Chawk smiled. “We hope it will not come to that.” The bishop produced an image from his documents and motioned for the captain to take it. It was of a planet, the coordinates of which were unfamiliar to him.
“That is your destination, captain,” Ero said.
Tephe scanned the image. “There is no name for this place.”
“Names have power,” Chawk said. “Names call attention. We choose not to call attention to this place.”
“Yes, Eminence,” Tephe said. “What shall I find there?”
“Faith,” said the third bishop.
Chapter Five
“I do not understand,” Captain Tephe said.
“Captain, recall for me that which the commentaries compare our faith,” said Bishop Chawk.
“ ‘Our faith is as iron,’ ” Tephe said. It was one of the first phrases children learned in their schooling.
“As with so many things in the commentaries, this is neither a shallow nor metaphorical comparison,” Chawk said. “It is direct and accurate. The quality of faith increases its power, and its ability to sustain Our Lord. Your faith, as an example, Captain. It is the weakest of all.”
Tephe felt himself straighten involuntarily. “My faith is not in doubt, Bishop Major,” he said.
Chawk waved this away. “I am not speaking of the depth or sincerity of your faith, good Captain Tephe,” the bishop said. “Neither is in question. But your faith is the faith of your fathers, and their fathers, and their fathers before them, reaching back, no doubt, to the Time Before, when men chose the gods they would follow. Is that not right?”
“We have the honor of being First Called,” Tephe said. “My ancestor Ordor Tephe chose to follow Our Lord and was martyred for it.”
“A faithful lineage, to be sure,” Chawk said, and Tephe sensed a slight air of dismissal at his ancestor’s martyrdom, which rankled him. “That which makes your lineage proud also diminishes the quality of your own faith. Your faith was earned by your fathers before you, Captain. You wear it as you would a family coat passed down from another age.”
“My faith is my own, your Eminence,” Tephe said. “Though my fathers made it, it is renewed in me.”
“Exactly!” Chawk exclaimed, and clapped his hands together for punctuation. “Renewed. Remade. As iron is remade in the forge.”
Tephe now understood. “My faith is as thirdmade iron,” he said.
“Not only your faith, Captain,” Bishop Ero said. “Also that of nearly all of Our Lord’s faithful. The totality of his dominion has assured that. Third-made faith is faith assumed, as your faith was assumed from the moment you were born.”
“If there is third-made faith, then there is secondmade as well,” Tephe said.
“Faith taken,” said Ero. “From other gods, when Our Lord defeats them, and their followers become Our Lord’s newly faithful.”
“Why is it more powerful?” Asked Tephe.
“It is not for you to question,” said the third bishop, to the captain, rasping his words. “It is only for you to know. Even that is dangerous.”
Tephe bowed his head.
“The theological issues of the quality of faith are not important to your mission,” Chawk said, somewhat more gently. “Need you know only this; that for the purposes of sustaining Our Lord, third-made faith is moonlight, and second-made is sunlight.” Tephe nodded. “As Our Lord’s dominion has increased the number of faithful, so has it decreased the numbers of those whose faith may be second-made. Those numbers that remain would not be useful to Our Lord in his struggle with this new god.”
Tephe looked again at the image Chawk had provided him. “Then I do not understand why you would have the Righteous brought to this place,” he said. “If the faith I find there would not sustain Our Lord.”
“The faith you will find there, Captain, is not second-made,” Ero said. “Nor third-made.”
Tephe looked up. “First-made faith?”
“Faith where before there was none,” intoned the third bishop. “Faith pure and new.”
“Faith which outshines second-made as secondmade outshines third-made,” Chawk said.
“How is this possible?” Tephe said. “Such faith could not have been since the Time Before. The commentaries tell us that in the Time Before all men chose and fought for their gods. All men, your Eminence.”
“There are the public commentaries, Captain,” Ero said, “which are given to the faithful to sustain their faith. There are the ecclesiastical commentaries, which inform the priesthood. And then there are the bishopric commentaries, known to few, because few need to know. Until now, you have known only the public commentaries.”
“In the bishopric commentaries,” Chawk said, “we learn that in the Time Before, Our Lord discovered there were some men without the knowledge of gods. Knowing that the time would come when He would need the power of that first-made faith, He secreted them to this place, hiding it from the other gods, so He could call upon the strength of that newly-made faith when He did need it.”
“But what of the men there, Eminence?” Tephe said. “What of their souls? Thousands of years without the knowledge of Our Lord.”
Tephe caught the quick glance Chawk shot to the third bishop, to see if the last comment aroused his wrath. The third bishop remained quiet. “Our Lord has made provision for those souls,” Chawk said, smoothly but quickly. “Again, Captain, you need not concern yourself with theological matters, only with operational ones.”
“As you say, your Eminence,” Tephe said.
“Our Lord must tend to the incursions of this lately arrived god. He must remain within His dominion, and not reveal until the final moment this world to other, jealous gods, who watch where and how He moves,” Ero said. “Therefore, He bids you to bring your ship to this world. Locate its largest settlement and bring its people to Our Lord. They must willingly accept Him.”
“Am I bringing priests?” asked Tephe.
“There is no time for that,” Ero said.
Tephe turned to Chawk, who held up a hand. “In other times, we might do,” he said. “But for now, we must seek quicker and quieter methods. Your own priest is sufficient for conversion. We will furnish the Righteous with a company of Bishop’s Men to assist you in your task.”
The Bishop’s Men—warrior acolytes, bodyguards of the ruling bishops, and, some whispered, those who by their task chose who would lead the Bishopry. “As you will,” Tephe said. “I do note that many have chosen death over conversion. My own ancestor did so.”
“These are men who do not hold to a god,” Chawk said. “When you show them Our Lord’s power, they will seize upon it.”
Ero placed a small box on the table, and pushed it in Tephe’s direction. “And when they do, give one among them this, and have your priest do his rites.”
Tephe set down the image he held, took the box and opened it. Inside lay a Talent on a whisper-thin chain. The sigil seemed familiar, but Tephe could not at the moment place it. “May I ask which Talent this is,” he said.
“It is the Talent of Entrance,” Ero said. “Through it Our Lord will come to you and to His new flock, and take of them what He is due.”
“It is a Talent not given often or lightly,” Chawk said. “Be sure you choose well among the new faithful whom to wear it. He must with genuine and glad heart wish to receive Our Lord.”
“Perhaps Priest Andso should choose,” Tephe said, looking back down at the Talent.
“It is a task given to you,” Chawk said. “Your actions at Ament Cour speak to your judgment and faithfulness. This is a mighty task for Our Lord. You were not chosen capriciously, good captain. And for your service, you will be rewarded.”
“Your Eminence?” Tephe said.
“Upon your return, you are to be elevated,” Ero said. “You will leave the common military and become in yourself a Bishop Major. You will with us plan the strategies that will assist Our Lord in defeating this new god and ending its nuisance. We will restore order and newly s
ubjugate the gods whom this new one has made restless.”
Tephe had stopped listening. To be elevated would be to withdraw into the cloisters of the Bishopry forever. To lose his command and crew. To lose the Righteous.
To lose Shalle.
Tephe covered the Talent he had been given and placed its box back on the table. “You do me too much honor,” he said. “I could not ask to be elevated for the simple task of performing my duties as they should be performed.”
“What you would ask is of no consequence here,” said the third bishop.
“Captain Tephe, already much has been revealed to you that is not given to one such as yourself to know,” Ero said. “Only the extraordinary nature of the mission compels this breach. You are allowed to know this knowledge only because it has been decided that you are to become as we are.”
“And glad you should be for it,” Chawk said. “As we are. Rare is it in these times for a Bishop Major to come from the ranks of the common military. You will bring to our strategies a perspective fresh and well-needed. This will be a benefit to us as much as an elevation of yourself.”
Tephe closed his eyes and ducked his head and prayed that the bishops looking on him would see humility and not anguish in his action. After a moment, he looked up again.
“ ‘Every thing we do is for the glory of Our Lord,’ ” he quoted.
It was only after he found himself on the cobblestones, ears ringing, that Tephe was aware a bomb had gone off.
Tephe quickly checked his body and found he was not injured. He rolled off his back in time to see to a woman lunging toward him, knife in hand. Her scream was muted by the injury to his ears. Tephe kicked out with full force and brought the sole of his boot into her knee. The knee twisted in an unnatural direction and the woman fell, knife clattering from her hand. Tephe scrambled up as another woman, seeing the first woman fall, changed course toward the captain, howling.
Tephe waited until the woman was close enough, and then grabbed the bag of coppers on the road, given to him to throw from during the parade back to the landing citadel. Tephe swung, and the bag connected hard into the woman’s temple, knocking her off balance even as it tore open, showering coins into the air and street. The woman staggered at the blow, and Tephe used the opening to push her down into the street. The woman’s head connected with the cobblestones with the sound of a melon fruit falling from a table. She stopped moving. Tephe found the knife the first woman had dropped, grabbed it and held it ready as he observed the scene.
Near himself, Tephe saw Neal Forn sitting in the street, clutching a bleeding wound on his head; Forn saw his captain looking at him and signaled he was not seriously injured. Tephe turned his attention back down the street.
The bomb had gone off well behind the captain and toward the cage which held the god. On the street lay an acolyte and two godhold guards, one torn near in half. Either the bomb had been a small one or he had fallen on it to protect others. Behind that carnage the remaining guard engaged a band of ragged street fighters, wielding knives and common, blunt tools. They surrounded the caged god, who was itself looking about, as if in a panic.
What is it looking for? thought Tephe.
The god grinned madly and rushed to the front left side of its enclosure, and extended an arm through its cage bars, as if reaching for something.
Tephe followed the god’s gaze back into the street, where a hooded figure had stepped out of the chaos of bystanders running from the bomb. The figure held something tightly in its hand. Tephe looked back to the god and saw it motioning to figure, bidding it to throw what it had.
The figure was looking toward the god, away from Tephe. The captain ran toward the figure as quickly as he could, knife in hand, as the figure cocked back its arm and readied for the throw.
Tephe connected with the figure just before the top of its throw, the object, its arc aborted, skittering onto the cobblestones a few yards in front of them. The figure lost its balance but did not fall, the hood of its cape falling back to reveal a middle-aged woman with scars on her face. The woman righted herself quickly and equally quickly put a fist into the captain’s mouth, causing him to fall back, howling and clutching his mouth, dropping the knife as he did so. The woman frantically scanned the street, looking for the fallen object she had held in her hand.
Tephe, feeling the blood on his lips, followed her gaze and lunged when she did, aiming for her, not whatever she was looking for. He pushed his mass into hers as they both dove, the captain’s larger body winning the physical argument. The woman collided into the cobblestones, with a great cough of air forcing itself out of her body. Tephe rolled away from her to prepare himself for an attack. As he did so he felt something jab itself uncomfortably into in his back. Tephe arched, slid a hand underneath himself, grabbed at the object and held onto it as he rolled again, facing down.
As he did he felt a sharp weight land on his spine, almost breaking it. The air vomited out of his lungs. Tephe was in too much pain to move. Hands reached to the back of his head, jerking it up and slamming his face into the cobblestones. Tephe felt his nose give way and the skin on his forehead abrade. The woman pulled his head back a second time. She would pound his head into the street until he was dead.
There was a gasp above Tephe, and then a splash of wet warmth on the back of his neck. Tephe turned his head painfully to see the woman collapse onto the street next to him, blood falling out of a heavy cut across her neck. He rolled away from her, facing up, and saw Neal Forn above him, wielding the knife the captain had taken from the woman who had first attacked him.
“It was a woman,” Forn said, breathing heavily from exertion. “They were all women, captain.”
Tephe nodded, propped himself up, turned to the side and retched. “Women could get closer to the parade,” he said. “The guards would not have expected them to attack. Or to fight.” He groggily looked toward the god’s cage. The women who had been fighting there had dispersed, save for the ones who were in the street, dead.
“It makes no sense,” Forn said. “A circle of firstmade iron surrounds this whole area. There would have nowhere for the god to go. There was no escape to be had.”
Tephe felt the object in his hand, and opened his hand to see it. It was a Talent on a chain.
“Perhaps escape was not what it wanted,” he said.
Chapter Six
“You may have fooled the godhold’s Captain of the Guards, but I am not so easily fooled,” Priest Andso said to Captain Tephe. The two stood at the door of the god’s chamber on the Righteous. “And if you will question the god, then I will be there as well.”
Tephe, still in pain from the healer’s ministering of his wounds, kept his temper in check but was inwardly irritated with himself. He had indeed withheld from the godhold captain, choosing to keep secret the Talent he had taken from the woman. It was a key to a larger plan, one he would not discover if he were to give it up. A plan that involved the god of the Righteous, and therefore the Righteous itself.
“I saw it, Captain,” said Andso. “That thing which you took from the woman. During the battle. I saw it. I know it well involves the god.”
“Strange how much you saw of the battle from your vantage point under a cart,” Tephe said, naming the place the priest had been discovered in the aftermath.
Andso flared. “Do not blaspheme, Captain Andso.”
“It is not blasphemy to speak the truth, priest,” Tephe said. He started to push past Andso.
Andso blocked him. “Indeed, Captain,” said the priest. “Here is a truth for you, then. You are captain and commander of this ship. But by the rights of the priesthood and the rules of the Bishopry Militant, you must have the blessings and prayers of a priest before your ship can leave port. You must have my blessing, Captain, or the Righteous will not move an inch.”
“This ship’s orders come directly from the Speaker,” Tephe said, finally naming to himself the third bishop, the sole bishop who spoke directly to
The Lord and who therefore carried His word and His orders, uncontested. Tephe watched the priest’s eyes widen involuntarily. “You need to ask yourself, Priest Andso, whether you wish to be the one to explain to him why this ship has not budged when he has bid it depart.”
The priest looked panicked for a moment. Then he smiled at the captain. “By all means, Captain Tephe, let us raise the Bishopry Militant,” he said. “I will explain why I have delayed our departure. And you may explain why you lied to the Captain of the Guards and even now hold a trinket meant for the god. Perhaps you intend to deliver it after all.”
It was Tephe’s turn to flare. “Call me a traitor again, priest,” he said, moving his face directly into the other man’s own. “You will know my response, and gladly will I answer to Our Lord Himself for it.”
Andso swallowed but held his ground. “This ship will not move, captain, until I know what business you have with the god.”
Tephe swore and withdrew momentarily, and then stormed back up to the priest. Then he paused and thought better of what he was about to say.
The priest smiled. “We have understanding, then,” he said, to Tephe.
Tephe said nothing but opened the portal to the god’s chamber and bid the priest enter.
Inside was the god, chained and resting in its circle, and two acolytes standing guard with pikes. Captain Tephe wondered briefly if the pikes were finally genuine second-made iron. “Get out,” he said to the acolytes. The two looked to their priest, who nodded. The two carefully set down their pikes outside the god’s iron circle and departed, closing the portal behind them.
Tephe knelt, drew an object from his blouse pocket and showed it to the god.
“What is this,” he asked.
The god turned its head idly and glanced at the thing, briefly. “A pretty thing,” it said, looking away again. “A trinket. A thing of no importance.”
Tephe held the object closer to the god, edging the iron circle itself. “This is a Talent,” he said. “A thing gods give followers to channel their grace, so the followers may use that grace to their own ends.”