“Sall! Homilies, I get enough homilies from my Housemaster.” Fitchon blinked, his eyes swimming. “If you’ll stop dawdling, High One. I’ve got work to do.” He sniffed, scrubbed his sleeve across his nose. “If I’m gonna get packed by tomorrow.”
› › ‹ ‹
Four days later Juvalgrim sat sweltering in his Visitation Robes and contemplated the group gathered before him in the Council Chamber.
Tchah, I thought Manasso spite went with Kutakich. Looks like I removed a constrictor and got a viper in its place. Fuaz Yoyote, Manasso Prime. Does the office do it to them, or does it take that kind of man to make it there? Never been sure which it is. Sure? Fuaz surely knows how to chose a time for his strike.
Juvalgrim leaned forward, looked slowly from face to face. His strongest supporters were both away, Quiatnbo Prime in Corasso, Aboso Prime in the Infirmary recovering from a small stroke. He lingered on the Adjo Prime, saw him look away, drops of sweat oozing out of his burnt caramel face, as if he were starting to melt under the pressure. He always was a feather in the wind. Anacho looked troubled, but he was a man of ritual and pattern, with little imagination or empathy; he didn’t like having to stand against a High Kasso, but he hadn’t the strength to oppose the Prophet. Anaxo… Juvalgrim slid a hand across his mouth to hide the twitch of his lips. Anaxo Prime had put off his black robes for the Prophet’s coarse brown, let his beard and hair grow; his eyes were fierce and his posture so humble it shouted hubris. And there was young Fuaz, smug and serious.
The Prophet himself stood apart from the Primes with the General crouched at his feet like a dog. An adoring dog.
“And so?” Juvalgrim said. “What is this about?”
Fuaz bowed. “High Kasso, we have come to say the conduits from the Fountain to the city cisterns have been closed off.”
Juvalgrim straightened. “My instructions were to leave them open.”
“Chumavayal the Father of Waters requires it. The Prophet has given Chumavayal’s command and we have obeyed.”
Juvalgrim leaned back, pressed his palms together and set his middle fingers against his lips, his-forefingers fitting into the dip above his chin. He was angry, very angry, but he didn’t think it politic to show it. He brought his hands down, crossed them above the crystal of the Eye, and spoke softly, reasonably, using his deepest, most musical tones. “There are good people in that city, poor people, hardworking people, who can’t afford to pay Mal prices for aqueduct water-if there is any water left after the Maulapam and Cheoshim are finished with it. They will be driven to the River and you know it is unclean; do you want disease in the city along with everything else? And what of the true and faithful Ironmen in the Edge, families that give generously from the little they have? Are they worth nothing to Chumavayal?”
The Prophet strode forward, banged the butt of his staff on the floor. “Chumavayal is just and compassionate. If those you speak of are truly good and faithful servants, let them come to the Fountain and be blessed. They will be given what they need. If they are sinners and recreant, it is better that they die.” His eyes widened, went suddenly a brilliant red. “Chumavayal says: Look to your own soul, foolish man, it may be that I will require it soon.” His mouth worked, half-lost in the tangle of mustache and beard. “Chumavayal says: Water is MY Gift. If it is misused, I will take it back.” He shivered, the red faded. “The Fountain will go dry if the conduits are not sealed off.”
“I see.” I do indeed; the lot of you are so frightened by this stinking fanatic, you’d castrate yourselves to please him. He snorted. And I’m no better. If I had a spine… ah well, the third way, Ju, remember what you told Fitchon. Find the third way. There’s no point in disputing with this lot. “Chumavayal’s will be done.” He paused, straightened and let his anger show. “Next time, however, be more faithful to the Rule. Inform me before you act, not after. For your lapse,” he smiled sweetly at the new Manasso Prime, “I decree to each of you a penance; a Chant of ten Chains before the Forge. Blessed be Chumavayal.”
› › ‹ ‹
Reyna tightened the laces of his trousers, tied them off. He shook out the blousy black tunic, stood holding it and looking across the candle-lit bedroom at Juvalgrim who was sitting naked on a windowseat, his legs drawn up, his arms draped loosely over his knees, his long, long hair falling like black silk down his back and off the edge of the seat; he was gazing down the mountain to the dark mass of the city.
Juvalgrim sighed. “More of.the Edge is burning.”
“Come with me.” Reyna pulled the tunic over his head, settled it on his shoulders. “There’s not much you can do here any more. They’re pulling the noose tighter and tighter about you.”
“They?”
“You know what I mean.”
Juvalgrim moved his hand in one of his graceful, meaningless gestures.
“Let Manasso carry the Eye, if that’s what he wants. It’s not worth this, this…” Reyna spread his arms, wiggled his fingers, a sign for all the things that hung between them. “Come with me, Ju. Once you’re out of it, nobody’s going to bother you.”
Juvalgrim moved his shoulders, shook his hair loose. “Dear Rey.”
“That’s no answer.” Reyna caught up his cloak, swung it around his shoulders, clipped the neck cords to his belt. “I can’t give you anything like you’ve got here, but you’d be safe.”.
“I’d be dead.” The Wounded Moon was the finest of nail parings, only three days past Dark, but the sky was clear and the starlight lit the planes of Juvalgrim’s face, slid along a body still firm and lean despite his age.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He swung around, dropped his legs over the edge of the padded seat. “I might manage to escape the men, but the god, never. Rey, listen. The instant I cease to be of use to Chumavayal, I’ll be a grease spot on some floor. I just have to keep hanging on and hope I can outlast the Change.”
“You’ve lost me again.”
“K’laan! Sibyl warned me not to talk about that. Trust me, Rey. If I can keep on long enough, everything will be all right.” He slid off the seat and came quickly across the room; he took Reyna’s hands, held them gently prisoned within his own. “Listen, luv. Take your own advice. Get out. I’ll find the money for you. Next ship that leaves, you be on it.”
“What about Faan?”
“You know the answer, Rey. She’s caught. You can’t help her, the god has her. Honey Mother will use her till there’s nothing left.”
“Then I stay, too. She comes to me for shelter, Ju.
All those people pulling, at her, the gods fooling with her life… she has to have some place to rest.” He freed his hands, lifted one. of Juvalgrim’s, and kissed the palm. “She’s my daughter. As long as she needs me, I’m going to be there.”
Juvalgrim sighed. “Take care, luv.” A corner of his mouth curled up. “I should tell you not to come again, it’s too dangerous, but I need you, too.” He drew the pad of his thumb down the side of Reyna’s face, eyes laughing. “Not for rest.”
At the passage panel, he closed a hand about Reyna’s arm. “Come to the cave tomorrow, I’ll have silver for you; you’ll have to find a smith to turn it into coin. Ah, Rey, the times they do corrupt us.” He squeezed the arm. “Don’t try to buy water yourself, luv; get Abosoa Kassos you can trust to do it.”
Reyna ducked through the short, narrow opening. “D yo, Mamay, I’ll be good.”
› › ‹ ‹
Reyna tugged at the knob on his side of the panel to make sure Juvalgrim had turned the latch; sometimes he was careless about that. He started off through the inky blackness, one hand drifting along the wall of the passage. Ahead of him there was a scraping sound like a heel against stone. -•
He froze.