decorations of embroidery and shiny stones, endearing
himself even further to the impressionable boy. And Tarscenian performed miracles
dailyinnocent-looking tricks that ended in a scarlet explosion or in a rabbit appearing in
his cupped hands. He told villagers these miracles were signs that the Seeker gods
approved of the Garlunders.

One way to impress the Seeker gods, Tarscenian reminded everyone, was to be generous with
the religion's holy men and women. As gifts began to pile up in file prayer house,
Hederick grew worried. He had nothing to give of his own but his new clothes. Tarscenian
ordered feasts held regularly to fete the New Gods. For the first time, the people of the
village began to lose their gaunt appearance. Yet not all the villagers, it seemed, were
happy. Those who had been favorites of Venessi would grumble whenever Tarscenian was out
of earshot.

“It's not right,” Jeniv Synd told her friend, Kel'ta, as they watched Tarscenian lead
evening services one night. Hederick, leaning against the side of his mother's house, out
of sight of the two women, caught the words. Kel'ta nodded at Jeniv. “Lady Venessi kneels
in prayer from dawn to dusk. She never wavers in her faith. She is a true holy woman.”

“This Tarscenian says she is a fake, but he suffers her to remain in Garlund,” Jeniv
muttered. “Were she seer of a false god, wouldn't he expel her? Her holiness rebukes his
tricks and lies.” Hederick started to speak out in indignation, then thought better of it.
There were other ways to deal with those who spoke against Tarscenian and the New Gods.
That night at midnight, when even Venessi had left off praying and retired, he sneaked out
of the village and, by the light of the moons, dug in the prairie soil. Even after ten
years, Hederick could remember Ancilla's voice as she held a bulb before his face and
warned, "Never, never eat this, Hederick. It looks like an onion, but it is

poison. It's the macaba bulb. Don't even touch it!" Her injunction had lingered all these
years. Now Hederick had need of this poison bulb. He made little sound as he crept into
the Synd house, keeping to the deepest shadows. He went to the pantry and selected a jar
of spicea common one, but not too common. There was no hurry. It would be eaten
eventually. It would be easier to maintain an air of innocence if Hederick did not know
exactly when death would strike.

The next day, Tarscenian ordered two huge wagons built. Four men headed west a week later
to sell the best of Garlund's wares in Caergoth. “The harvest is fast upon us,” the priest
said over the protests of Venessi's dwindling band of supporters. “We'll refill the
storehouses. Garlund needs money, and it is time that the village gave to the Seeker
church. I ordered the men to present half the proceeds to the church in Caergoth.”

The dust from the pair of wagons had no sooner settled on the horizon than a scream came
from the central village. Jeniv's friend, Kel'ta, stood in the doorway of the Synd house
and bellowed until her face was ruddy. “Jeniv is dead!” Jeniv's husband, Santrev, pushed
past Kel'ta and rushed to his wife's side. Jeniv's body was contorted, her face twisted
beneath tangled blond hair. The skin about her mouth was discolored, as though flames had
touched her lips. Venessi shoved past them all, fell to her knees, and began to pray to
Tiolanthe. Half the crowd joined her; the other half gawked and exclaimed.

Tarscenian touched Kel'ta's shoulder. “What happened?” he asked. “I don't know,” she
wailed, and pulled away. “We spent the morning at my house, gardening. Then Jeniv went
home to prepare lunch. I came to borrow eggs and found her like this.” Kel'ta broke into
fresh tears. Tarscenian cleared everyone away but Venessi, Santrev Synd, and Hederick. He
intoned the Seekers' Prayer of the Passing Spirit. “Great Omalthea, accept the commitment
of this guiltless soul. Gather her to your breast and comfort her. Jeniv Synd is free of
the pain of this world. Comfort her loved ones, and help us remember that we, too, await
this fate. Gather this soul and make ready for all others to follow. For there ever will
be more.” Hederick sat frozen as he contemplated Tarscenian's words. What could the prayer
be but a secret command to him to do more? The Seeker priest must be aware of the
sacrifice Hederick had madeknew he had taken the life of one of the enemies of the New
Godsand clearly approved! What could the last lines of his prayer be but an order to
continue to silence those who would oppose the priest? “I hear,” Hederick whispered. “I
shall prevail.” Tarscenian looked penetratingly at him but said nothing. Santrev Synd died
in twisted agony that very night. The villagers gathered in the central square as
Tarscenian laid a torch to the double funeral pyre the next afternoon. At the same time,
Hederick made his way surreptitiously into the Synd home, retrieved the spice containing
the poison, and moved it to the pantry of Jeniv's friend Kel'ta, next door. Then he went
back and tipped over the remembrance lamp that burned upon the Synds' kitchen table. “Fire
purifies,” Hederick whispered, watching the growing flames as though hypnotized. “So says
the Praxis.” Smoke from the new blaze rose into the skies to mingle with that of the pyre,
so no one noticed the flames for some time. No one saw or suspected Hederick. “Thus the
New Gods protect their own,” he told himself righteously. After the funeral, life
continued almost as it had since Tarscenian's arrival. The priestwhen he wasn't eating and
drinking or leading worship sessionstold stories and sang loud songs about redemption and
glory and freedom from sin. He continued to lead Hederick in study several hours a day,
praising the boy for his diligence and encouraging him in his labors. A week after the
Synd funeral, he and Hederick sat alone on the thick rug of the prayer house. Tarscenian
regarded the boy with thoughtful gray eyes. “Have you considered taking priestly orders,
son?” For the past weeks, the boy had thought of little else. The magnificent Tarscenian
was only ten