"Well," Joren began. "I see you wear the grey…"
Esidio smiled paternally. "I know your mind, but your question would no doubt be answered simply by walking back to your camp. My talents can be of better use to you. Ask me a question whose answer means as much to you as my life did to me, then accounts will be squared. But have caution. If the Sight were straightforward, one such as I would not fall into holes in the ground."
"You're right. Give me a little time."
"No hurry. I hadn't planned on going anywhere today."
Joren struggled with opposing moods. On the one hand, he could hardly contain his eagerness. On the other, he worried that he might choose a frivolous query, or one whose reply would be indecipherable. To pass the time, he offered Esidio food from his pack. The Zee-no-ken readily accepted, selecting a modest quantity of dates, which he ate promptly, taking care to collect the seeds and return them to the pack. Rummaging further, he uttered a cry of delight.
"Locusts!" He held the open sack up and poured several of the salt-roasted insects out. "I had forgotten it was the swarm year. They haven't reached the hills yet."
Joren pressed the sack toward his companion. "Enjoy. Not quite the same as getting them hot from the fire, but good nonetheless."
"And coffee!" Esidio cried. Joren had to grin. Zee-no-ken were so different from the phlegmatic Ah-no-ken and Bo-no-ken. Though they were considered highest ranked among the priesthood, he had never yet encountered a Zee-no-ken who sought to conceal his emotions. "Let us take it to my camp. It's not far. I'll heat some water, and we will share a drink while you ponder."
"You seem poorly supplied. How is it that you survive up here?"
Esidio shrugged. "I have lived alone in these hills for twenty years, and it's never seemed hard to me. But I miss the things the land can't provide. I visit Setan so seldom."
They descended, Esidio instinctively selecting a path that taxed their endurance the least. Joren could see no trail. Though unhurried, the pace swallowed the distance. Before long they entered a gorge, steep slopes of rock rising on either side. Joren automatically checked the sky above the Ahrahikte to be sure no clouds hung there. They followed the stream bed deeper into the hills.
Finally Joren heard the trickle of water, a sound he found impossible to ignore. They rounded a bend, and in the shade on the south side in front of them, he saw a rivulet working its way down from far above, filling a tiny pool and diffusing into the cobbles downstream, where all sign of dampness quickly disappeared.
"Fill your waterskin," Esidio suggested.
Joren did so, cupping a handful and tasting it. He sighed. Unlike that of the oases in the steppes, this water didn't have to be made into coffees, teas, or wines to be palatable. Perhaps the priest was not so deprived after all.
They left the pool and immediately mounted the opposite bank. There, sheltered by steep slabs of granite, and high enough to be safe from flash floods, Esidio had created a living space. Kindling was neatly piled to one side. A grass mat covered a flat spot beneath an overhang, and deeper within the cleft, Joren spotted casks of wine and urns of wheat and other dry goods, with a lattice of sturdy limbs to protect them from foraging animals. The firepit was in the center of the area, under the open sky.
"My home," Esidio said, "though I am more often out among the hills."
Joren grunted his approval and began to pile sticks to start the fire. Esidio got out the coffee beans and dropped a handful into a stone mortar. While the war-leader coaxed the tinder, the Zee-no-ken ground the beans with the pestle. The flame caught, and Joren nursed it into a true fire.
"How long has it been since you spoke to anyone?" Joren asked.
Esidio chuckled. "I visited Setan only three months ago. But in my younger days, I once spent eight years without seeing another living soul."
"Didn't you miss company?"
"Of course. But the solitude suited my purpose."
"But so long without a woman…"
"I have yet to believe that a man can keep God and a woman in his heart at the same time."
In due time, the water boiled. The priest stretched his coffee cloth over the hoop and poured the grounds onto it. Joren helped pour water through into a clay pot. Esidio filled two mugs and placed the pot on the hearthstones.
"To rope," Esidio toasted, and they sucked in noisy, sudden swallows in the manner of the Zyraii.
"This is an excellent brew," the priest continued. "I can't recall that I've ever had a coffee so fine."
"There are some advantages to being a war-leader. This isolom."
"Ah. The traders' best. My uncles used to speak of it. It used to be more plentiful, before the tributes became so small." Esidio inhaled another sip. "How is it these days?"
"There is talk again that Azurajen will try to build a fort in Zyraii lands."
"More work for you."
"More than I care for. But at the moment, the tribes still hold the trade routes. I worry most what will occur in the next generation." His face suddenly became pensive.
"You have found your question," Esidio said presently.
"Yes," Joren said firmly. "I have. Are you ready?"
"At your convenience."
Joren chose his words carefully. "What may I do to help this new child of mine deal with the threat of the traders, that I would not ordinarily think to do?"
"Even if it's a girl?"
Joren paused. "Yes. Even then."
Esidio set down his mug. "It is a worthy question. The T'lil's taste in war-leaders is improving. What was the name of that last fellow?"
"Storith."
"Yes. Rash sort. Made me glad to have been of the Alyr." Standing and dusting himself off, he pointed to Joren's just-emptied mug. "You can use that to masturbate into if you'd like."
"I beg your pardon?!"
Esidio chuckled. "This is no casual procedure. If the topic had concerned yourself, I would have asked for your blood. If about your enemies, your spit. Since it deals with your offspring…"
"I see." Joren passed the mug from hand to hand. "I don't have to do this in front of you, do I?"
"Of course not. I'll start my preparations here. Come back when you're done. My only requirement is that it be fresh."
"All right." Joren picked himself up and left before he could doubt the situation too much.
When he returned, a bitter taint filled the air. Esidio was leaning over a tiny brazier from which thick, viscous smoke coiled. Tendrils vanished up the priest's nostrils, never seeming to be exhaled. His eyes were half-closed, showing only the whites. Over the fire another pot warmed, a small one filled with green liquid.
Esidio's back straightened as he heard Joren's feet scuffle on the granite. His hand reached for the mug.
"Quickly, before it cools."
Joren gave him the mug. Esidio inverted it over the pot, letting the semen drip out. It dissolved immediately, leaving no trace, though the consistencies of the fluids had seemed so disparate. Soon after the mixture became as transparent as water.
"Good. The question can be answered," Esidio announced. "This will only take a moment. Please don't speak."
Joren chose a spot a dozen paces away, where his back could rest against stone, and waited. Esidio already acted as if nothing existed but the clear liquid into which he stared, lids drooping again, but this time more naturally. The brazier continued to smoke, surrounding the vicinity with more of its noxious fumes. Esidio was unperturbed, but Joren blew away traces that wandered his way. Soon the coals consumed whatever substance had been placed upon them, and the air began to clear. The priest was still except for the subtle signs of his lung action, and the more obvious, rhythmic tremor each time his heart beat.
Then, abruptly, he picked up the pot and dumped it on the ground.