Ian Irvine
Tribute to Hell
Greave was sliding between the thighs of his god’s forthcoming month-bride, exulting at the conquest, when an icy finger went where no finger had gone before and a wintry voice said, Have you heard the one about the definition of savoir-faire?
Greave had often told the joke, smugly implying that he was that very master. An inveterate seducer, he prided himself on his self-possession, but it eluded him now. The irony did not.
Go on, then. Complete the deed.
Not for anything could Greave continue, and now he felt the young woman grow cool beneath him. Then cold. Then freezing; the god had frozen her solid.
Her fate will be echoed by every woman you touch, said his god, K’nacka, until you have paid for your crime and redeemed yourself. To ensure you do, I hold hostage your little sister, the one person you care about more than yourself.
‘What must I do?’ said Greave, fighting to remain calm despite the absurdity of his position. He glanced over his shoulder. The god had the form of a round-bellied man, a plump, jolly little fellow, save for the agate in his eyes.
In the High Temple, on the Altar of the Seven Gods, there is a Graven Casket.
Spikes closed around Greave’s fluttering heart. ‘The most precious treasure of the temple. You want me to steal it.’
No mortal may approach the casket and live. However, there is one tiny instant of time when this spell fades and a man at the end of his rope may draw near. The day after tomorrow, at precisely the fifth hour after midday, you will open the casket and take out what lies inside.
‘The casket is sealed,’ said Greave. ‘It can only be opened, and then but once, by the touch of a god-’
The touch of a god — but not a god, K’nacka corrected. He tossed down a pair of small bones held together by a silver wire. These come from the little finger of a dead god. Touch the casket with a god-bone, it will spring open, and you may safely remove the contents.
K’nacka vanished, leaving Greave frozen in place and knowing that the task was a trap. He had to do it, but he was not going to survive, and neither was his little sister.
Novice Astatine was lying awake, scratching some itchy specks on her stomach, when Abbess Hildy slipped into her cell.
‘The gods are weakening,’ intoned Hildy, ‘while the power of the dark princes swells. Our lost souls wail so loudly that I sometimes recognise their voices — and they all lived good lives.’
Astatine shuddered. The abbess’s ecstatic visions were always disturbing, but this was the worst yet.
‘The more sainted they were in life, the louder they shriek,’ Hildy said. ‘Something is dreadfully wrong with the world.’
Ice was advancing from all sides on the island of Hightspall, the last surviving outpost of the empire, but that was not what Hildy was talking about. ‘What did you see this time?’ whispered Astatine.
‘The wicked Margrave Greave is planning to open the Graven Casket. You must stop him.’
‘Me?’ Astatine choked.
‘You will journey to the High Temple and prevent this dreadful insult to the gods. Our beloved K’nacka must be weeping at the insult.’
‘But I’ve taken binding vows,’ said Astatine, wringing her fingers under the covers. ‘The corruption inside me must be cleansed.’
‘You take too much upon yourself,’ Hildy snapped. ‘Your sins are insignificant.’
Astatine bowed her head. The abbess was wise, while she was a foolish, worthless novice. ‘Abbess, I’ve left the wicked world for good; I can’t go back.’
‘You feel that the world abandoned you,’ said Hildy, ‘so you seek to escape it, and yourself, in closeted obedience.’
Astatine bit the tip of her tongue to prevent an angry retort. The other novices called her ‘the mouse’ because she was so timid; they did not realise that she was constantly suppressing the urge to bite. ‘I merely serve my god’s will.’
‘I see a wilful arrogance in your subservience,’ said Hildy. ‘You seize on every duty, no matter how painful or demeaning, and never rest until it is done to perfection. You take pride in your suffering.’
‘I offer it to my god. I merely serve my god — ’
‘You seek to eliminate your self, because the world is so painful to you that you can only think of escaping it.’
‘I don’t belong there,’ Astatine said plaintively. ‘Even here, I feel as though I’m living in the wrong body. The sickness I carry inside me has infected all Hightspall.’
Hildy slapped her face. ‘Curb your presumptuous tongue, Novice.’
Astatine clutched the abbess’s wrist. ‘Tell me that our land is not sick and the common folk despairing. Tell me that the nobility aren’t wasting their lives in debauchery because they no longer have hope. Tell me that our gods are strong, and love us.’
After a long pause, Hildy said gently, ‘I cannot tell you any of those things. Hightspall is sick, the people despairing, our gods dwindling — but it has nothing to do with you.’
‘Please, Abbess. If I go outside, I will surely break my vows.’
‘Your first vow, and the greatest, is obedience,’ said Hildy inexorably.
Astatine lowered her eyes. ‘And I obey. But — ’
‘The vision I saw may also have gone to the Carnal Cardinal, Fistus.’
‘He is a holy man of god,’ said Astatine. ‘He will protect the Graven Casket.’
‘If the casket is opened, our beloved K’nacka will be in peril; he may fall.’
‘Fall?’ whispered Astatine. ‘But the gods are almighty and everlasting.’
‘Then fly! Stop this obscenity before it is too late.’
‘Abbess … The Margrave Greave is a powerful man, a warrior who has never lost a fight. How can I stop him?’
The abbess thought for a while, then said, ‘At the fifth hour after midday, on the day after tomorrow, you must duel with him and win.’
‘He would kill me at the first blow.’
The abbess’s eyes rested on Astatine’s creamy, almost unblemished skin, her curvaceous form outlined against the bed bindings designed to prevent sins of the night. ‘You will duel him with your weapons, not his.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Surely you can’t be that unworldly …’
A flush crept up Astatine’s throat and blossomed into crimson. ‘But my second vow — ’
‘Your vow of obedience comes first. If it is the only way to stop this dreadful sacrilege, you will break your second vow.’
‘But … if I were unchaste, how could I come back?’
‘Break that vow and you cannot come back.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Those who will not obey have no place here.’
‘I’m doomed, either way.’
‘You will be serving your god; what more can you ask?’
Astatine was silent.
‘Swear that you will stop the margrave,’ said Hildy.
‘I’ll try to stop him.’
‘Swear that you will stop him, no matter what.’
The task was impossible, but Astatine had no choice. ‘I swear that I will stop him. I will serve my god, no matter what it costs me. My life has no other worth.’
‘Take this gown, and go at once,’ said the abbess.
After Astatine had ridden out on one of the abbey’s mules, Hildy said, ‘And I pray you do break your vows for, devout though you are, you do carry corruption with you. You never belonged in this House of God.’
Roget came back from the bar with a flagon and poured a hefty slug into a glass. ‘Get this down, before you fall down.’
Greave clutched his groin, wincing.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Frostbite.’
Roget chuckled. ‘Even for you, that’s a new one.’
Greave’s chattering teeth broke a wedge of glass from the rim. He spat it out, gulped the liquor and wiped his bloody mouth. ‘More!’