Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (28 page)

The longboat never left at dawn as scheduled, but the column of smoke from the fish-oil warehouse could be seen (and smelled) for many leagues.

“It’s dawn. The jailer will be coming soon,” said Jot
ham through the door grating.

“No,” the priest said. “The sun itself. There’s a reason that the magic of the Compass Star functions best at night. The light of the mortal sun interferes with that of Osos. A sensitive Imperial can hear the difference. It’s a trick I perfected during my previous stay in prison.”

The boy’s mouth formed a small ‘o’, and he tried to change the subject. “How did you sleep?”

“Very little. The negative history in these walls is very strong. Every time I nodded off, I awoke to the screams of someone else being tortured in the name of the Gardener.”

“When I passed through the Door, I gained the ability to listen to the history of objects, whether I want to or not.” Jotham shook himself. “Enough. We must finish preparing you for the first day of the trial.”

“Please, I didn’t understand about this silent one,” said the young lawyer.

“These fellows love the last book of Arkaren, which foretold the fall of the Myranosos dynasty. The prophecy rambles, but the relevant bit is that, at some point, this silent holy man will speak and the soldiers who accused him are devoured by holy fire. He heralded the start of the dynasty and, somehow, they expect him to be there at the end,” said Jotham, not at all convinced. “Arkaren confused his tenses a lot and retold the same tale from different points of view.”

“So they want you to do one of their traditional miracles?” asked Brent.

Jotham was amused because he thought the last phrase to be an excellent oxymoron. “The silent one was a devout follower of
kissoomfar
. In that art, the less you speak, the more power each individual word has. In practice, it is a technique used by those with little magic or very poor control over what they can invoke. They store up mana for years and let it al out at once.”

Jotham grew serious. “Can a child think thoughts his parents didn’t teach him? Of course. There are more of us than there ever were of the Dawn folk. That means more accidents and more need. Accidents and need are the spark and tinder for invention. In the far south, they don’t have swamps for growing the tanga leaves that we might use for the ease of joint pains. The people there have created a new magic using the sharp spines of desert plants to cure the sick. The Dawn people never discovered these things because they never ventured into the wastes and never had the need.”

Brent was in awe. “You know so much! Why don’t you just show them how this kiss of fire works and you can leave.”

“I left the service of the Prefect because he used my information to kill. I would sooner rot in this cell than share information that might help these monsters do the same. Magic magnifies who you really are and that’s the last thing the world needs.”

Brent was hesitant. “Are these Sons of Semenos actual monsters?”

The Tenor did not wish to alarm the boy, but neither did he want the fears entirely allayed. “Think of their order as a plague that turns men into monsters. And over the years, they’ve taken steps to destroy the cure.”

The young lawyer was at a loss. “Then how can we win?”

“There’s something wrong in the undergirding, and all of this is just a symptom. I won’t know what the root is until I find the Answer,” the priest mused.

“I meant the case,” the boy said in frustration. “I can’t remember half of this. I’ll have to find some way for you to testify.”

“No. I want them to assume and stay in the dark. I want you to raise doubts, make them prove every word, and ask hard questions. An opportunity for our vindication will present itself. If all else fails, stall. Use that scripture you told me about from the High Gardener’s latest lesson about the farmer who plants seeds and waits.”

“The reward of the patient and righteous,” Brent confirmed.

“Use as close to his own words as you can get,” Jotham instructed. In the distance, he could hear the clink of keys on a mighty, iron ring. “One more thing, if they remove the patch over my brown eye, our hosts may make issue of my heritage. They’ll misuse the scripture forbidding the mix of unlike fabrics being joined to make my very existence a transgression. But point to their own cloaks, the ones that are wool on the outside and linen on the inside. Whatever excuse justifies their clothing can be used to justify my birth.”

They fell silent at the turnkey’s approach with his lantern. Both travelers squinted to adjust to the glare. On their trip to the temple, instead of a choir, they were greeted by a thick and oppressive fog. The wind carried a phantom of smoke scent to Brent’s nose, but he disregarded it as imagination. A contingent of guards l them to the council chamber of bishops. In this cozy conference room, with a huge, oval, oak table, Jotham’s leg shackles were fixed to a black, iron ring on the floor and his arms to a chain dangling from the rafters. A strange, iron clamp was attached to the Tenor’s jaw by a deaf smith skilled in such devices.

Once the accused was secured, the judges entered. First the High Gardener entered in an elegant robe of forest-green trimmed in gold leaf. The Gardener was an attractive man with thick, wavy hair and more the air of a politician than a priest. Next came the hunchback scribe in autumnal orange and red, with silver-wire brocade. The hunchback resented having to rise so early and this wrath would no doubt echo in his rulings. The final judge was a white-haired monk in barren, brown robes with wooden buttons.

As predicted, the trial began with a lengthy and circuitous passage from the last book of Arkaren. The monk served as lector in the absence of lower functionaries. Brent heard several versions of the silent man’s tale. “The king searched far and wide, but there was no holy fire, and the heavens closed their eyes on the night of man.” All agreed that the verse referred to the current era of silence. The reading concluded with the verse, “Then at the ending and beginning of days, the high priest of the messenger shall call down destruction from above and proclaim a new empire from the mouth of eternity.”

After a moment of prayer that condemned all heretics, the Gardener demanded with a loud shout, “Prove you are this high priest and call down fire on us.”

Brent flinched at the volume. “With respect, sir. That wouldn’t happen.”

The hunchback growled. “I told you this would be pointless. Their sect is dead, and the age of the Traveler is at an end.”

Brent was not finished, and continued as if the other hadn’t spoken. “Even if he were this high priest you’re looking for, you’re not the soldiers who accused him. So, either way, he wouldn’t call down fire on you.”

“Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it is not true,” cautioned the monk. The unadorned man in brown seemed to be their strongest hope among the three, a sincere believer.

“What did you mean by ‘if he were this high priest’, boy?” asked the Gardener, avoiding the squabbling of the other judges.

“Who said that he was?” the boy lawyer asked.

For a moment, all the judges were baffled. Checking all the indictments for this piece of evidence took several minutes. As they reviewed the written testimony, Brent said, “I believe that you’ll find that the accountant testified that only Father Harkan made this claim.” The tribunal felt obligated to verify this fact by cross-examining the sole witness to the offense. This process took the better part of the morning. After their intense grilling, the accountant was so flustered that he couldn’t say who first assigned the outlawed title to their prisoner.

Once the accountant departed, the tribunal resumed. “If he didn’t make the claim, our job is finished here. Have himrtered for heresy and be done with it,” snapped the scribe, eager to be done with the pretense.

“But he never said he wasn’t,” Brent countered. “I mean, for all you know,
I
might be one. In any case, you have no witnesses for this charge.”

Jotham, dangling uncomfortably and encased in steel, managed to wink at his lawyer for this exercise of wit.

“Point made,” said the monk. “Is he the silent man of prophecy?”

Brent tried to decide how best to evade the question. “Why ask, sir, if you wouldn’t believe my answer as evidence? The three of you wouldn’t listen unless he made the accusing soldiers from the town of Cardinado burst into flames.”

The scribe backpedaled. “Your grace, the heretics grow in numbers. Given time, our troops in the area can cut off their support and crush them.”

A brief squabble ensued among the judges until Brent took advantage of a lull to say, “We can wait,” and quoted the High Gardener’s lesson on the virtue of patience. The Gardener was forced to agree.

Three days later, a weary runner arrived with the news. Half the buildings of Cardinado had fallen, including the aviary where the messenger birds were kept and the barracks of the city guard. The captain and his entire first watch had burned to death in the first hours of the conflagration. Rebels took advantage of the disaster to cement their hold on several towns. Cardinado needed reinforcements.

The tribunal met in private to consider the new information. While the monk read the dispatch, he mused, “Struck down by fire, were they?”

“It proves nothing,” spat the hunchback. “It was the fortunes of war, not the gods.”

“Nothing is fortunate in war,” muttered the monk.

“Besides, the logic of the test is flawed. If I am human, I have blood. But everything with blood is not guaranteed to be human,” argued the hunchback.

The monk was running short on patience. “The Monastery of Tivolt is willing to agree to the point that my colleague may not be human. Many have speculated on this in the past. But the defense has done all we asked of them. We are running out of witnesses against them. You know that neither death penalty can be applied without a second witness to confirm.”

The High Gardener turned his gaze on the scribe and said, “I don’t want to release heretics any more than you do. But our scholar makkeen point. Unless you can produce another testimony, we must concede. With the news his majesty just received about the traitors within his own family, I must waste no more time here. My place is leading the loyalist troops to quash this revolt before it spreads any further. Unless you have another way around the law, our business here is concluded.”

The scribe glowered for a while. At last, he seemed to stir with an idea, bubbling up within him like the churning of a great, black cauldron. “His statements to the heretics incited them to treason. The penalty for this is also death, but in times of war, a conviction needs only one witness and the signature of the king. This would solve all our problems neatly and send a message to deter any other fools wishing to join the enemy,” he announced. The High Gardener agreed. Politics was a messy animal. Legally, their hands would be clean, and the public spectacle provided would help rally support behind their cause.

The High Gardener drew up the proper decree for the king’s signature and the scribe began advertising the spectacle. In the spirit of compromise, the accused heretic would be fed and well-treated in order to look more presentable for his public execution. The monk went to visit the communal meal hall. Since the tribunal had been disbanded, he was free to clear his conscience with a certain, young lawyer.

The gray-haired monk found the young lawyer cleaning floors w
ith an altar boy. “You have news about the case?” asked Brent, excited.

The monk nodded and led the boy into a small, private alcove at the far end of the adjoining chapel. “Your friend may eat again and the religious suit has been dropped. Unfortunately, he’ll still be executed in three days time for the secular charge of incitement to treason.”

“What?” the boy bellowed. “Why? How can they do that?”

The monk hushed him. “You already know the answers to those questions. There are more instructive questions you could ask a legal scholar. But you’d have to do so quickly.”