The Silver Lake (27 page)

Those gathered in the Cyan Company dining room were no less interested in them when they entered, but most greeted them casually, some raising their cups in salute, others just grinning at them as they passed. Once they were settled, with Jaq chewing noisily on yet another shank bone at their feet, Spar began to eat at once, but Brax glanced around with a frown.

“What’s the matter, Delin?” Yashar chuckled. “Don’t you like the decor?”

“What? No, it’s not that.” Brax turned his attention to his plate. “I just don’t like it when people stare at us,” he said tightly.

Kemal shrugged. “What do you expect? You’re famous. You’re messengers from the God.”

“That’s right,” Yashar agreed. “She led you to us as you said. You’re delinkon to ten thousand abayon now.”

Spar choked on his bread.

“I thought delinkon didn’t serve at the temple until they were sixteen,” Brax retorted sarcastically as he thumped the younger boy on the back.

“Well, think of it less like delinkon and more like ... mascots,” Yashar suggested. “Or good luck charms.”

“Delon will do,” Kemal corrected. “And you’ve no more than a few hundred abayon, anyway. You’re Cyan Company’s now. Kaptin Julide will make sure the council understands that.”

“That’s right,” Yashar agreed with a mischievous grin. “We helped to bring you into this world,” he said, taking in the gathered with an expansive wave. “And the God has given you to
us.”
He thumped his chest loudly.

Brax glared at the older man as the company murmured their approval, suspecting they were being mocked. “How do you mean, brought into this world?” he asked suspiciously.

“On the night the God of Battles manifested to save your lives, it was Cyan Company who offered up their strength to make it possible,” Kemal replied before Yashar could offer up a more humorously offensive explanation.

Food halfway to their mouths, both boys gave him a confused look.

“Well, the Gods don’t inhabit ... don’t live in the physical world, do They?” he continued. “It takes a lot of strength to enter it. Strength They gain from Their followers.”

“How do you mean?”

“All that we are and all we do either strengthens or weakens the God we worship. If we live strong, the God is strong; if we live weak, the God is weak. And sometimes when the God requires it, we gift Them with that strength in the form of pure power.”

Brax looked shocked.

“Haven’t you had
any
religious instruction at all?” Yashar asked.

Lifting his head, Spar gave another of his unchildlike snorts as Brax rolled his eyes. “The poor don’t need religious instruction,” he retorted, spitting a date pit onto his plate. “They need bread.”

“Well, there’s plenty of bread here and you’re not poor any longer. You’ve sworn your lives to Estavia’s service. How do you expect to do that if you don’t know how or even why?”

“So tell us why.”

As both boys stared at them expectantly, Kemal gestured at his arkados. “Go ahead, Yash, it was your idea.”

The older man sat back, turning his glass thoughtfully between his fingers.

“All right. Well, just so I don’t repeat myself, what do you know about the Gods?”

Brax shrugged. “Just what Cindar told us.”

“Which is?”

“That They’re only interested in the sworn. And the
rich
sworn at that.”

“Cindar was wrong. The Gods are always interested in all the people.”

“So why don’t they help the poor?”

“Oristo’s temple helps the poor, don’t they?”

“Sure, for a price.”

“Which is?”

“Worship,” Brax sneered.

“What’s wrong with worship?”

After stuffing a piece of fish in his mouth, he shrugged again. “It shackles you.”

“Shackles?”

“You know, it keeps you from doing the things you need to do, like leg irons would.”

“You mean it keeps you from doing things you
shouldn’t
do. Things like stealing?”

“That and other things.” Brax took a long drink of milk, then carefully set the glass down. “It works well enough when you’re rich,” he continued, “but not when you’re poor. The Gods don’t make bread magically appear, do they?”

“No, but they do create the opportunities you need to work for bread.”

“For some maybe, but not for everyone. Not for us. Cindar did that for us. We worked for him and he fed us, kept us safe. The Gods didn’t do that.”

“One might argue that it was the Gods who gave you to Cindar in the first place.”

“Then the Gods can’t have a problem with stealing because Cindar was a thief and he taught us to steal.”

Kemal snickered. “Point, Yash.”

The older man grimaced at him. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I’m no theologian, I’m just a ghazi-priest.
My
point, however, is that if the Gods didn’t care about the poor, then why did Estavia help you? Why did She come to your aid and lead you here as you keep insisting so vehemently?”

“Because I asked Her to.”

“That’s right. You needed help, you called out, and the God responded. If you hadn’t believed She might do that, you never would have tried in the first place.”

“Sure I would of. She showed up before I called.”

“Then She must have known you needed help before you did.”

“So why didn’t She help us before?”

“Maybe you didn’t need help before.”

Both boys gave him an impatient look, then Brax just shrugged. “All right, whatever. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did She help us?

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Her.”

Brax and Spar exchanged a cynical glance.

“The Gods have Their own agenda,” Yashar continued. “Maybe the possibility of your worship was enough or maybe She just liked the look of you, I don’t know. I do know that by accepting your worship, Estavia accepted your strength. That could be reason enough.”

“But why would She need it? Why would She care about it? She’s a
God.”

Yashar rubbed at his temples. “We told you, the Gods need the strength of Their worshipers to manifest in the physical world. They aren’t physical creatures by nature, They’re spirit. And They aren’t all-powerful, Delin; even minor manifestations take a great deal of energy.” He shook his head. “Didn’t your abayon ever tell you the story about the birth of the Gods?”

“No,
I told you
Cindar didn’t worship Gods. And he didn’t tell stories, especially not about
Them.”

“And you never heard it in the marketplace? It’s a very common tale.”

“We had other things to do in the marketplace.”

“And we won’t follow that line of inquiry too closely,” Kemal interrupted.

“Fair enough. Why don’t
you
tell them the story,” Yashar suggested, gesturing to a delinkos to bring him a cup of tea. “I’m worn out from all his arguing.”

“All right.” Kemal set his coffee cup to one side. “Once upon a time, a very long time ago,” he began, smiling as both Brax and Spar rolled their eyes at the traditional beginning, “there was a shining, silver lake of power called Gol-Beyaz and deep beneath its surface dwelled six mysterious beings of vitality and potential, for in the beginning the Gods of Gol-Beyaz were spirits much the same as the ones who attacked you the night before last.” At Brax’s disbelieving sneer, he raised a hand in defense. “Honestly. Over time ... over a very long time, they began to ... interact with the people who settled along the lake shores. They had no more form than mist on the water then, but they had power, great reserves of raw, unformed power, and as the centuries passed and their association with the shore dwellers grew, they slowly ... association means to spend time together,” he explained as both boys frowned at him.

Brax raised a cynical eyebrow at him but said nothing.

“As they spent more and more time together,” Kemal continued, “a deeply symbiotic ... I’m sorry, um, a mutual ... no wait ... a very strong bond grew up between them; the shore dwellers came to depend on the lake spirits for power to protect them from their enemies—raiders from the plains, mountains, and the northern and southern seas—and the lake spirits relied on the shore dwellers to give them access to the physical world and a form able to physically impact upon that world as a defense against their own enemies, other envious spirits of these very same plains, mountains, and seas, who wished to take the power of Gol-Beyaz for themselves.

“Now, as the centuries passed, this bond grew so strong that the Gods of Gol-Beyaz—as they came to be known—became intimately involved in the life of the shore dwellers, the Got-YearIi—as
they
came to be known—and the form of each God came to represent and protect each of the six most important elements of that life: Hearth, Healing, the Arts, the Seasons, Prophecy ...”

“And Battle,” Yashar interjected.

“And Battle. Both Gods and Gol-Yearli grew stronger and stronger as their ... association grew deeper and more intimate. But ...” Kemal raised one hand dramatically. “As their strength increased, so did the strength of their enemies, envious of their prosperity ... their riches, Brax.”

“I know what prosperity means,” Brax replied hotly.

“So why the frown?”

“I was just wondering why you haven’t said anything about Anavatan yet. I thought it was the city and its garrisons that kept all our enemies away.”

“The city in partnership with the villages.”

“They’re just a bunch of farmers.”

“A bunch of farmers that keep the city folk from starving,” Yashar pointed out coldly. “Where do you think your bread and meat comes from? Rooftop gardens?”

“I guess not.”

“And where do you think the bulk of Estavia’s warriors come from as well?” Kemal added. “From the twelve village militias. But don’t fret, Brax. Anavatan’s story starts very soon.” He took a drink from Yashar’s teacup. “Where was I? Oh, yes, enemies. As their strength increased, so did the strength of their enemies, envious of their prosperity,” he repeated, “so together the Gods and the Gol-Yearli built a great wall of stone and power buttressed with nine strong towers that encircled the lake and its dozen villages. This wall kept them safe for many years, but eventually even that wasn’t enough. Raiders from Volinsk and Rostov continued to pour in through the northern strait, so the God Incasa reached into the future to pull forth a mighty vision which sent Oristo and Ystazia to the north with a flood of followers. Guarded by Estavia and nurtured by Usara they cracked the western peninsula in two and Havo filled the rift with a great reservoir of fresh water, then together They walled off the three main promontories which now jutted into the northern strait and set three massive towers, Lazim, Dovek, and Gerek-Hisar, to guard them, and so Anavatan, the most powerful city in the world, was born.”

He fell silent. Around them, the gathered members of Cyan Company, who’d hushed during the telling of their story, slowly took a deep, collective breath then, one by one, returned to their breakfasts. Kemal smiled.

“It’s a good tale,” he finished.

“And one which illustrates the point that the Gods and their followers rely on each other for strength,” Yashar added. “The Gods do care, Brax, but They’ll only intervene in our lives if we ask Them to. Anything else brings Them no strength.”

“But once you ask, you’d better be prepared for the response,” Kemal added with a smile. “Gods are ... well, They’re big, and so are Their answers sometimes.”

“Yeah, we figured that out two nights ago,” Brax agreed. Within him, he felt the God chuckle.

Outside, the sound of a single note interrupted their conversation. Cyan Company began to rise and Kemal nodded his head.

“And speaking of responses, it’s time for the Morning Invocation.”

“And She’s gonna show up there,” Brax asked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“That depends on Her mood,” Yashar answered. “Sometimes, dramatically, sometimes gently, sometimes with a great deal of outward power so that you almost feel She’s as solid as a tower, sometimes with more of an internal sensation, like She’s interacting with you alone. Every warrior experiences the God’s manifestation differently every time.”

Brax and Spar exchanged a glance.

“So, what do
we
do?” Brax insisted.

“For now, you’ll sit with the noncombatants as guests of the temple,” Kemal replied.

“For now?”

“Until the council decides what to do with you.”

“And then what?”

“And then we’ll see,” Yashar added firmly as he gestured them to their feet.

“But you said Cyan Company ...”

“Enough, Brax. You can argue with us all you like later, but for now you’ll sit where we tell you to sit.”

“Besides,” Kemal added. “Someone has to keep track of Jaq.”

Beneath the table, the dog thumped his tail at the sound of his name and Spar reached down to stroke his head nervously. As they joined the throng heading for the central courtyard, he wrapped his hands about the animal’s collar to keep from bolting.