Jorim wanted nothing so much as to brush those tears away, but he was forbidden from touching her. Then, without thinking, he touched the mai and floated the tears away, merging them with the air. If I can give comfort through magic, it cannot be all I have feared. I just have to be more than I fear I might be.
Nauana brushed a hand over her cheek. “Thank you for that kindness, my lord.”
“Understand something, Nauana. You taught me as I needed to be taught, and all I needed to learn. Had you not done that job well, the Mozoyan would have killed everyone on the Blackshark. Our victory, that day, was your victory.”
“Thank you.”
“And know something else.” Jorim lowered his voice. “Your opening yourself to me is what reminds me of who I am, who I have been, and why I am here. Your openness shall be my shield against fears. I don’t know what I am: man, god, or some mix; but the being I am is better for your efforts.”
He smiled at her and she returned the smile. “I think, my lord, you believe this.”
“I do. I shall remember it, no matter what.” He sighed. “Now, you best depart before I touch you and need another week of cleansing.”
“As you desire, my lord. I shall be waiting for your return.”
“It will not come soon enough.”
The trip to the mountain of the Witch-King passed uneventfully. His companions said barely a word outside of prayers and commands to the pack beasts. At a time when he would have relished distraction, they were determined not to disturb his thoughts.
So, Jorim did what he always did when not wanting to think about things that were too serious: he studied the flora and fauna, mentally cataloguing them for his journals when he got back to Nemehyan. His companions did take notice of his preoccupation and he feared that this would be translated by some as Lord Tetcomchoa’s taking note of every living thing, its condition, and determining if it would survive the time of centenco.
Maybe I am. Thoughts like that were about as far as he was willing to go in analyzing his situation. He told himself it was because he wanted to consult with the Witch-King and get the benefit of his wisdom. It was as good an excuse as any, and so he used it.
After a final day of rest and ritual cleansing, Jorim donned his robes from the Stormwolf. Purple silk edged with gold, the robe bore the Naleni dragon on breasts, sleeves, and back. He carried no weapon with him, and aside from having braided his side locks, he was otherwise undecorated. Bowing a farewell to his guides, he walked a serpentine trail through the rain forest to a cavern at the foot of the mountain and began the long journey up. While the first part of the cavern appeared to be natural, it quickly gave way to carved steps that twisted forward and back, up, down, and around in a circuitous route that seemed designed only to exhaust anyone following it.
Then he came to a break in the path. The mountain had split at some time, and by the look of the sharp edges on the broken stone, it had done so recently. A good twelve feet of the pathway had fallen onto a pile of debris three hundred feet below. He recalled seeing it in one of the lower chambers, but hadn’t thought about its significance.
Jorim shrugged, backed up a dozen steps and ran. He reached the gap and effortlessly cleared it. He crouched upon landing, then looked back at the gap and smiled. Doing that simple thing, and again observing life on the journey, had reminded him about the simple pleasures of nature. There are just times we make things far too complex.
He rose and walked forward and, as the stair climbed away to the left, he kept walking forward. His feet stepped through the stone, then he pushed on through what had been a wall. He felt a tingle as he passed through, but no fear, no ill effects. Entering a short, dark passage, he turned around and could see the stairs and gap clearly. It was an illusion. I wonder how that was done?
He continued on and passed into a huge domed chamber, which opened onto an even larger chamber to the north. They both had been shaped by the hand of man and decorated with paintings after the Amentzutl fashion. He looked up at the dome and found the stars arrayed in the Amentzutl Zodiac, with the sun poised to be moving out of the sign of Tetcomchoa.
As he entered the chamber, a man wearing nothing more than a loincloth smiled down at him from the larger chamber. Jorim couldn’t even guess at his age, because his body seemed young and slender and his brown hair hadn’t even a hint of grey. Still, his hazel eyes held years beyond numbering. There was something else odd about the man, but exactly what it was eluded him for a moment.
The Witch-King smiled. “I have been expecting you, Tetcomchoa, and am honored by your visit.” He paused for a moment and his smiled broadened. “Shall we converse in the Amentzutl tongue, or will you indulge me in my desire to hear the Imperial language again?”
“What?” Jorim’s jaw dropped. “You speak Imperial?”
“I do, and I’m certain I would have forgotten it save that time here seems to flow in odd currents.” His right hand came around and a gorgeous butterfly with wings of emerald outlined in black rested on a finger. “And I should have been more prepared to greet you, but I was distracted. I thought you’d use magic to bridge the gap and I would have warning of your arrival.”
“I just leaped it, then walked through your illusion.”
“My illusion? Fascinating.” The man lifted his hand and the butterfly fluttered off. “Perhaps you are Tetcomchoa after all.”
Jorim held a hand out, but the butterfly ignored him. “Beautiful specimen. I’ve not seen one like it before.”
“And likely won’t again.” The Witch-King executed a formal and respectful bow. “I welcome you to my humble dwelling. I am known as Cencopitzul here. I already know you are Tetcomchoa.”
“Jorim Anturasi. I came with a Naleni exploration fleet.” Jorim mounted the steps to the central chamber. “How is it that you are here?”
Cencopitzul waved him to a pair of rough-hewn wooden chairs. “That’s not really what you want to know, but it’s a good place to start. I found myself here during the last time of centenco. I was able to help them survive the years of no summer. The maicana-netl then decided I was not Tetcomchoa, but his envoy, and he chose me to be his heir. Here I have dwelt since that time.”
“How were you able to help them?”
The Witch-King smiled. “You know the answer to that question, and that answer raises many more. I was schooled in the use of magic. You thus suppose I was one of the vanyesh, and you would be correct. You would therefore assume I must be insane, and I would counter that I am no more insane than a Naleni cartographer who thinks he might be a god born again.”
“But if you were one of the vanyesh…”
Cencopitzul raised a hand, then slid into the chair across from Jorim. “I did not summon you here to discuss me and my fate, but to address yours. You know Tetcomchoa’s history: he arrived, he taught the Amentzutl magic so they could defeat the Ansatl, then he sailed west with his most trusted warriors. Taichun arrived from the east and carved the Empire out of the warring states that had been the domain of Men after they destroyed the remnants of the Viruk Empire.”
Jorim nodded. “That’s what I have been told.”
“Then you should have two questions. The first is whether or not Tetcomchoa was a god-made-man, and the second is if you are Tetcomchoa-reborn.” The Witch-King sat back. “I’ve given this much thought. We have ample tales of gods visiting the world as all sorts of creatures, including men and women. There is no reason to suppose Tetcomchoa was not a god-one of ours, one of theirs, a new god, it doesn’t really matter which is true. There also seems no dispute that he taught the Amentzutl magic.”
The cartographer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I can accept that.”
“Further accept this: there is no historical record in the Empire indicating that anyone save the Viruk employed magic in the sense of invocations. While jaedun always appears to have been possible, during the Viruk Empire the only training humans got was limited to useful tasks, and any Mystic slave was valued. Humans were not put under arms, so they did not develop the skills needed to become Mystical warriors.”