The Redemption of Althalus (33 page)

“You still think of me as a witch, don’t you, Bheid?” Althalus heard Leitha ask their young priest.

“Of course not,” Bheid replied. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I know that you don’t like me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Leitha. I like you very much. You’re one of my true companions.”

“You make me sound like a piece of furniture,” she accused.

“I don’t exactly see where this is going,” he confessed.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact that I’m a woman.”

“I’m aware of it, Leitha. It’s not all that important to what we’re supposed to do, but I
am
aware of it.”

“You don’t think about it, though.” She sighed. “Ever since the end of my childhood, the men in our village all looked at me in a certain way, and they all had certain kinds of thoughts.”

“The kind that the priest, Ambho, had, you mean?”

“Exactly. Every man in town had certain thoughts about me.”

“You
are
very beautiful, Leitha.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she mocked.

“Whatever gave you the idea that I don’t like you?”

“You don’t have the same kind of thoughts about me that other men have.”

“Those thoughts are vile, Leitha. It’s the duty of a priest to suppress vile thoughts.”

“Ah, perhaps that’s it. It’s making me very uncomfortable, though, Bheid. You despise those vile thoughts, and when you suppress them, what comes in my direction is hatred. Your hatred is directed at the thoughts, but it seems in my mind to be directed at
me.
”

“That’s certainly not what I’d intended.”

“I think I may have a solution.”

“I’d be happy to hear it, Leitha.”

“Relax that iron-hard suppression a bit and let a few of those vile thoughts out.”

“What?”

“Not
too
vile, of course. That would disturb the both of us. A few itty-bitty vile thoughts wouldn’t hurt anything.” She smiled winsomely and held up her thumb and forefinger as if measuring something very small. “If you were to keep them only about so big, they wouldn’t violate your vow, but they’d be naughty enough to let me know that you’re aware of the fact that I’m a woman. I think ‘modestly vile’ is what you should aim at. It wouldn’t contaminate you, and it’d make me
ever
so much more comfortable.”

Bheid stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled gently. “Of course, Leitha,” he promised. “I think I can manage ‘modestly vile,’ if it’ll make you feel better. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

Her answering smile was radiant.

Keep your nose out of it, Althalus,
Dweia’s purring voice told him.

Whatever you say, dear.

“The onset of the glaciers has produced a drought that’s causing great turmoil in the lands to the south,” Dweia was telling them a few days later. “Wealth and power and mighty cities are meaningless if there’s nothing to eat. That’s the key to Ghend’s plan, of course. Chaos is his ally, and the glaciers create chaos.”

“I think you told me once that this has happened before,” Althalus said.

“Yes. This is about the fourth glacial age in the past several million years. Occasionally they’ve been the result of changes in weather patterns or the movement of ocean currents. Daeva caused this one, though. It’s a crucial part of Ghend’s plan to so completely disrupt the various empires to the south that the people will turn to anybody who can offer stability. Civilization’s right on the brink of collapse, and a general revolution’s looming on the horizon.”

“
My
people would never rebel against
me
!” Andine exclaimed.

“I wouldn’t be all that certain, dear,” Dweia disagreed. “Ghend has people stirring up the citizens of Osthos right now, and your war with the Kanthons just made it easier for them.”

“
We
didn’t start that war!”

“I know. Althalus and I met Eliar’s sergeant—Khalor—on our way from Arum to Osthos, and he kept referring to the Aryo of Kanthon as a half-wit. I think that if we wanted to delve into the matter, we’d find that one of Ghend’s henchmen was behind a number of the Aryo’s military decisions.”

“Sergeant Khalor
was
a little unhappy about that war,” Eliar remembered. “He had all sorts of interesting names for the Chief of the Kanthons.”

Andine’s huge eyes narrowed speculatively. “That sort of means that it was
Ghend
who murdered my father, doesn’t it?”

“He was the one who was ultimately responsible, yes,” Dweia replied.

“Eliar?” Andine said then in her most appealing and winsome manner.

“Yes, Andine?”

“Would you like to come to work for me?”

“I didn’t quite follow that.”

“I need a good professional soldier right now. I pay very well—both in money and other benefits.” She laid a lingering hand on his bare knee.

“I’d have to talk with my Chief, Andine, but I’m sure we could work something out. What exactly is it that you’d like to have me do?”

“I’d be
ever
so grateful if you’d track this Ghend person down and butcher him for me—and I want to be there to watch while you do it. I want blood, Eliar—lots and lots of blood. And I’d really like to hear some very loud screams. How much do you think that might cost me?”

“I wouldn’t
think
of charging you for
that,
Andine,” he assured her. “We’re friends now, and it wouldn’t be at all polite for me to take money from you for a simple little favor like that, would it?”

Andine gave a little squeal of delight, threw her arms about Eliar’s neck, and kissed him fervently. “Isn’t he just the
nicest
boy you’ve ever seen?” she demanded of the rest of them.

Dweia looked pensive the following morning. She sat at the marble table in the tower room with her hand lying on the Book and her green eyes lost in thought.

Althalus and the others filed in as usual and quietly took their seats.

“I want you all to pay very close attention,” Dweia told them. “You all know about ‘using’ the Book, and about how Eliar ‘uses’ the Knife. Now it’s time for you to learn how to ‘use’ the House.” She rose and looked at them. “This may be difficult for you, and some of the things I’m going to tell you will be very hard for you to accept, but you’ll have to trust me. I’ve suggested a number of times that the House isn’t really here, but that’s not entirely accurate. The House
is
here, but it’s everywhere else as well.”

“Do you mean that it moves around?” Gher asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “It doesn’t have to move, Gher. It’s everywhere—all at the same time. You’ve all noticed how big the House is, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes,” Althalus said. “When I first came here to steal the Book, I was sure it’d take weeks to search every room.”

“Actually, it would have taken you centuries, Althalus, and even then you’d have only scratched the surface. For right now, let’s just say that the House is the world, but that’s an oversimplification. It’s quite a bit bigger than that. When I say that the House is everywhere, I really mean
everywhere.
When Deiwos first made it, this room was all there was, and he went out from here to make everywhere else, and he made a door to each of those places. That’s why the House kept growing, and that’s why the doors—not the rooms—are important. Let me give you an example. If Andine wanted to stop by her throne room to speak with her High Chamberlain, Lord Dhakan, she could saddle her horse, ride on down through Kagwher, slip past Kanthon, and eventually reach Osthos. There’s another way, though. She could go down the hallway that leads to the south, open a certain door right here in this House, and step through that door into her throne room.”

“It can’t be
that
simple!” Bheid exclaimed.

“No, actually it isn’t. Not only does she have to go through the right door, but she also must
believe
that it’s the right door. The key to the door is belief.”

“And if she
doesn’t
believe?” Gher asked.

“She walks into an empty room,” Dweia said, shrugging. “When I said that belief is the key, I meant exactly that.”

“It’s an act of faith, then?” Bheid suggested.

“Exactly. We make things so by
believing
that they are so.”

“There are people out there who believe all kinds of very strange things, Dweia,” Eliar objected. “Those things aren’t true just because they
believe
they’re true, are they?”

“They’re true for
them.
”

“That’s why it’s a lot better not to believe in anything, Eliar,” Gher told him. “That way things don’t get all mixed up.”

“It makes the world a little lonely, though, doesn’t it?” Eliar asked.

“You learn to live with it.”

“Mankind
must
believe in something, Gher,” Bheid told the boy.

“Why?”

“Because . . .” Bheid faltered.

“We have a long way to go with Gher, don’t we?” Leitha asked.

“I’d say so, yes,” Althalus agreed. “But he’s a good little boy, so he’ll be patient and show us the way.”

“That’s not what I meant, Althalus.”

“I know, but you’re just getting started.”

“That will
do,
Althalus,” Dweia said quite firmly.

“Yes, dear.”

Gher was frowning. “Ghend can do this, too, can’t he?” he asked. “I mean, he’s got that place in Nekweros, and it’s got doors the same as this house does too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s called Nahgharash.”

“That’s how he—or those others—can keep popping out of nowhere, isn’t it? That’s going to make this all very interesting.”

“Define ‘interesting,’ ” Dweia told him.

“Fun,” Gher said. “Ghend pops up here; we pop up there; and nobody knows just exactly where anybody else is—or who he’ll have with him—when he shows up. This’ll be the funnest game anybody’s ever come up with.”

“ ‘Funnest’?” Eliar asked. “I don’t think there is such a word.”

“You understood what I meant, didn’t you?” Gher asked.

“I suppose I did, but—”

“Then that makes it a word, doesn’t it?”

“This one’s going to give me headaches, I think,” Dweia said.

“It’s Osthos!” Andine exclaimed when Eliar opened the door at the far end of one of the long, dimly lighted corridors in the south wing of the House.

“Just look, Andine,” Dweia commanded. “Don’t go through right now. We don’t have enough time to go looking for you.”

Althalus noticed that the threshold of the doorway was rather hazy, but everything beyond the doorway was sharp and clear. A cobblestoned street led past a number of the shops he’d seen the last time he’d been in Osthos, and then the street went slightly up a hill to Andine’s palace.

“You’d better close the door, Eliar,” Dweia suggested. “It’s letting in the time.”

“Ma’am?” Eliar asked in a puzzled tone of voice.

“We don’t want time to move just yet. We aren’t prepared. We still have quite a bit of ground to cover, and we need to have time stand still until we’re ready.”

“I really don’t understand this, Emmy,” Eliar said, closing the door.

“You don’t have to just yet.”

“You speak of time as if it were some kind of weather, Divinity,” Leitha observed.

“They’re sort of similar, Leitha.” Dweia paused, looking curiously at the pale girl from Kweron. “Tell me, dear,” she said. “Why do you persist in calling me ‘Divinity’ the way you always do?”

“It’s a term of respect, Divinity,” Leitha replied, her blue eyes open very wide.

“No, Leitha, it isn’t. You don’t really respect anybody. You’re doing it to tease me, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t think of teasing a Goddess, Dweia,” Leitha protested.

“Oh, yes you would. I don’t really mind, of course, but I thought we should clear it up.”

“That takes a lot of the fun out of it,” Leitha protested.

“I don’t mind a little teasing, Leitha. It’s a way of playing. I spent a very long time as Emmy the cat, so I know all about playing. One of these days I’ll show you.”

“I’ll be good,” Leitha promised.

“I sort of doubt that. Take us to Kanthon, Eliar.”

They spent about a week exploring the possibilities of the doors in the House—at least it
seemed
like a week. Althalus had decided not to pursue the difference between “seems” and “is.”

Eliar served as their guide during these excursions. Dweia’s explanation of the process wasn’t very detailed. The Knife was involved in some way, Althalus gathered. Whatever his inspiration may have been, Eliar unerringly led them to the correct door when Dweia suggested that they look at some other place. “I haven’t got the faintest idea of
how
I know which door we want,” Eliar confessed. “I just do. Emmy says
‘Agwesi,’
and I immediately know which door I’m supposed to open. Half the time, I don’t even know which country the place is in.”

“You don’t really have to know, dear boy,” Andine said fondly. “The Knife told you to ‘lead,’ didn’t it? That’s exactly what you’re doing. Don’t change a thing. We all love you just the way you are.” She gently stroked his cheek. Andine couldn’t seem to keep her hands off Eliar for some reason.

Finally, Dweia suggested that they return to their classroom. “We’ve more or less taken care of everything we needed to attend to here,” she told them. “We know how to use the House—at least partially—and a few other things are in place now, so it’s time for us to go back out.”

“Partially?” Gher asked shrewdly. “Doesn’t that sort of mean that the House can do some other things as well as take us from place to place?”

“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Dweia said.

“I’m really curious, Emmy,” the boy said. “I think I’ve got an idea—well, sort of, anyway. Would it bother you if I just threw it into the air and we all took a look at it?”

“It takes quite a bit to bother, me, Gher. Go ahead and throw it out.”

“You said that the House plays with time—I mean, time moves or doesn’t move the way you want it to.”

“Yes.”

“Well, the House plays with distance by using the doors, doesn’t it?”