Chapter III:
The Prisoner
Threats
Taral cracked his knuckles nervously as he was led along the dark passages of Morarta Keep toward Lord Eberu's hall. They had been successful in Esluna, but the cost had been greater than Taral had anticipated. The groom, a man named Stratix, had slain nearly a dozen of the god-hunters, and with one of their own blades.
The servant who led him directed him to a wooden door that stood slightly ajar. Taral pushed it open gently, but the hinges creaked so loudly that he decided it would be better to get it over with and just push the door open quickly.
When he entered the room there were three sets of eyes staring at him. One of them was a dark haired man with a gentle face. The other two he knew by sight. There was an old, gruff looking man with a nasty scar across his face, crossing his nose from cheek to cheek. His name was Lord Eberu, and he commanded the god-hunters. The other man was Deriks, the scribe of Morarta, who recorded the actions of the god-hunters for the masters of Sunlan Palace.
'I am sorry,' Taral said nervously.
'Think nothing of it,' the dark haired man said, rising from his seat. He wore a single black robe tied around his waist with a thick black belt. At his side was a long silver knife, but he bore no other weapons. 'It is not your duty to manage the hinges in Morarta, is it?'
'Uh, no my lord,' he said, assuming that the person he spoke to was his superior. He had no idea who it was, in truth, but the man carried such authority in his gait and such confidence in his voice that Taral could not help but think that in his presence he was nothing.
'Then do not worry. In fact, I think Lord Eberu is ultimately responsible for such things; isn't that right?' he turned and smiled at the Lord of the god-hunters. Eberu nodded, sniffing as he received the rather gentle rebuke. The strange man turned again and looked at Taral with sympathetic eyes. 'I am truly sorry to hear of how many men you lost last night,' he said.
Taral's instinct was to defend himself, thinking that the man was looking for an explanation. But when the man turned to leave, he realized that he truly was unhappy about the loss of men, and not about the loss of soldiers. Just before he left he turned and called to Deriks, 'Come scribe, we have widows to pay, have we not?'
'Yes, my lord,' the scribe said, wiping his mustached face with a cloth and rising from his seat. 'And Lord Eberu,' the man added, 'I will return in a week to speak with our... guest. You may gather what information you can from him in the meanwhile. I imagine that he will be eager to speak by the time I return.'
'Very good, my lord,' Eberu said, returning his attention once again to the roast pork on his plate.
In a moment the strange man and the scribe had left the room, letting the door creak shut once again.
'There is some more under the lid, Taral,' Eberu said with a welcoming voice. The Lord of the god-hunters grumbled under his breath as he passed a plate and fork roughly toward his servant. He was mad about the loss of soldiers, but he had been effectively disarmed by the other man, who took pains to make sure that Taral was not made to feel guilty about what had happened. It was certainly not his place to then turn around and chide him over the dead men.
Taral hungrily served himself a portion of the pork, using his fork to roll a few potatoes off the platter and onto his own plate. 'Here,' Eberu said through a mouthful of food. He passed a pitcher of ale and a mug toward Taral.
'Thank you, my lord,' the man answered, not daring to look straight at Lord Eberu.
After they ate in silence for a time, Eberu sighed and asked, 'Curses, Taral. What happened there? What in Bel Albor happened?'
'There were some trained warriors-' he began nervously.
'To the pit with you, Taral,' Eberu grumbled. 'You are trained warriors, and trained by the elves no less. What happened?'
'They had gods with them, then,' Taral said, letting his anger escape for a moment. 'I don't know except to say that these men knew how to carry a sword better than the elves. Numbers triumphed over skill, in the end. They had warriors, but they were not warriors for the most part. If it was a battle, then we did quite well all things considered.'
'But it wasn't supposed to be a battle, Taral,' Eberu said. 'It was supposed to be a slaughter.'
'I would have preferred a battle, my lord, even if our losses were doubled.' Taral quickly realized he had spoken disrespectfully and added, 'I mean, I don't want to lose any more men, but where is the honor in a slaughter?'
'If you are after honor, Taral,' Eberu said, dropping a bone onto his plate, 'then go to Alwan, where the 'god' Pelas gives out honor like a farmer sowing seed. Here in Sunlan we strive for the Peace.'
'Peace?' Taral asked confusedly. 'How is a slaughter peaceful?'
'Well, think on it Taral,' the old warrior said, almost sounding fatherly for a moment. 'What stops a storm?'
'A storm, my lord?'
'Yes, what brings it to an end?'
'Nothing, my lord. No one can stop a storm,' Taral answered, confused by the strange question.
'No, Taral. Nothing is nothing, how then can it stop a storm?'
Taral said nothing; he took a bite from his potato and looked at Eberu expectantly.
'A storm is stopped by air - by wind, by the very thing in which it consists. But if the wind that stops it were not opposed to it, then the storm would continue forever. The peace comes because there is that which opposes the violence. And in a manner of speaking, the air and wind that makes an end of the storm is, itself, violence. So if we must fight here and now to make a more peaceful age for our children and grandchildren, what is so evil in that? If we must slaughter one village so that the entire kingdom can live, then so be it. You remember what happened in Talclin, don't you? The children all bound in rags until their heads burst, and with knives in their bellies? The gods - nay, the madmen who serve the gods - must be hunted down until there are none left. They must all be put away, so that the Peace may come and endure. From the ancient days until now it has always been gods and their servants fighting for land and wealth. From the immortals and the legends of old Mount Vitiai, to the goddess Evnai who once was worshipped in Sunlan, it is always the same. We are here to put an end to that. Of course some innocents and some gentle folk will suffer in the process, but more will suffer if we withhold our blade. Cut out the poison, I say, and let the body live.'
'I understand, my lord,' Taral said, feeling somewhat encouraged. Nothing could make him feel any better about the men who had perished that day. And even if it was for the best, nothing could take away the screams of the dying that haunted his dreams.
'I do not pretend it is easy, Taral,' Eberu said gently. 'Your own pain is a better sacrifice than any of these fools offer to their gods. For what they give, they give for nothing. But you endure all this sorrow for the sake of your kin and your people, and for the greater glory and honor of Sunlan.'
The Book
Xanthur, as Xan of Thure had come to be known since his coming to Sunlan, followed Deriks down the corridor to a small chamber filled with scrolls and books of various sizes, lengths and colors. He had protested his new name at first, since it effectively stripped him of his heritage and history, but Thure meant nothing to those in Bel Albor, and there was nothing he could do to prevent the masses of men and elves from creating a single name from the two strange words. Thus was Xanthur born, so to speak - he who would one day lead the Magic Tower itself and the hosts of Lapulia against the high elves in Tel Arie. He who would meet his end outside the walls of Dadron, when the Naming Stone was used by Daruvis to summon an innumerable horde of goblins from the Coronan Mountains. Such is recorded in the Wars of Weldera, however, and I need say no more here.
There was a small fireplace in one corner of the room, and beside it a bucket and shovel. The bucket was filled with ashes, mostly the remains of burned books or parchments. Xanthur insisted upon reading everything that was brought to Morarta, 'Just to be certain that th
ere was nothing profound or rational mixed in with all of the other nonsense.' So far he had learned of a few useful potions that were recorded in the religious writings of certain sects of the Lupith. The Essenes had a better calendar, he discovered, than the elves of Sunlan, and so the alterations were slowly introduced throughout both Sunlan and eventually in Alwan. The summer previously had the habit of gradually beginning earlier and earlier each year, until the calendar was corrected according to what he had discovered in the work of the Essenes.
It was not their God of gods, however, that taught them to watch the stars; what they learned, any of the elves might have learned if only they had been more careful in their observations. When he was finished with a book, he lit the coals and burned it in the fireplace, making an end of the stupidity once and, hopefully, for all. On more than one occasion he was angered to find a book he had burned rewritten, and improved upon. There was once a work on the beginning of the gods that twice came into his possession. He burned it, but several years later the same book appeared again, but this time with all of the bad grammar corrected. The gods, apparently, progress in their studies just as human writers are wont to improve. 'Hopefully it will be better next time I see it,' he had laughed as he threw it into the hot fire.
There was a new book in the room today. He had a long list of books that he was supposed to sort out. Several hundred papers had just been brought in a few weeks earlier. He normally read through a few whenever he was in Morarta, but the great task of studying them for information was reserved for the wintertime, when he would settle in the Keep during the snowfalls and read until his eyes burned.
But he had been told that this new book was something unique.
Olihon, the wretched Jailor of Sunlan, had sent it to the god-hunters because it was filled with pictures of spirits and devils, gods and monsters.
It certainly looked like a religious text. The binding of the book, however, was not like anything he had encountered. It was like leather, but it seemed much stronger, and it was completely smooth on the inside flaps. A strong cord bound the pages in place, carefully woven through each leaf in an exact pattern. The pages of the book, also, were not quite made of paper. They bent and turned like paper, but even a very hard tug did not seem to rip them. Some of the pages stretched a little, but only after his full strength was set to pulling at them. 'You are right,' Xanthur said to the scribe Deriks as he leafed through the book. 'This is beautiful, and unique.'
'I thought you would be interested in seeing it, my lord,' Deriks said. 'Olihon thought so as well.'
'Did he say how he acquired it?' Xanthur asked curiously, holding the book close to his eyes for a better look. The little room was lit by an oil lamp hung from the ceiling. It provided enough light to read by, but it was not like reading by the light of the sun by any means.
'He said they found it on a merchant,' Deriks answered.
'A merchant?' Xanthur asked.
'Some kind of troublemaker, actually,' Deriks said. 'One of the lordling elves got into a fight with him at Evnai Port; he cast him in the dungeon, of course. They found this book among his possessions.' Deriks had come to know Xanthur well enough to understand how the elf viewed the pampered nobles of Sunlan. There were two kinds of nobility among the elves in those days: Those who had helped Agonas come to power, and those who had wept and pleaded for their lives in the wake of his ascent to the throne. Most of the Evnai nobility belonged to this latter class.
'In the port, you say? Was he a prophet or something? Did they find out what his purpose was in Sunlan?'
'No, my lord, they could learn nothing from him. The Jailor said he withstood his tortures like a devil,' Deriks definitely sounded as though he was impressed with this stranger.
Xanthur took a moment to look over the book more carefully.
The text seemed in every way to match the images, it spoke of gods and demons, sprites and spirits, jinn and wisps. The words, however, read almost as though they were, not rhymes in an epic poem, but ingredients or instructions.
'These are gods of Kharku,' Xanthur said with surprise. 'They are worshipped in the Manlands, and somewhat in Sesana. I wonder how this found its way into Sunlan.'
He continued to read for a while, his expression grave at first, then puzzled and then finally with a look bespoke his impending laughter.
'Place the jinn of luck on your tongue,' he read aloud, barely able to contain himself. 'He will rise to the Astral lords. Let him escape the bottle and good luck will come to lie in your oceans.'
The two men laughed heartily. 'The whole book is like this!' Xanthur laughed. There was something about the book, however, that bothered him. It was strong enough to endure a great deal of abuse, it had been made of materials he did not recognize, it was illustrated by a very skilled painter, and the writing was so perfect and neat that its writer must have been extremely well-lettered. Yet it spoke of utter nonsense. 'The cow will lick up the boulders,' Xanthur said, turning ahead a few pages. 'I should very much like to speak with this man if ever I have the opportunity. Send a message to our cheerful Olihon; tell him that this prisoner is to be held until I come to speak with him. In the meanwhile, I think I will take this book to Ilvas when I leave tonight. Sol is there, I believe. And if I am very lucky I will find Kolohi there as well. They are quite learned in the ways and superstitions of the mortals. If they cannot make any sense of it, then... well, I still don't think I have the heart to burn it. This is truly unlike anything I have ever seen before.'
'I will send the message at once, my lord,' Deriks said when the elf stopped laughing.
Xanthur took the book in his arms and carried it through the halls toward the stables, reading as he walked and laughing to himself as he departed from Morarta.
The Prisoner Speaks
Late in the evening Lord Eberu made his way down the corridors of Morarta Keep to the Dark Hall, which led to the dungeons. There were not many cells in Morarta. They were generally reserved for those whom the god-hunters suspected might be innocent, or those who might be able to provide information about other fanatics or so-called prophets. At the moment there was only one man being held there. This was a strange thing indeed; for the man had been sent to him by the Essenes themselves, who were usually the ones being punished by the god-hunters. But they apparently wanted to have nothing to do with this man. They called him a subverter of the peace, and an enemy of both the Essenes and of Sunlan.
He could not, of course, have been an enemy to all of the Essenes. If he was an enemy to all of them then there would be very little danger that he could pose to them. They hated him because there was at that time a great many among them who had begun to follow him. And those who did no longer called themselves Essenes.
His name was Theodysus.
'Now,' Eberu said, taking at a table across from the other man and setting out pen and ink beside a large parchment, 'let us get through all of these things.'
The other man just sat staring at him, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand.
'What is this?' Eberu thundered. 'What has become of your chains?'
'I took them off,' the prisoner answered gently.
'How dare you?' Eberu said.
'Do you wish for me to put them on again? No one commanded me to keep them on,' the prisoner explained.
'Forget it,' Eberu said with confusion, his eyes scanning the room for some kind of utensil or tool by which the other man might have unlocked them. 'I am told that you have been teaching a new god among the Essenes, who have enough gods if you ask me.'
'The Essenes have only one god,' Theodysus answered calmly. 'And even he is not the Truth - not when they speak of him. I do not preach a new god, however.'
Theodysus looked to be somewhere in his late twenties, his features were not unusual, but yet he did not quite look like any particular race of men. He had black hair and a somewhat long beard, which Eberu perceived must have been neatly trimmed before
his arrest.
'Then you deny the charges put to us by the Essenes, that you teach a new god?' Eberu asked.
'I do not teach a new god,' he answered.
'That is good, then,' Eberu said, thinking perhaps they might even be able to release this man. 'I have a few more questions, but I think we are getting somewhere. You will also have to answer to my master Xanthur, but if you answer him as you have answered me, I think you will do well.'
'He will not have the opportunity to question me,' the man said flatly.
Eberu looked at him uneasily. He did not want to do anything to harm the man, but if he went on speaking as if he could discern the future, then there would be no help for him. Most of the people who were brought in to Morarta were put to death after their interviews.
'The Essenes also say that you perform wonders and healings. Is this so?' Eberu asked after he had made a few notes on his parchment.
'There are many wonders in this world, and there are many healers, even in the Palace of Sunlan,' Theodysus said.
'That is not exactly an answer, then, is it?' Eberu protested. 'They say that you perform that which is impossible. Do you deny this?'
'I absolutely deny it,' Theodysus said calmly. 'If I could do something, then it would not be impossible.'
'But wonders; do you perform wonders?'
'That depends upon your expectations,' the prisoner replied.
'But do you not heal the sick? They say that your servants find gemstones in the bellies of beasts.'
'Men have found all manner of things in the bellies of animals,' Theodysus replied. 'And as for the sick; is it now a crime to heal a man?'
'But do you heal by wonders and miracles?' Eberu asked, frustrated by the man's evasions.
'What is a wonder? What is a miracle?' Theodysus asked, 'Tell me, then I can answer you honestly.'
Eberu leaned back on his chair and brushed his grey beard with the back of his feather pen. This was not going at all how he expected. Nor was it going as he had hoped after hearing the man's first answer.
'A wonder is something amazing, awe striking and marvelous,' Eberu answered.
'Do not your own histories say that Agonas, lord of Sunlan, is all of these things? Are you then an enemy of Agonas, if you condemn such things?' Theodysus answered.
Eberu nodded, then added, 'A miracle is something that does violence to the order of the world and the laws which govern nature.'
'Do these laws make things occur?' Theodysus asked, 'or are they themselves made from what does occur?'
'What do you mean?' Eberu asked.
'Do you know the laws without watching the way things behave, or do you watch things behave so as to devise the laws? For instance, the laws of the motions of the heavens, are they not derived from the motion of the stars, and not the stars from the laws?'
'I suppose it is the former case,' Eberu admitted.
'Then whatever I do, I cannot go against the laws or the ordained things of nature, for these laws come from our deeds and do not determine them.'
Eberu sniffed loudly, growing more and more angry with this strange man. 'It is said, specifically, that you restored a lame man's legs, so that a man who had been in bed since his childhood rose up and walked. Is this true?'
'If it is true, then why do you not believe that I AM a prophet?' Theodysus asked. 'If not, then why do you keep me in a cell as a deceiver?'
'Then you say that you are a prophet?' Eberu asked thunderously. His skin had grown chill when the other man questioned him.
'I said no such thing,' Theodysus said.
'What you did say,' Eberu grumbled, 'was not what I asked you to say. I asked the question; answer me. Is this true? Did you perform this miracle?'
'I could not have,' Theodysus answered. 'For miracles are impossible.'
'But did you restore a man's legs to him, so that he could rise and work whereas formerly he lay in bed a cripple?'
'I met such a man,' Theodysus answered. 'But it was, by your own admission, no miracle. And I certainly could not have done anything for him, if you speak the truth.'
Eberu shook his head angrily, 'This is why we are so short with our patience for you seers and prophets! You answer every question crookedly, and you are all frauds and liars.'
'Now you are the seer!' Theodysus declared.
'What in the Golden Palace are you talking about?' Eberu said in a rage. 'How dare you accuse the lord of the god-hunters of such a thing?'
'Have you seen me before today?' Theodysus asked, 'and have you seen this man - this cripple who was not made whole?'
'No, I have seen neither you nor the cripple,' Eberu answered.
'How then can you speak on what you haven't seen?' Theodysus answered. 'You have already said that the order of nature is learned from nature and not given as a rule which nature must obey. But then you speak of what you have not seen as though you have given commands to the world which must be obeyed. If I am a prophet, then why shouldn't I heal a crippled man? If you have not seen either me or the cripple, then from what stems your unbelief?'
'I don't believe because people cannot do what you are said to have done!' Eberu shouted.
'But you have already said that you were not there,' Theodysus said, 'and you have said that it is what happens that determines what a man can or cannot do. But this is precisely the thing of which you are ignorant. Your unbelief comes not from the Truth, but from your heart.'
Eberu pushed the table away from him, and took up his parchment and ink. 'I hope for your sake that you have better things to say to my master when he comes to speak with you.'
'He will come to speak with me, but he will not be able to,' Theodysus said, rising from his seat.
'No one can escape from Morarta,' Eberu said harshly.
'On the morrow, you shall say otherwise,' Theodysus said quietly as Eberu slammed the door shut behind him.
When the cell was opened the next morning, their prisoner was gone. Eberu himself had locked the door.