Vajica cu’Seranta, might you agree with that statement?”
Ana’s head came up. She heard Safina ca’Millac snicker, then go abruptly silent as cu’Dosteau cast her a baleful glance. “Yes, U’Teni,”
Ana answered quickly. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Cu’Dosteau sniffed, as if amused. “That’s enough for today,” he told them. “We’re already late for the Archigos’ service. I know you’re all tired from using the Ilmodo, even as poorly as you did, but see if you can manage to stay awake until after the Admonition. Then go home and sleep. Tomorrow I expect to see evidence that you have actual brains inside those skulls, as unlikely as that appears at the moment.”
Dhosti ca’Millac
There were few people other than U’Teni cu’Dosteau’s class in the main nave of the temple: two or three of the ca’-and-cu’ families in their fashionable bashtas and tashtas, several dozen ce’, ci’, or unranked citizens hanging farther back in the shadows of the vaulted interior. Archigos Dhosti ca’Millac climbed the small set of stairs placed judiciously behind the High Lectern that stood in front of the quire; even when he stood on the top step, his balding head-adorned with a gold circlet with a riven globe-barely topped the wooden structure.
Those below him saw mostly the hairless summit of his head.
Dhosti had once been a lowly street performer, a dwarf gymnast in a traveling circus in the desert wastes in southern Namarro, with no denotation of status before his name at all. But a young teni happened to attend one of the traveling circus’ performances and had seen in the misshapen young man’s startling performances of strength and agility the fact that Dhosti was tapping, unconsciously and poorly, the power that those of Concenzia called “Ilmodo,” the unseen energy the teni shaped through their deep faith and ritualized chants. Dhosti Millac, as he was known then, was brought to the nearest temple and converted to the Faith-easy in the Holdings, where Concenzia was the state religion, and anyone who wished to become cu’ or ca’ must be one of the Faithful. The promise glimpsed in Dhosti by that teni-none other than U’Teni cu’Dosteau himself, then a humble e’teni-was found to be greater than anyone expected. Over the course of several decades, the dwarf had risen through the ranks from e’teni to his installation as Archigos eighteen years ago.
Eighteen years as Archigos. Dhosti felt each of those years tenfold.
Not too long from now, someone else would take the globe of Cenzi from his dead hands and wear the green-and-white robes. Those around Dhosti were constantly reminding him of his mortality, reminding him that he had yet to designate someone to be the next Archigos, reminding him that far too many of the a’teni-those teni just under Dhosti, who controlled the largest cities of the Holdings-didn’t agree with Dhosti’s views and found him “soft.” They wanted the Concenzia Faith to wield its power and strength, they felt that the proper response to heretical statements was not discussion and negotiation, but the measures outlined in the harsh Commandments of the Divolonte.
Dhosti sighed, as much from the exertion of climbing the steps as from his thoughts.
He looked over the worn, polished oak of the High Lectern toward the small congregation gathered below him. He nodded faintly to U’Teni cu’Dosteau and also to his niece Safina, there in the midst of the acolytes, and began his Admonition.
“We of Concenzia know that the Toustour is the word of Cenzi, given to us so that we would understand Him. To guide us along the right path, our predecessors within the Faith created a companion to the scrolls of the Toustour, the Divolonte, and for long years, they have both served us. But we should always remember that while the Toustour was inspired by Vucta through Her son Cenzi, and while the Divolonte in turn was inspired by the Toustour, the Divolonte comes from our minds: the minds of frail people, not from Vucta or Cenzi or even the Moitidi who in turn created us. Just as the Moitidi which came from Cenzi were imperfect, so too are we. Even more so. In fact, we of the Faith must constantly look to the Divolonte we have made, and change it in response to the world in which we find ourselves. .”
It was an old Admonition, one that Dhosti had proclaimed so often that it required no thought on his part, and-he could see from the nodding heads before him-that those who came to the temple no longer even heard it when he spoke. He saw U’Teni cu’Dosteau put his hand over his mouth to cover a small, injudicious yawn.
You bore even yourself, old man. Dhosti wondered whether this was what Cenzi had intended for him: a long, slow, and sleepy decline from the vigor of his younger years. He wondered if this was why he’d fought so hard to become Archigos.
Half a turn of the glass later, he ended the Admonition and gave Cenzi’s Blessing to the congregation. They left the temple gratefully, the acolytes especially half-running from before the High Lectern as soon as they were dismissed. Dhosti moved slowly across the quire toward the vestry, his head bent down because of his curved spine. Kenne, his secretary and an o’teni despite his relative youth, took Dhosti’s arm, helping him from the dais. “Archigos,” Kenne whispered urgently. “There is news.”
Dhosti raised bristling white eyebrows as he regarded Kenne’s somber face. “Not good news, then. The Kraljica?”
“The Kraljica is fine. The news comes from Brezno.”
“Ah. What has A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca done?”
Dhosti could see from Kenne’s plain, round face that the guess had hit close to the mark. But Kenne’s next words nearly sent him stagger-ing to the carpeted tiles. “A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca and Hirzg ca’Vorl have captured and executed several Numetodo in Brezno Square.”
“He dares. .” Dhosti sputtered. The teni attendants at the vestry entrance looked at him quizzically, and he waved them away. They scattered as Kenne helped Dhosti into the vestry and closed the door.
Dhosti sat in the nearest chair and looked up at Kenne. His heart pounded against the cage of his ribs, and his breath was tight. His weariness had vanished, and he felt a burning in his stomach as if he’d just taken a glass of firebrew. “Tell me,” he said to Kenne. “Tell me what you know.”
Kenne nodded. “The report is from O’Teni ci’Narsa, who is the Hirzgin’s personal teni. He says that A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca had confessions taken from the captives in the Bastida Brezno first. Evidently many of the Numetodo, when they were paraded out, could barely walk. They were displayed to the crowds while the charges were read and sentences given. At least five of the prisoners were drawn before their heads were taken. The crowd was much amused, according to ci’Narsa.” The teni swallowed hard; Dhosti could see him imagining the scene. “The bodies were gibbeted on the square as a warning to any other Numetodo in the city, and the Hirzg and A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca both made speeches to the crowds. There were at least thirty killed, from the report that came here.”
He could see the bodies. In their black iron cages, their skeletal faces stared at him. “I did this,” Dhosti said quietly.
“Archigos?”
“I did this,” Dhosti repeated. “A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca has made no secret that he opposes my feelings toward the Numetodo, but now he goes beyond words to actions. It is my fault: I have been asleep here. If I were a stronger Archigos, he would not have dared.”
“You can’t blame yourself for A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca’s actions, Archigos. Only he is responsible.”
Dhosti nodded, wanting to believe Kenne, and knowing he could not. He could see the dead in Brezno Square, and all of them seemed to be looking directly at him. My fault. .
This was Cenzi’s warning. This was Cenzi telling him that he had been drifting, that if he continued to drift, far worse than this would happen.