“He considered it his holy duty. And while it’s difficult enough to gauge tone in something written in your own language, let alone something written a millennium ago, Anroviak sounded awfully arrogant to me. He was sure he would be the one to unravel the mystery of the memory witches. That it would be his means of rising high in the order.” I left out that I was tempted to skim those gruesome details, but forced myself to read every disgusting and detailed word, and was glad of it when I failed to make out some of the language.
“Anroviak’s disappointments were perfectly clear, as he went on at great length describing his failed attempts to produce any demonstrative or persuasive results and increasing frustration. He even admitted he briefly considered falsifying records and testimonies, but wouldn’t allow himself to do so.”
“Course not,” Mulldoos said. “Real man of principle. Good to know holy bastards were still holy bastards a hundred hundred years gone. Kind of a comfort.”
Vendurro replied, “I don’t get you. You hate Memoridons, or witches, or whatever you want to call them. Why do you care what he did?”
“Couldn’t give a shit and a half, Ven. And while I got nothing against seeing them hang, experimenting on the poor bastards is something else altogether. Especially when some of them probably couldn’t walk into another man’s dreams any better than I could…”
He sought the right expression, and Hewspear offered, “Keep your lips pressed tightly together while our archivist regales us with a fascinating story that has been buried in the dust for a thousand years?”
Mulldoos grabbed his crotch. “Bite my rod.”
“I would rather not, though thank you for the invitation.”
Mulldoos started to reply when Braylar said, “Enough, the both of you. Go on, Arki. I would have you finish this before another millennium comes and goes.”
I flipped over a page and continued. “After a number of failures and setbacks, Anroviak finally rescued a witch who was not only cooperative, but actually possessed some of the skills she was accused of. Her name was Ruenzina.”
Vendurro asked, “How come witches are always women folk? Why can’t a man-” but he stopped himself when he saw Braylar glaring at him. “Sorry, Cap. Just curious, is all. Seems awful-” and then stopped himself a second time as the glare became glarier. “Right, Cap. Another time, then. Go on, Arki.”
“Ruenzina was a willing subject, apparently recognizing that her usefulness would determine exactly how long she stayed alive. They conducted a number of tests in front of countless clerical witnesses, where she demonstrated that she did in fact have the ability to walk in other men’s minds. Underpriest Anroviak was afraid of being branded a charlatan, so from what I gathered, he went overboard. The details of the tests, their results, and their meaning, were delineated in excruciating specificity, chapter after chapter.”
“Like this report,” Mulldoos said.
“Be glad I’m not reciting the translation word for word. In any event, Anroviak wasn’t content to simply prove that the memory magic was in fact real-he wanted to control the person wielding it. That was easy enough with one witch surrounded by countless guards, who didn’t possess the training to fight her way free, as Soffjian would have now. No, Anroviak wanted to bind Ruenzina to him somehow, so experiments continued, even as he instructed his men to continue following up on reports of more witchery, and sparing the lives of the accused if they happened to arrive in time. Which seldom occurred.
“But Anroviak wasn’t able to effectively bind her to him at all, and only succeeded in compiling more failure to do so. And when Ruenzina attempted to escape, no doubt sensing that her usefulness was quickly going to come to an end, she was cut down.”
“That it, then?” Mulldoos asked.
Braylar looked at my notes and saw that I hadn’t gotten to the end. “I’m assuming not.”
I nodded and said, “Anroviak presented his findings to the order, but he cursed himself for taking too long to present the actual witch. Without her to substantiate his claims, the order was skeptical at best, even with all the notarized witnesses. They ordered him to discontinue his experiments-it was a waste of resources, they said. Witches were to be hunted and killed, and if he performed admirably in that regard, his obsession would be forgiven. But he wasn’t to waste any more time on the pursuit.”
Hewspear gave a wry smile. “I’m guessing that didn’t sit too well with our ambitious, fixated underpriest.”
“No,” I replied. “It did not. He stormed out of the temple, furious at being publicly snubbed and humiliated. Called his superiors myopic fools and a number of other things that were difficult to make out entirely, but clearly weren’t flattering.” I looked at Braylar. “He obviously didn’t intend for them or anyone else to read any of this account. Where did you find it?”
Braylar twitch-smiled. “It is amazing the things people leave behind. Continue.”
“Well,” I flipped the page, scanning and summarizing, “Anroviak documented his efforts to continue hunting, in direct violation of his orders and overwhelming lack of support now. And he managed to capture more witches in secret, here and there, over a long stretch, though it was some time before he found another who could actually do what she was accused of and was willing to help. But when he did, she did everything he asked, completely pliant.”
“You should show this to Soffjian,” Mulldoos suggested. “She could learn a thing or three about being agreeable.”
Braylar glared him into silence and I continued. “Well, Mulldoos, you’ll probably appreciate this-this witch, Vella, was the daughter of Grass Dog immigrants.”
“Horseshit,” he said.
“No horseshit,” I replied. “And apparently, Vella’s parents knew about her talent, or taint, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Taint’s too pretty a word,” Mulldoos said.
“And since the Grass Dogs were already an ostracized and marginalized people in Anjuria, they attempted to keep her abilities secret rather than risk being killed along with her, as sometimes happened.”
Vendurro shook his head slowly, a little ruefully. “Good thing Lloi ain’t here to hear this. She would have been mighty jealous.”
Braylar said, “She also would have told you all to shut your mouths and let our scholar speak.”
No one else said anything, so I did. “Vella’s tribe had been annihilated by a neighboring tribe, but before they fled, they heard of a witch who had managed to moderate her powers by somehow communing with the Godveil. Her parents wanted to keep her alive and her secret safe, so once they were in Anjuria, they visited the Godveil.
“Anroviak was pretty incredulous here. While the Godveil hadn’t been around for that long yet, he’d heard only stories of men’s minds being destroyed whenever they approached, or them being killed outright. It’s clear in his account he initially thought Vella was lying, mistaken, or mad, and told her as much. But Vella swore to him that was the only thing that kept her safe for so many years, her visiting the Godveil, and somehow purging herself, or stilling the ability somehow. The text is a little unclear here.”
“Or maybe it’s you who’s not getting it right,” Mulldoos suggested.
“It’s true, I am translating a man’s words a thousand years distant, and he is transcribing or even translating hers. It sounded as if there was quite a communication gap even between them, and it took some time for Anroviak to parse out this much. So these passages are trickier than the rest. I’d need more time to work out the nuances here, but I also know I have the deeper essence right. He was skeptical, and Vella was equally insistent that approaching the Godveil was curing her, at least temporarily.”
Hewspear was chewing on a piece of straw, slowly, thoughtfully. “Does our good underpriest give more specifics? What exactly happened to the young Grass Dog witch when she ventured near the Godveil? How was she able to purge herself?”