Lobat's Tears (III)

"You're awake."

Anisca was lying down in a room she didn't know, part of Lobat's Tears judging by the red stone walls, while Brother Mataba stood above her. There was a single bureau with a dozen drawers in different sizes, the kind of cabinet healers keep their tools in. A built-in shelf held several volumes, mostly made of planes of wood instead of modern paper. One door led to an office; another to a hallway. She must be in the infirmary, run by the senior healer-turned-disciple.

There were five more sick beds, low palettes with thick mattresses. One of them was occupied by Riculta. The woman and her black horns were sitting up, staring accusations at her.

"What happened?"

Mataba gave a healer's reassuring smile. "You nearly died, that's what happened."

"How? Did that student's prayer fail? She said we were protected from poison."

"You weren't poisoned. You suffocated: an altogether different thing. The air that you were breathing was lacking any oxygen."

Oxygen. She had heard the word or read it in a book, but its source and meaning eluded her.

"Oxygen is the stuff in the air that you need to breathe," prompted Mataba.

"Right. Chemistry." It was otherworldly knowledge imported by Taylor and, according to him, a strange and most potent field of study. He had published a small volume about it but, so far, very few people had grasped it. Taylor told her on the journey down he wasn't sure how to teach it to those who hadn't grown up with the knowledge all around them.

Anisca eyed Riculta, her farmer, her only minion in exile. "How are you feeling?"

"I am well, Miss Anisca."

That was a cold reply. She would have to speak with her in private to find out what was bothering her. For the moment, Anisca's head was still at the gray wall, her mind's eye pressed against the too-narrow peephole. "Has anyone gone inside yet?"

"It's been sealed, for now."

"Please don't tell me he's going to cover it up and destroy it like Enclave! He can't!"

"There's a proper way to do these things." Mataba's voice was gentle but final. "One does not simply open a chamber that has been sealed for centuries: there are many dangers to be considered; it requires planning and preparation. You nearly died today from just one of many dangers lurking underground for the unwary. Everyone else here knows this. There is a chapter in the guidebook called Underground Cautions. Add to the usual dangers everything we don't know about the ancients, and you have a dicey situation. Brother Phillip is right to be cautious."

Taylor's voice came from the office. "Novice Chapa is fine, by the way." He entered, dressed in a black cassock wearing a pale wooden star of Olyon. Behind him stood a shamefaced Chapa, wringing hands clasped before her. "She saved both your lives by dragging you outside when she could have escaped."

"I would hope so. This mess is her fault for not warning us it was dangerous. Isn't she supposed to know these things?" Dodge. Deflect. Deny. The confusion of the moment pushed her back to old habits.

"I did warn you! I said we should tell someone before we went somewhere dangerous. You wouldn't listen!" Chapa's eyes were tearing up but Anisca would not give in to her. She could find a way through this while taking minimal blame.

Or not. Taylor was ahead of her this time.

"You see? A novice she barely knows means nothing to her. Anisca is with us because she's a promising researcher, but her research is the only thing she's responsible for. She's very good at finding and exploiting people's weak points to get the things she wants. The whole world could fall apart and she wouldn't care so long as she obtains her goal."

It was strange to think he was only a few years older than the student, given how much older he behaved. "Your punishment is to copy Moral Cautions twenty times. Do you understand why?"

"Yes, Brother Phillip. Because I substituted her poor judgment for my own without good reason."

"Hey!" Anisca nearly popped out of bed to accost the girl, but Mataba's hand on her shoulder pinned her in place.

"That's right. You should get started soon."

"Yes, Brother Phillip," said the girl, and slunk away.

Riculta glared at Anisca then suddenly stood up, and left her sickbed to chase after the girl.

Mataba called after his patient, "You're quite well enough to leave!"

Taylor pointed at two bundles of boards tied with red string, sitting on the floor next to Anisca's pallet. "Those are for you."

"What are they?" It was too much to suppose he had brought her gifts.

"Chapters from Disciple's Handbook. Underground Cautions, and Moral Cautions. Your punishment is to make twenty copies of each."

"You can't punish me more than her!" She surprised herself with that response. On any other day, to anybody else who wasn't family, she would object that he could punish her at all.

Taylor's face, so absurdly naked, so trivial to read, openly considered sending her away. Her value was in doubt; the trouble she had caused him was severe. If he wanted noble women there were plenty more to choose from, while talented disciples were exceeding rare. He liked her kingly brother, but Leo knew his sister was a bother. Likely he could send her home and not cut his ties to Lavradio. Or could this girl (that's how he thought of her) be salvaged?

His assessment was he didn't even care enough to scold her. Why waste words on those who wouldn't hear them?

"Do the work, Princess. Or go home."

He had given up on teaching her. She was on her own, as good as discarded. Why did this not-quite-man, at least ten years her junior, always raise in her such bitter feelings?

❖ ❖ ❖

"Anisca, wake up! You're going to miss it!"

Someone was shaking her but it was just as well. Her dreams were filled with text in a blocky hand.

> Atmosphere is the next most dangerous feature of underground spaces. Of all the kinds of air one may find beneath the earth, breathable air is the rarest. Mines and tunnels require careful planning with vents and fanning mechanisms placed to prevent the occupants from dying. Only by thorough mixing of the outside air with what is underground can an explorer know they are safe.

>

> Poisonous air is the most common and will make him who breathes it suffer for whatever short remaining days he has left. Explosive air is less common but no less deadly, as an open flame will bring instant catastrophe. Worst of all is dead air, neither poison nor explosive. The one who breathes it may feel nothing at all amiss, but die as suddenly as if struck down by God.

>

> These atmospheres are often invisible. Some sink to low places, while others rise. Pockets of deadly air can lurk in remote corners where ventilation doesn't reach. Always beware a void, or any place where deadly atmospheres may collect for many years unmixed with good air.

>

> Herein are the measures one must take …

"Get dressed," that shove again, friendly but insistent. Dimly, Anisca recognized the voice as Kasryn's. Several women had slept here, so close they were nearly in a pile. After the long ride down, Anisca appreciated how nice it was to sleep in a proper group.

She had to work to find her voice. "What's happened?"

"Rustlers in the mischus -- they tried to take a gurantor! They were caught, and Phillip has to judge them." Kasryn sounded excited by it all.

A brightly colored sari smacked Anisca in the face, a thing Calique tablas were wont to wear. "You might redeem yourself in Phillip's eyes if you can act the part convincingly."

"Why would he call on me, the problem child?"

"He won't," said Kasryn, "but they might."

"Who?"

"The rustlers! You're smarter than this, Anisca! Keep up!"

Faces were washed, clothes changed, and makeup was applied in bright hues favored by Calique women. Slowly Anisca understood the object of the exercise: to present themselves as highly-ranking women in a way the men would recognize.

Other women helped them. Even Riculta lent a hand. Anisca had regained some of her lost trust through a fulsome apology in three acts: allocution, self-blame, and a promise to do better. Then, she had repeated the entire painful play for Chapa's benefit, with Rector Mika supervising. She had hoped Taylor would attend, but the incident hadn't made him any more available to her.

They fairly flew down the moonlit eastern steps, along the avenue, and into center town and stopped to catch their breath. It wouldn't do to appear rushed no matter how eager they were to attend. The predawn light was glowing rose and yellow under the horizon. Nexus would be up before the sun's first arc was showing. The heat today would be the smothering kind, heavy, suffocating. Anyone awake could feel it coming. The morning would start early and the mid-day break run long.

The would-be thieves were being held in the small audience chamber, a second-story room of narrow aspect, tall and arched, with room enough for twenty-five or thirty people to stand comfortably, and a dais at one end. Whoever built Lobat's Tears had loved their arches dearly because they used them everywhere. Spirit lamps lit the room, their cold and silver orbs gently flickered back the gloom.

Six men were bound in ropes and knelt before the empty dais. All of them were blessed with natural armor, bony plates that covered them to varying degrees, some just on their heads while others had it over most of their backs and arms. The armor color ranged from nearly black to sandy yellow. They were desert thin, bone and sinew under weathered skin, their faces seamed with dirt. They wore loose sand-colored tunics and trousers, all threadbare, and frayed head scarves that hung loosely around their necks. Their other possessions, weapons, water, food, and jewelry, had all been taken from them. They had even lost their mounts. Their fortunes had been very poor indeed, by the look of them, and grown poorer still by their attempted theft.

Last night's watchmen stood on one side, their weapons sheathed or resting. Anisca and Kasryn posted themselves opposite the cadre, to stand on Taylor's left whenever he arrived. Several others filed in and waited, lectors and disciples who were curious. Rector Mika was the last one to arrive, and took a station on the dais's right side.

The spirit lamps went out, all at once, leaving them in silent stony darkness. Just as their eyes began to adjust, when the dimmest shapes could be discerned, the dais flared to life in coruscating waves of blue and silver blinding fire. It touched them like a holy balm, seeped into skin until it found the living truth within their flesh.

Their eyes had to adjust and as they did, the figure of their hierarch came into focus. What else could he be, when wreathed in such austere glory? His robes of pure white cloth were unadorned except a golden stole and a holy symbol in dark-stained wood. His armor was white also, a cuirass of monster shell, with greaves and armguards to match. His sword was sheathed and gripped in lustrous monster bone. The light that shone above him was mounted on a wooden staff he carried, a fragment of sun fully exposed, sparing no one.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"We meet in the light," he quoted, the standard greeting between disciples.

"Let's walk as brothers," replied the room. Even Anisca found herself saying the words, well-known but never uttered by her. Only the prisoners remained silent, awed and frightened by their first exposure to the light.

"Brother Montague, what has happened?"

"We spied these men prowling outside the berm, so we chose to watch them. They rode around the perimeter, then came over the berm and saw the animals by moonlight. They came down and inspected the appalons and the gurantors. Our directive was to protect Nexus without harming anyone unduly, so we waited for them to leave or announce their presence. Neither happened. Instead, they tried to take away a gurantor. That's when a certain personal appalon interfered. He head-butted that one over there." Minty pointed at a hunter who had a huge bruise forming on his forehead. "That's when we took the rest into custody."

"Which one is your leader?" Five men looked at the sixth, an older man with graying hair and yellowed claws. He could have cut through normal ropes with those claws, but he hadn't even tried. Not that it would have mattered, because the ropes were enhanced.

"What is your name, hunter?"

"I am Iraj, a Spear of Pashtuk."

"You're a long way from your garden, Iraj. My name is Brother Phillip the Younger." Iraj's eyes widened in surprise. It was a name he recognized.

"What do you have to say for yourself and your men?"

"This is all a misunderstanding." The fragment's light shifted and shadowed Iraj in darkness. The audience was unaffected, still standing in the light.

"I advise you not to lie, Iraj Spear of Pashtuk. Not even to yourself. The holy fragments can be difficult that way."

"Labat's Tears has been abandoned for many years! There weren't any lights! We didn't see any guards! We didn't think there would be any harm in taking them!" The light returned to his countenance, only to shadow him again on his last statement. He had known that taking the gurantors would bring harm to someone.

"Let's try a different topic. Tell me why you were so far out from your home."

"We were hunting, that's what we were doing!" The light had returned to Iraj. "We were trying to get something to bring back to our people. And there's these appalons and gurantors just grazing away, nobody watching them. We thought they were unattended! And what's with turning that beast loose on us, huh? That monster head-butted one of my hunters, almost knocked the brains right out of him!"

There was low laughter among the audience. That particular beast belonged to Taylor, and its strange propensities were well known.

"That's just Ben. It's a game he likes to play. It isn't his fault you were unprepared."

Taylor was considering what he should do with these men, as Ansica observed his expressions avidly. He glanced at Iraj's neck and wrists as he imagined severing them. As an option it was reasonable: mounts were more than transportation in the desert, they were a lifeline. Not only did they carry men across the desert at speed, but they could be bled for moisture in an emergency. Their milk was nutritious (although Lavradians did not partake) and could be preserved as cheese. Taking one was tantamount to endangering the owner's life.

But Taylor didn't come here to make unnecessary enemies, nor did he count bloody carnage as evidence of victory. Some exchange had to be made, some penalty imposed, or else he could not be counted as protecting Nexus property.

The prisoners whispered among themselves, but Taylor didn't try to silence them. Some of the guards had good ears and would report their words later. The whispered conversation grew intense until Iraj sushed his men and addressed Taylor again.

"Brother Phillip, is there a doyenne we could speak to?"

"I have trusted advisors who are women, but I am the highest authority here. What can you say to a doyenne that you can't say to me?"

"A doyenne would find a way to … solve this difficulty without shedding blood."

Ansica did not step forward. She was pushed by Kasryn, right between the shoulder blades. Suddenly she was standing between the Calique and their judge, the focus of the room. She gave a Nexus bow to Brother Phillip and measured his expression. He doubted she could offer anything, but decided doubt didn't have to matter. If he didn't like her proposal he could override her, and thus show his supremacy. If she negotiated something advantageous then all the better. He agreed to her assistance with the barest nod.

Anisca faced the kneeling hunters. They shifted uncomfortably on the hard stone floor, which must be hurting them. "I am Anisca, and I will hear your plea," she said, by which she meant you may now beg for your lives and limbs.

"Tabla Anisca!" the leader sounded much relieved. Men were often more concerned about appearing strong than they were with justice, whereas a woman might find a path to leniency. "We convinced ourselves it would be okay to take the animals. I admit we were fools, but it was the foolishness of men desperate to aid their garden in a desperate time. Is there any way we could call this a … misunderstanding?"

Anisca adopted amused expression number three, arch and not too kind. "A misunderstanding? That would be a very generous interpretation on our part."

"In normal times we might be ransomed," he rushed to explain, "but these are not normal times. All the desert is in disarray. All of us are past our primes, even our mounts. Our labor is worth something, but not enough for a gurantor. And," he added, his voice shrinking, "our garden has no goods to trade."

If they released these men it was an act of aid, considering what they had done. Disciple's Guidebook was emphatic about receiving payment, no matter how small. It was a Moral Caution. Taylor had taken all kinds of things as payment in his time as disciple, from fruit preserves to silver ingots and skilled services. She had heard the stories.

Information was their sorest need after water, and all the desert was in disarray. Anisca glanced at Taylor and received his approving nod in return.

"Were any of our people hurt?" Anisca asked Montague.

"No, Miss Anisca."

"And all our animals are accounted for?"

"Yes, Miss Anisca."

"That does make our situation simpler. Perhaps we have an offer for you, Iraj, Spear of Pashtuk. We could pretend the gurantor theft never happened. We could release you, and instead of prisoner you could be our guest. And as a guest, you could tell us all the news, everything Calique hunters know. It's quite the stroke of luck for you, that our lives in Kravikas have just started. A monumental one in fact." She showed them merchant's face five, the one that tightened costs like thumbscrews. "Otherwise, you'd have nothing left worth giving, except your hands."

Iraj accepted, as did his men. What else could they do? They placed their palms together and touched their lips in reverence.

"Is that acceptable to you, Brother Phillip?"

"I'll allow it." His voice was magnanimity itself, but his eyes betrayed relief. Nexus would get something it needed and blood would not be spilled. The princess wasn't useless after all.

Truly, they needed to do something about his face.

As quick as he had come, he was gone again and all the silver flame went with him. Collectively, the room sighed in shared relief. They were released, the fragment's tireless touch was gone, and they could speak with ease again. A soft pink light of dawn fast filled the void, and day's first heat crept stealthily behind it.

❖ ❖ ❖

Iraj, Spear of Pashtuk

Not only were their bonds removed, but Iraj and his men were given room to rest and water to wash with. Children took their clothes away and returned them only minutes later, as clean as if they had been washed in deep water. All their possessions were returned, and they took the opportunity to fix their faces. Umber on their eyelids, dark gray liner, and on their lips the deepest green. They wrapped their long hair tightly in the laundered cloth and artfully draped their green-and-white patterned scarves. Guests should be presentable.

They were shown to a different room where Phillip waited, seated on a thin pad with all kinds of food before him. Without the painful light shining in their eyes they could see him properly: brindled hair, brown and gold, fell in waves to his shoulders. He had green eyes that gleamed with curiosity. With him was Tabla Anisca, the woman of the frightening smiles, and the silent older woman, possibly their doyenne. There was a gardener with horns and several fighters, a few of whom were dressed as women. As a guard on many caravans, Iraj has seen their like before: armor over battle skirts; hair shorn short; beautiful faces left unpainted; a man's arm with a woman's laugh. To most Calique, they would be icons of confusion. There also was an elder priest, who watched and judged the young maul's every move. And finally, a woman who would record their meeting, slate and chalk in hand, unmistakably a kind of foreign tabla.

The food was strange, but the guests were hungry enough not to care. There was flat bread made of wheat instead of native coconut, foreign vegetables preserved and cut into sticks, roasted franango bird, and strangely flavored dips. There was water too, more pure and cold than Iraj had ever tasted. Their host motioned them to wash their hands at nearby basins and sit with him. Many other tables were in the room, where small groups were having breakfast, but none of them were as large as this one. It was the leaders' table. Iraj and his men washed and sat, and once the young maul had taken his obligatory first bite they all dug in. It was hard not to eat too quickly, for they had been hungry for many days.

Once the edge was off their appetites, Phillip spoke. "We're not familiar with Calique customs, so don't take offense with us too easily. In fact, you could offer suggestions for our improvement if you like. I plan to meet with Dogono soon, to say hello and introduce ourselves as neighbors. I would like to avoid misunderstandings."

"Dagono? I guess they are the closest." Iraj gulped down a grateful amount of water and helped himself to more from the nearest earthenware pitcher. "But they won't appreciate guests right now. They're hosting refugees from Pashtuk, that's my garden, and the Satomen, and many survivors from Sand Castle. They count every date and taro they pull from the garden these days. They're doing what they can for us refugees, but they have their own to look out for first."

"So it's true, then." The serious young man's eyes sparked with a glimmer of keen interest. "They made a great mess of it, didn't they? Tell me, what is the monster like? What kind is it?"

Of all the things he could have asked, he had to ask the forbidden! It wasn't worth Iraj's hands to be exiled from the gardens.

"I'm sorry Brother Phillip, especially after your generosity, but discussion about that has been forbidden by the doyennes."

"What, monsters? Or only that particular monster?"

"The particular one. Your fellow disciples promised to handle our little problem and, what, did I say something wrong?" Phillip had laughed.

"Only that Enclave is in some fellowship with us. It's quite the opposite. We are Nexus, the Reformed Church of Olyon. Enclave has been trying to eliminate us for some time now, much to their loss."

"And yet you are the ones out here, in Morufu's Hand, the desert of Kravikas. It does not seem to me like you are winning."

The fighter with the black-tipped spines snarled a warning at Iraj, offended for his maul. Men couldn't help but probe each other, which was why their women kept the peace, but Brother Phillip settled him with a hunter's hand sign, be still.

"No country will host us, not with Enclave threatening to cut them off from the Alignment. Lavradio has a neighbor who would be all too happy to grab some territory if the church were to help them. So we came out here to spare Lavradio. And, we can see the enemy coming from a distance. A very far distance, once we finish a stairway to the top of the mesa. This is a good place for us right now, and we're more fortified than we look."

"I do not think you are prepared to live in this place. You should move away, find somewhere else to live before you and your people die here."

"I know we're not prepared," the young man laughed openly, undaunted, "but we're fast learners. And we have a lot of disciples. So," the lad popped a stick of vegetable into his mouth and broke it with a pop. "What happened in Sand Castle?"

"It fell to a monster attack," said Iraj, skirting the forbidden topic. "Enclave disciples and their mercenaries went hunting, but they couldn't handle the desert or its monsters. They ran, and they were chased fifty kilometers back to the city. They entered the town without warning anyone of what pursued them. The gates were left open. Hundreds died. I cannot describe it properly, there's too much that I can't say, but the city is a monster lair now. There have been attacks on nearby gardens, which are all but abandoned. They'll be ruined if no one tends them. Survivors are badly burned or have missing limbs. Calique are nothing without their gardens, yet so many of us are homeless now. It might be more merciful to let us die of our injuries instead of slowly starving to death.

"The caravans have stopped running. That's less serious for us than it is for merchants, but it means no work for Calique men who guard them. The surviving gardens are full, there are no places for those men. Some will turn to stealing from other gardens to feed themselves."

"Which could lead to misunderstandings," said Phillip, waving his hand at their general location.

Iraj blushed, ashamed. The youth was taking this very well. He could have sworn the lad was ready to behead them all just a little while ago, but now he was feeding them and listening to their woes. He felt a rush of gratitude.

They ate in silence for a while and drank the purified water. Outside the sun was rising, its early light permeating the interior, reflected and diffused by sandstone walls. Soon they would block the terraces with cloth to keep out the mid-day sun and all the heat that came with it.

When he was nearly sated, Iraj ventured a question of his own. "This place has been without water for a long time. The wells are dry, and there is a layer of hard rock below here, harder than anything a man can dig through. How did you manage it?"

"I told you, we have a lot of disciples. All the wells are working now. Over time we'll break up the entire layer, bit by bit, all the way out to the edge of the mischus. It's a great exercise for the young ones. One day, we'll be sorry when it's all gone."

Iraj didn't know what to say to that. The legendarily tough rock under Labat's Tears, an exercise for young ones? Nexus disciples were certainly strong. He recalled how easily his men had been caught, like naughty children playing a naughty game, found out and captured by their fathers. Nexus had strength. There was no doubt about that. Their crops were foreign but they grew with amazing speed. His men had been here only two weeks before, and there was nothing to see except mischus and snakes. Disciples could also heal. And they could hunt monsters if they weren't as careless as the last group.

Iraj had acted rashly in trying to take the gurantors, but being indebted to this young man might be his grandest stroke of luck in many years. Owing him allowed Iraj to start a friendship. If he could be close to Nexus, if he could aid them, then Nexus might aid his beloved Pashtuk. They weren't a Calique garden, to be sure, but they weren't hostile or arrogant about their differences. Iraj had seen many self-important lordlings in his caravanning days, men and women who believed, with every fiber of their being, that anyone who differed from them was barely human. Phillip's sensibilities seemed more mercantile (in a good way). Our breadfruit for your blood melons, as his people liked to say, our gardens may be different but our needs are all the same.

"Brother Phillip, are you serious when you say you want to learn Calique ways?"

"I'm very serious. We are going to be neighbors for the foreseeable future, and I prefer good relations over hostile ones. We won't adopt all Calique habits, but we're willing to learn from them."

Iraj put on his careful face, the one he used when speaking to his doyenne. "Then allow me to return your generosity in a small way by teaching you our customs. I can tell Dogono you are coming, of your strength and willing spirit. It's a small thing, but I'm glad to do it if it aids you."

"I accept," said Phillip with a smile of satisfaction.

"And before we leave, my hunters and I will teach you about the mischus. A garden's mischus is the first thing visitors see, and yours needs proper tending."