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Chapter 17. At the Chantry |
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shalha was back at the Chantry for the first time in months. Summer had arrived early and the sun-baked highlands were already sending a scorching breeze into the canyon. In the shade of her little room, she sipped mint tea and gazed down at the falls roaring some distance away below her balcony. Her dark red robes lay folded over the back of a chair and she was clad only in a thin unbleached cotton shift. The gods had blessed her homeland with victory and she had returned to the Chantry to receive a promotion and celebrate the birth of a new god. Already the special area that had been set aside was decorated with garlands of flowers and the freshly cast statue of Kormir was shrouded in red silk for the festivities. The war against evil was unending, but Nightfall had been averted and they could finally breathe a little easier and relax for the first time in almost a year. She leaned her arms on the balcony railing cut from the natural rock of the cliff. Rainbows shimmered over the white spray of the falls as it tumbled down from the highlands and scoured the canyon’s stone into a natural bowl. As it gathered at the feet of the roaring spume, it formed another falls that chattered into a narrow rill. There it curled out of sight into the public area of the Chantry where stood the statues of the gods. Her thoughts turned to the man that now served them as Oracle. They would never know how many lives he had saved and how many disasters had been averted. His natural talent was uncanny. Whereas past Oracles had reported events as they happened, Master Bei predicted them, somehow gleaning an echo of the future. Watching the bright water churn over the rocks, she thought back on the first time his foresight had made itself known. Bei had described a detachment of Margonite and Kournan soldiers seeking to avoid Prince Ahmtur’s forces by traveling at night through Vehtendi Valley. Gaining the element of surprise, they hoped to flank the Prince’s forces as he engaged the main body of the army. To prevent word of their approach from spreading, they had intended to destroy every village they came upon and every living soul who dwelt there. Naturally, when the Oracle had told them of this, they had been horrified. It was almost on their very doorstop and yet too far away to prevent several of the villages from being slaughtered. Not to mention, if Prince Ahmtur had enemies at his back and no safe means of rallying under pressure, the only standing army of Vabbi would have suffered severe losses. Ishalha had vivid memories of the night she had been called to action. There was the sickening feeling in her gut that every second wasted spelled doom not only for innocent villages, but possibly her nation. She was determined that this chapter in the eternal war with darkness would not record their failure, not after everything they had sacrificed and worked tirelessly for. Khunzar and Yajebe, her staunchest allies and friends, had come to her aid and within a few hours they had a their own detachment of the Order’s finest ready to march night and day to arrive in time to avert disaster. It had been a grueling and harrowing journey and she had silently fretted over their battle worthiness after hours of marching. At last they reached Yahnur Market, fully expecting to find the neighboring settlements destroyed and the corpses of innocent villagers left to rot under the merciless sun. In the days before the new Oracle, it had become an increasingly common discovery. Not only were the villagers safe, but everyone was carrying on as if nothing were troubling them. Questions drew suspicious looks. No one had seen the Margonites and more than a few village leaders treated them with hostility for instigating fear among their people. They laughed it off, relieved the nightmare the Oracle had described in stunning detail had not come to pass. There were even jokes that their inexperienced Oracle had not yet perfected the fine art of separating the Elon’s nightmares about the brutal past from the present. That night, Khunzar shook her awake. A scout had spotted what appeared to be a column of soldiers issuing down from the canyon lands of Resplendent Makuun. With just enough time to rouse their detachment, they raced to meet the oncoming force, disposing of it easily in no small part due to an element of surprise. In the morning as they disposed of the corpses of the Margonites and Kournans, they were welcomed by Yohlon and celebrated as heroes. The fact remained that their new Oracle had accomplished something no other was known to have done. The first time, many were happy to consider it a lucky fluke; however, when Master Bei managed to repeat the stunt a dozen times in the critical days leading up to the defeat of Abaddon, it could no longer be denied that he had been blessed with an astounding gift, perhaps touched by the gods, or even Kormir herself. And that led Ishalha to welcome the opportunity to return to the Chantry. Ostensibly, she had come to celebrate a great moment in the history of her people. Secretly, she was eager to dig through the archives, a privilege she had earned with increased rank. On her writing desk now rested three thick volumes that comprised the lifetime diaries of Suhlevar, the prior Oracle and one time Master of Bei. She had known the old man in his later years, gentle and contemplative with never a harsh word for anyone. As she read his writing, however, a different picture emerged. He had joined the Order in his early twenties. Like her, he was a devotee of Grenth but had also favored Lyssa’s Art and had put both talents to work as an interrogator and detector of foul motives. What she did not know about him, however, was that he had been an angry and vengeful man who used his devotion to Grenth as an excuse to bring justice upon those he felt had wronged him. It was a trend that had gotten him reprimanded by the Order repeatedly and led to his eventual exile during his middle years when he left Elona and studied the land and culture of Tyria as his penance. It was during that time he befriended a man named Tasos Leonitus and ended up staying at Nolani Academy perusing the immense collection of books stored in the great library. And now he wrote of his new apprentice, a man he hated with a passion but had taken on because Tasos had begged him to do so. Suhlevar did not believe people could change, that once they had set foot on the path of evil, they were forever stained. He saw in Bei a weak and arrogant fool who had sought power through demonic promises. Once the demon had been bound and driven out, he devised what he considered an appropriate punishment. It was difficult for Ishalha to read Suhlevar’s boastful and cruel words as he described his apprentice begging him for mercy. The geas he laid upon the poor man ensured that he would ever fight demons, unable to refuse any request that brought about their defeat. He could not receive compensation for it nor request help that was not also freely given. To his credit, Suhlevar did teach his apprentice everything he knew about demons and their destruction. Bei excelled and Suhlevar’s opinion of him softened over time. The fact remained that Bei, whether he enjoyed his new purpose or not, had little choice in the matter. When his term as an apprentice was done, he accepted an offer from another of Tasos’ friends, Dojin Matabe, and abandoned Suhlevar. Ishalha pondered what she had read now as the eternal flow of the Elon concealed the place where Master Bei now served according to the term of his geas. His ready acceptance of the grueling duty had long disturbed her. He had never asked what it would entail. He had not asked for time to consider his answer. For five years after Suhlevar’s short term, the throne had stood empty, and for good reason. The Elon was mighty and gnawed upon human flesh and will with the same quiet strength as she did the stones that formed her canyons and rills. Few lasted more than two years and that was why only the elders of the Order gave themselves to the duty as a final act of devotion. It was her privilege now to enter the cave of the Oracle and gaze upon his holiness. Master Bei was in his prime and he was already fading away. She imagined his despair and sadness. He could not tell them of his geas, he could only accept without complaint. His extraordinary service had saved so many lives, yet his reward was to die alone in a foreign land without the knowledge of his friends and family. She turned away from the balcony and donned her red robes as a soft knocking disturbed the peace of her small chamber. A long black tail of silver-streaked hair flowed down her back as she straightened her robes and prepared for visitors. As hoped, Khunzar and Yajebe had come, the two of them smiling warmly as she guided them into the room. “So he didn’t have a choice, eh?” Khunzar rumbled, the spicy odor of cloves following him as he strode toward the open balcony. The big warrior had to stoop past the doorway, but once outside he rested his meaty arms on the railing and took a deep breath of the dry afternoon wind. Yajebe followed Khunzar's hulking figure like an errant child. He flashed a smile at Ishalha, his warm brown eyes regarding her with gentle concern. “No, not really.” “And you think we can smuggle him out of here?’ Khunzar demanded, the faintest growl of laughter and dismay in his voice. “Tonight, during the unveiling of the new god, all eyes will be turned elsewhere.” “Is he fit to travel?” Yajebe said. It was a natural question for a healer to ask and she was glad she had dared to request his help. “No. He has wasted. I do not think he can move under his own power.” “I can’t carry him if we need to fight…” “If we need to fight, then we have failed,” Ishalha said brusquely, cutting Khunzar off, “and we cannot involve others. The fewer who know about this, the better.” Khunzar reached reflexively to his belt pouch and pulled out his little tin of cloves. Ishalha stood at the railing beside him, Yajebe eying them thoughtfully in the doorway. For a time the warrior said nothing, only chewed the clove slowly, his dark gaze following the sweep of the falls. “When we have him, what then?” “We leave Elona.” Khunzar snorted incredulously. “If you refuse, I’ll understand,” she murmured, feeling the hope draining from her. There was no way she could do this alone and everyone else she trusted were members of the Order. She could not turn to them. “I’m not one of the Whispers,” Khunzar murmured, “but aren’t your folk everywhere, watching? What makes you think we can leave Elona without intervention?” “It is possible we’ll be pursued, or they’ll be ready for us in one of the ports. I’m banking on many of them leaving the field and coming here for the celebration. I’m also planning on buying corsair help.” Khunzar nearly sprayed her with chewed clove. “I always knew you were mad,” he growled apologetically. “Yes, perhaps I am. So will you help me?” “Of course,” Yajebe said before the big warrior could answer, “It is only right.” “Even if it marks you as enemies of the Order?” Khunzar shrugged. “I’ve had far worse enemies in my day and I’m not keen to have Bei’s death on my conscience. Vabbi is safe, they can do without an Oracle now.” “I’ll make some arrangements to ease our way,” Yajebe said, then reading the look of horror on her face he chuckled, “My family is nearly as big as the Order, I have contacts everywhere, as well. No need to worry, they’ll do as I ask without question.” She nodded at the little monk, knowing it was wrong not to trust him. He had always come through for her. “Alright, it’s settled, now let’s make a plan,” Khunzar sighed. Ishalha smiled at the big warrior, for despite his act she could see he was intrigued and excited. She had often wondered what he would do now that the war was over. Inaction drove him mad.
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