He said, “Nothing."
Onica grunted. “Immortality gets boring. The strangers compete among themselves. Earth has five great powers, right?—England, France, Russia, Germany, and Austria. So have the Vales, except here they're called Visek, Karzon, Eltiana, Astina, and Tion."
So the teams did wear colored jerseys! “Yes?"
"The priests’ doctrine of the Pentatheon is a rough approximation—the Parent, the Man, the Lady, the Maiden, and the Youth. Those are the parts, but the actors change from time to time. Each one has a supporting cast of avatars. They're all strangers, like us—from Home or other worlds. There's plenty backstabbing goes on within the teams, but mostly the Game is played between the five. They change alliances all the time."
"Sounds like a feudal system."
"Very much so,” Onica said approvingly. “Especially since it all rests on the backs of the peasants, whose worship provides the mana. A couple of hundred years ago, Gunuu got subverted. He announced that he was an avatar of the Maiden, not the Youth—Gunuu Astina, not Gunuu Tion. He ordered his priests into blue instead of yellow, and so on. Tion wasn't willing to lose a profitable source of mana, so he retaliated. Normally the Game's played by Queensberry rules: Natives are fair game for anything, but stranger doesn't usually make a direct attack on stranger. That's a waste of mana and can be dangerous if your opponent turns out to have more power than you expected. In this case, Tion got nasty, very nasty."
Edward glanced at the youth, who shrugged sadly. He still had not spoken one word, and yet his reactions suggested he understood English.
"Pour encourager les autres?"
Onica chuckled. “Exactly! Since then Gunuu's node has been unoccupied. To recruit a substitute stranger, Tion would have to visit another world, and he's not likely to take that risk."
Creighton had commented on the problems of recruitment.
"He could send a helper, an avatar?"
"It's done, but then the new boys may have loyalty problems, what?"
"So, now, when people pray to Gunuu, where does the mana go?"
"Most of it's wasted. If they pray to Gunuu Tion, then Tion will get some of it. If they pray to Gunuu Astina, then the Maiden will."
"They play rough, don't they? Just before I arrived, Garward's monks sacked Iilah's grove at Filoby."
"Sounds fairly typical—the rough work would be done by locals. Iilah herself would not be hurt. If a lot of nuns were raped or killed ... well, they're only natives, you see. Garward's a fool. He'll pay for that, I'm sure."
"Pay to whom?"
"To his master Karzon, of course. Let's see ... The Thargians are brewing a war. The warriors will seek portents from their patron goddess, Astina. The omens will be bad. Karzon will complain to Astina; she will demand justice for Filoby, because Iilah's one of hers. Karzon will pull strips off Garward's hide until she is satisfied. There may even be a change of resident at Thogwalby. Quite typical."
Quite disgusting! The guv'nor's support for the Service was starting to seem more understandable.
Edward squirmed. The wall was only slightly less uncomfortable than his perch on the dragon had been. How could the bare-arsed boy sit there without even fidgeting? He seemed quite content, listening to what was being said with calm amusement.
Something that sounded like a miniature pipe organ began singing in the branches overhead.
"What the dickens?..."
"We call them nightingales. They look more like squirrels, though."
Damn! Why did this world have to be so interesting? “It was Iilah who created the Filoby Testament, I suppose?"
Onica covered a yawn. “Apparently not. Even the big players rarely meddle with foretelling. Prediction involves holding a mirror up to memory, to recall the future. That can be dangerous! One can forget who one is and how to let go. The situation may become permanent. It also costs an incredible amount of mana. None of them likes to squander mana. I told you Garward's an idiot. The story is that he'd seduced Sister Ashylin—he's always in among the nuns there—and for some reason he gave her the gift of prophecy in return. He botched the ritual. The first time she invoked it, it drove her out of her mind with prophecy. It completely drained Garward himself, serves him right. She went mad and died. He almost died."
After a moment she added, “The future doesn't interest them. Most of them are centuries old. Nothing can harm them. The only thing they fear is boredom. Boredom kills them all in the end. That's why they play the Great Game.... Look!"
Two dark figures were racing along the road, coming from the town, going far faster than a man could run, or even a horse. The moas’ long legs were a blur of ten-foot strides. The hooded riders crouched on their backs were barely distinguishable at that distance, and yet infinitely sinister in the green moonlight. Like silent motorcyclists, they disappeared along the Rotby road.
Edward suppressed a shiver. He glanced at his other, silent companion, who was frowning angrily. Then he met Edward's eye and smiled again....
"Looks like they took the bait,” Onica said. “We'll give them a few minutes, just to be sure they keep going. Then we head west."
"There's a bridge at Lameby? Then where?"
"The road goes on over Rothpass, to Nagvale.” She hesitated. “You definitely want to go Home? You don't want to stay on Nextdoor and try to fulfill the prophecy?"
"No, ma'am. I definitely want to go Home."
She eyed him curiously. “You're an odd fish! A boy of your age, offered a whole new world to explore, a chance at fame and power ... yet you refuse?"
He resented being called a boy, but Onica Mason must be a great deal older than she seemed.
"I'd love to stay,” he admitted. “I'd love to see more of the Vales, and meet the people who knew my father. At any other time, I'd jump at it. Now—there's a war on. I must go Home and do my bit."
"Does you credit, I suppose,” she muttered. “You'll have time to change your mind if you want to, because I can't take you straight to Olympus. Cuddles can go across country, but not with two riders. I did not expect to find you living, Mr. Exeter. I didn't bring a spare mount. I didn't bring warm clothes for two. You'd freeze your arse up there.” She gestured at the towering peaks of Susswall.
The conversation was not heading in favorable directions.
"You can go over that?"
"Dragons can. They don't like the heat down here, and Nagland's even hotter. Furthermore,” she added, “to take a dragon into Nagland would be like riding one down Whitehall."
"Conspicuous?"
"Quite. Rothpass is ranked as easy. By Valian standards, that means you can walk over it if you have the legs of a goat. I'll take you to the summit, though, and set you adrift there. I'll go over the hills to Olympus and report. You go down into Nagvale. The first village you come to is Sonalby. Ask for Kalmak Carpenter. He's one of ours, in the religious branch. The code question is, ‘What do you get when you cross a wallaby and a jaguar?’”
"And what's the answer?"
"The kids’ answer is, ‘A fur coat with pockets.’ If you get that, then you've found the wrong man. If he says, ‘Sunrise over five peaks,’ then he's sound."
Straight out of Kim! “And what do I do with Kalmak Carpenter when I've got him?"
"Mostly keep your mouth shut. He's a local, so he doesn't know what you know, but he's trustworthy, a good man. Stay with him until we send someone for you."
"How long?” he asked, trying not to show his doubts.
"Couple of weeks. Travel's slow here. I'll have you Home inside two fortnights, Exeter, promise.” She twisted her awkward mouth in a smile. “A month, that means."
What could he say? “Fair enough."
She glanced at him quizzically.
He shrugged. “They all say the war'll be over by Christmas."
"So keen to kill? How long till Christmas?"
That she had to ask was a shock, a reminder of how very far away England was.