"Miller-GodIsThus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Walter M)WALTER M. MILLER jr GOD IS THUS Blacktooth rode with the driver as they bumped along the north road toward the mountain passes. He never once looked back at the Abbey. The Axe was with them, sometimes driving when Holy Madness rode the Cardinal's horse, sometimes riding inside the coach while the Cardinal chose to be in the saddle. Both Wooshin and the Nomad treated the disgraced monk with courtesy, but he had as little intercourse as possible with Brownpony or his clerical companion. One morning when they had been three days on the road, Wooshin said to him, "You hide from Cardinal. Why you shun? You know he saved you neck back there. Abbot wring like a chicken, except Cardinal save you. Why you afraid him?" Blacktooth began to deny it, but heard an inner cock's crow. Wooshin was right. To him, Brownpony represented the authority of the Church, previously wielded by Dom Jarad, and he was tired of the obedience which he had been forced to swear again to save himself. But it was necessary to separate the office from the man. After Wooshin's remarks, he stopped shrinking from his rescuer, and exchanged polite greetings in the mornings. But the Cardinal, sensing his discomfort, for the most part ignored his presence during much of the journey. Sometimes Wooshin and the Nomad wrestled or fought for sport with staves. The Nomad called him Axe, which no one at the Abbey had dared to do, and Wooshin seemed not to object to the nickname, as long as it was not prefixed by "Brother." In spite of his age and apparent frailty the Axe was the inevitable winner of these bouts by firelight, and made the Nomad appear so clumsy that Blacktooth once accepted an offer to try fencing the driver with staves. The driver not-so-clumsily whacked him six times and left him sitting in hot ashes while Wooshin and the Cardinal laughed. "Let Wooshin teach you," said Brownpony. "In Valana, you may need to defend yourself. You've lived in a cloister, and you're soft. In turn, you help him work on his Rockymount accent." Blacktooth protested politely, but the Cardinal was insistent. So the fencing and language lessons began. "You ready die now?" the Brother Axe asked cheerfully at the beginning of each session, as if he had always asked it of his customers. Afterward, they talked a lot in Rockymount. But it was with Holy (Little Bear) Madness, the driver, that Blacktooth felt most comfortable, reckoning him to be a servant of no rank or status, and the two struck up an acquaintance. His name in Nomadic was Chur (Osle) Hongan, and he called Blacktooth "Nimmy," which in Nomadic approximated the word kid, meaning one who had not yet endured the rites of passage into manhood. Blacktooth was scarcely younger than Holy Madness, but he did not take offense. It's true, he thought; I am a thirty-five-year-old teenager. So the Abbot had reminded him. As far as experience in the world was concerned, he might as well have been in prison since childhood. But frightened of an unknowable future, he was already homesick for that prison. Life at the monastery had not really been equal parts prayer, hard labor, and groveling, as he had told himself. He had done things there he loved to do. He loved the formal prayer of the Church. He sang well, and while he tried to merge his voice in that of the choir, his was the clear tenor that defined itself by its absence when the choir divided into two groups singing the ancient psalms in a dialogue of verse and response. The group without Blacktooth missed him. And on three occasions when there were important guests at the Abbey, Blacktooth, at the Abbot's request, had sung alone for everyone -- once in the church and twice at supper. In the refectory, he had sung Nomad songs with his own embellishments affiliated to childhood memories. He refused to take pride in this, but his satan took it anyway. While at the Abbey, he had made a stringed instrument much like the one his father had given him. He hedged its Nomad origin by naming it after King David's chitara, but pronouncing it "g'tara." It was among the few belongings he had brought with him, and he strummed it a little during the trip, when Brownpony was away on his horse. He was averse to doing anything which might make him seem ridiculous to Brownpony, and he wondered about this aversion. Some of the territory claimed by right of conquest as part of the Texark Province was not well defined, and the ill-defined area between the sources of the Bay Ghost and Nady Ann Rivers and the mountains to the west was a kind of no-man's-land, where low intensity warfare persisted at times among poor fugitive tribes of the Grasshopper who had refused to take up farming, nomadic outlaws, also mostly Grasshopper refugees, and Texark cavalry sometimes joined by Wilddog war parties in pursuit of raiders. The Cardinal's party carefully skirted the western edge of this area, for Brownpony claimed without much explanation that the mountains, especially the moist and fertile Suckamint Range, were well defended by exiles from the east, of non-Nomadic origin. It was also true that Nomads were superstitious about mountains and stayed away from their heights. The trail led through the foothills, and the nights were cold. But there was much more life here than on the surrounding desert. From occasional horse apple trees and scrub oak, the flora began proliferating and growing taller. Devoid of foliage at present, cottonwood, willow, and catalpa bean trees flourished adjacent to creekbeds, while high upon the snowy mountainsides one could make out the trunks of mighty snow-clad conifers. There were a number of streams to ford, some flowing eastward, trickles of water edged by ice, and some were mere dry washes that would flow only during a flash flood in the foothills. The spring thaw had barely begun. All but the largest creeks would evaporate in the dry land to the east, where a small child could wade through a year's rainfall without wetting its knees. As they gained altitude on their northward journey, it began to snow lightly. The Nomad took the stallion and began exploring side trails. Before evening, he returned with news of some abandoned buildings less than an hour from the main road. So they turned off the Papal highway and drove a few miles along a rough trail until they came to a rickety village. Several spotted children and a dog with two tails fled to their homes. Brownpony looked questions at Chur Hongan, who said, "There was nobody here when I was here a while ago." "They were hiding from an obvious Nomad," the Red Deacon said smiling. But then a woman with one large blue eye and one small red eye came out of a hut to meet them with a pike and bared teeth. A hunchback with a musket limped rapidly after her. Blacktooth knew that the Cardinal had a pistol well hidden in the upholstery, but he let it alone. He looked around at half a dozen sickly looking people. "Gennies!" gasped Father e'Laiden, who had just awakened from a snooze in the carriage. There was no contempt in his voice, but it was the wrong word to utter at the moment. This was obviously a small colony of genetically handicapped, gennies, fugitives from the overpopulated Valley of the Misborn, which was now called the Watchitah Nation since its boundaries were fixed by treaty. There were pockets of such fugitives throughout the land, and they were usually at defensive war with all strangers. The hunchback lifted his musket and aimed first at Chur Hongan, who was driving, then at Blacktooth. "Both of you get down. And the others inside, get out!" The woman's voice dog-whined the Valley version of the Ol'zark dialect, confirming their origins. She was as dangerous as a whipped cur, Blacktooth sensed. He could smell the fear. Everyone obeyed except the Axe, who was freshly missing. The executioner had been riding Brownpony's horse only moments before. At the woman's call, a blond young girl came and searched them for weapons. She was lovely and golden, with no apparent defects, and Blacktooth blushed as her soft hands patted his body. She noticed his blush, grinned in his face, pushed close, seized and squeezed his member, then darted away with his rosary. The woman angrily called her back, but the girl was gone long enough to have hidden his beads. Blacktooth was almost certain the girl was a spook, that is, a Valley-born genny who passes for normal. He remembered stories he had heard of ogres, perverts, homicidal maniacs among the gennies. Some of the stories were filthy jokes, and most of them were told by bigots. But, having heard the stories, he could feel the shame from them, but not forget in the face of these menacing figures that one or another of these stories came true from time to time. Anything was possible. Brownpony stirred at last, stepped down from the carriage, and with some majesty put on his red cap. He said to them: "We are churchmen from Valana, my children. We have no weapons. We seek refuge from the weather, and we shall pay you well for shelter and a cooking fire." The old woman seemed not to hear him. "Get all their belongings, from inside and on top," the woman told the girl in the same tone. The Cardinal turned to the girl. "You know who I am, and I know who you are," he said to her. "I am Ella Brownpony of the Secretariat." She shook her head. "You never met me, but you do know of me." "I don't believe you," she said. "Move!" said the woman. The girl climbed inside and began throwing out clothing and other belongings, including Blacktooth's chitara, then thrust out her head and asked, "Books?" "those too." Brownpony's concealed pistol would be next, Blacktooth thought, as he wondered why Brownpony insisted that he was known to the girl. He was not self-important, not an egoist who expected to be recognized everywhere. For now the Cardinal shrugged and stopped protesting. Apparently, the girl never found the pistol. Suddenly a muffled cry came from the direction of the largest hut in the cluster. The deformed woman looked around. An old man with mottled skin and white hair appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Wooshin with his forearm against the old man's throat. The Axe could almost make himself invisible. Having circled the village and approached from the rear, he held up his short sword for their edification. Evidently this was the chief of the village, for the woman and the hunchback immediately dropped their weapons. "You must not rob them, Linura," old man scolded. "It's one thing to take their weapons, but -- " He broke off as Wooshin shook him and brandished the sword. The woman fell to her knees. The girl ran. She came back with a pitchfork, darted behind Brownpony, and pressed the tines against his back. "My father for your priest." she yelled to the headsman. "Put your knife away, Wooshin!" Brownpony called, and turned to face the girl. She jabbed him lightly in the stomach and bared her gritted teeth in warning. "Are you not the Pope's children?" asked the Cardinal, using the ancient euphemism for the misborn. He turned about, his arms spread wide, facing each of them. "Would you harm the servants of Christ and your Pope?" "For shame, Linura, for shame, AEdrea!" hooted the old man. "You will get us all killed or driven back to the Watchitah by acting this way." Then to the girl: "AEdrea, put that away. Also take care of their horses, then fetch us some beer. Now!" The older woman lowered her head. "I only meant to search their baggage for arms." "Put your knife away, 'Shin," the Cardinal said again. "I want my rosary and my g'tara back," said Blacktooth to the girl, who ignored him. The old man advanced to kiss the Red Deacon's ring, found none, and kissed his hand instead. "I am called Shard. That is our family's name. You will be welcome to stay in my house until the snow stops. We have not much to eat just now after the winter, but AEdrea can perhaps kill a deer." He turned to the old woman with his arm raised as if to cuff her. She gave the musket to the girl and hurried away. "We carry corn, beans, and monks' cheese," said Brownpony. "We'll share with you. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, so we'll need no meat. Two of us can sleep in the carriage. We have tarpaulins to protect it from the cold wind. We thank you, and pray the weather lets us leave soon." "Please forgive the rude welcome," said the mottled man. "We are often visited by small bands of Nomads, drunks, or outlaws. Most of them are superstitious, and fear the flag." He pointed to the yellow and green banner that flew from the gable of his home. It bore the papal keys, and a ring of seven hands. As a warning of papal protection, it had become the flag of the Watchitah Nation. "Even those who don't fear it soon see we have nothing of value, except a girl, and leave us in peace, but my sister trusts no one. But three days ago, we were visited by Texark agents posing as priests. We knew they were sent to spy on us, so we have been very suspicious." "What happened?" "They wanted to know how many of us lived in these hills. I told them just one other family a quarter hour walk up the trail. I advised them not to go back there, that the bear boy was dangerous, but they insisted. Only two of them came back an hour later, and they were in a hurry to leave." "Do you really think the Hannegan would chase Valley runaways this far outside the empire?" "We know it. Others have been killed closer to the province. Filpeo Harq exploits people's hatred for gennies, and calls us criminals because we fought our way out of the Valley. Some of his guards were killed." While they were unhitching the horses, Blacktooth noticed two cows with shaggy coats in a pen next to the barn. They were not ordinary farm animals, and appeared to be Nomad cattle. But Nomad cows would have kicked and butted their way out through the boards of the fence by now, so he decided they must be hybrids. Or genny animals, like their genny owners. For that matter, the Nomad cattle probably descended from a few successful freaks. Sometimes, rarely, an apparent monster, whether man or beast, proved to have superior survival value. The gennies' hospitality improved sharply after the bad beginning. Apparently not of Shard's family, the hunchback had disappeared. Soon AEdrea had killed a fawn, and upon entering the house, she brought a cup of its blood into the house and presented it to Chur Hongan, who looked at it in frozen silence. The Cardinal was turning red as he choked back laughter. When the Nomad looked at him, Brownpony hid his mouth. Hongan snorted at him and took the deer blood from the girl. Growling at her, he frowned mightily and downed it at a gulp. The girl stepped back as if in awe. The Red Deacon's laughter exploded, and after a moment they were all laughing except AEdrea. "Well, Nomads drink blood, don't they?" she demanded. Blushing at the laughter, she went to dress the fawn. "Some do," said Holy Madness. "On ceremonial occasions." After an evening meal of veal-tender venison, black bread, peas, and mugs of cloudy home brew, they talked again, crowding around the fire in Shard's house. Only the Nomad was missing; pretending to speak little Ol'zark, he had taken his blanket roll and gone to bed early in the carriage after losing a drawing of lots for a place in the house. The other loser was Blacktooth, who was glad to sleep away from a headsman, a Cardinal, a crazy priest, and several portents, including a pretty female tease. The common language among them was Ol'zark, but when Shard asked the oriental a question, Wooshin replied in broken Churchspeak. After this had happened three times, Brownpony turned to him and said, "Wooshin, speak the language of our hosts. That language is Ol'zark Valleyspeak of the Watchitah Nation." The Axe bristled and stared at Brownpony, who gazed at him evenly. "Valleyspeak is the language of our hosts," he repeated. Wooshin looked down at the floor. The room was dead silent. He looked up, then, and said in flawless Texark, "Good Simpleton, the answer to your question is that by profession I was a seaman and a warrior. But in my later years I cut off heads for the mayor of Texark." "And how did you sink to that, Ser?" asked a thin voice from AEdrea. Wooshin looked at her without anger. "Not sink, not rise," he said in bad Churchspeak, then returning to her tongue: "Death is the way of the warrior, girl. There is no honor in it, nor any dishonor, if one is just being oneself." "But to do it for the Hannegan?" Wooshin's normal expression was relaxed, alert, about-to-smile, wrinkled about the eyes, humorous, scrutinizing. But now it was as frozen as a corpse. Facing AEdrea, he arose slowly and bowed to her. Blacktooth felt his scalp crawl. Then the Axe looked at the Red Deacon as if to say, "See what you made me do!" and went to take a walk in the night. It was the last time the old manslayer ever resisted speaking Ol'zark, but Blacktooth noticed that when he did speak it, he always imitated Shard's accent, and he called it Valleyspeak. He treated AEdrea with extreme courtesy during their stay. There was no mistaking the bitterness of his regret, but regret for what? Blacktooth was unsure. After two days of intermittent light snow, they stayed at Arch Hollow, as the Shards called it, for six days, while Chur Hongan spent most of his time riding out to investigate the conditions along the trail. Wooshin too was gone most of the time, but made no account of his activities, unless to the Cardinal in secret. It seemed best to wait until other passing traffic began to shovel its way along in the near vicinity. On the second night, they sat around the fire in the center of Shard's lodge. Brownpony tried to elicit the family's story without asking too many questions. His skill in conversation soon led Shard into recounting his family's adventures since the famine and the exodus. There had been a mass escape attempt ten years ago. At least two hundred were hunted down and killed by Texark troops as they fled through forests and up stream beds across the crest of the ridge. At least twice as many escaped the troops that were there both to protect the Watchitah people against intruders and to prevent the escape of the gennies. The Valley was more than a valley; it was a small nation which had kept the name of its place of origin until the conquest. No one had counted the population, but Shard called it a quarter of a million, causing Brownpony to raise an eyebrow. Fifty thousand was closer to popular consensus. "The approaches to the Watchitah are well guarded by the Hannegan, but the patrols could not catch so many at one time," said Shard. "Probably half of the dead were killed by Texark troops and the others lynched by farmers. AEdrea, of course, could have escaped by passing for normal, becoming a 'spook.' My daughter is very brave to remain with us. The spooks among us are the ones most hated and feared. They can marry unsuspecting normals and pass on the curse, give birth to monsters." "How safe are you here from the natives?" Brownpony wondered. "I think of this as outlaw country.'" "It was, and is, to some extent. The nearest town is two days away. They know we're here. The priest visits us every month, except in winter. He and the baron govern the town. There has been no trouble. Only 'Drea goes to town. Of course she wears the green headband. We're south of the Denver Republic, but the Church is respected here more than in the Empire. The Papal Highway is patrolled, of course. Still, there are occasional outlaws, but they are looking for traveling merchants. We have nothing here to invite robbery." "Are there more of you living near here?" "You saw the hunchback, Cortus. His family lives next door. But the only family behind us is the one with the bear boy." "Shard, I am the Secretary for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Concerns." The old man looked at him with suspicion. "If you really are, then you don't need to ask such a question." The monk could feel a tension bordering on hostility in the room, but it passed in silence. It seemed clear Shard was lying about the presence of other gennies in the region. After the dishes had been washed outside in the snow, Linura entered and sat beside, but a little behind, her brother. Then AEdrea came in and dropped cross-legged on the floor beside Blacktooth, who stirred restlessly and almost stopped listening. He wanted his rosary back. Her girl-smell teased his nostrils. Her knees were shiny by firelight. When she noticed his gaze, she pulled a blanket over her lap, but smiled briefly into his eyes before attending the conversation again. Remembering that this coy creature had grabbed his penis at their first encounter, he nudged her. "Rosary back," he whispered fiercely. She giggled and nudged back, hard. "I've often wondered about life in the Valley," the Red Deacon was saying. "There is more death than life there, m'Lord Cardinal," Shard answered. "Few who live there want to risk giving birth. Normal birth is rare. Most die. Others are too feeble to want life. If it were not for the influx, the Watchitah would soon be empty." "Influx? From where?" "You must know, m'Lord." Brownpony nodded. Many people in families of registered pedigree nonetheless had accursed offspring. Lest they lose their registration with the keepers of such records, families without fear of the Church killed their malformed babies. But often there were children whose deformities could be concealed for a time, and these were sent to the Valley at a later age by the pious. Monks and nuns often brought them. People who lived near the Watchitah hated and feared the inhabitants, especially the near-normal among them. Blacktooth noticed that everyone was glancing at AEdrea. "Forgive me, daughter," Brownpony murmured when she met his eyes. "I don't like admitting it," Shard was saying, "but the patrols who guard the passes were as much our protectors as our jailers. But they did nothing to help us when famine came." "And the Church?" said the Red Deacon. "Too busy with its own schism to be of much help to anyone." "Well, of course we were cut off from papal protection, but the Archbishop of Texark did send in some supplies. I think he is not a cruel man, perhaps only powerless." "You cannot imagine how powerless is Cardinal Archbishop Benefez," Father e'Laiden sighed. Blacktooth glanced quickly at the priest, certain that he was being sardonic and meant the opposite of what he said. Benefez had behind him the power of the Hannegans. And e'Laiden spoke Texark like a native, which he probably was, although his command of Wilddog Nomadic meant he had lived long on the High Plains. "My rosary!" Blacktooth whispered angrily. She winked at him and grinned. "I hid it in the barn. You can have it tomorrow." The way she looked at him brought on a eruption of horniness and he felt his face turning red. Blacktooth feared her. Many deformities recurred, and many were genetically connected. Various writers had made lists. There was one mutation in which great physical beauty was coupled with a defect in the brain, the most notable symptom of which was the onset of criminal insanity a few years after puberty. He stole a glance at her, but she caught him at it, and clicked her tongue and smirked. She might not be crazy, but she was a she-devil. He wanted to go to the carriage and to bed, but he was ashamed to stand up at the moment. At last he prayed his erection away and mumbled good night to the others. AEdrea followed him outside, but he fled into the latrine, then climbed out the back window. He was immediately seized by the hunchback and another creature and dragged away toward another house with a lighted doorway. Nearly fainting with fright, he heard the hunchback whisper hoarsely that someone needed absolution. "But I am not a priest!" he protested. In vain. They dragged him into the house of Shard's neighbor. The hunchback and his companion released Blacktooth after pushing him inside, and they stood blocking the door. The monk could only sit down on a stool pointed out to him, and from there await developments. There was firelight and a lantern. There was a wrinkled old man with a scraggly beard in the room, who said his name was Tempus. He pointed out the others. There was his wife, Irene, whose face was a permanent scar. There were Ululata, and Pustria, females both of portentous mien. The hunchback was called Cortus, and his companion Barlo. They were all siblings or cousins or half-siblings. Barlo had a terrible itch, especially in the genital area. Tempus shouted at him to stop masturbating, but the words had no effect on the creature. God in his wisdom had given Ululata a deformed foot, although he had in all other ways given her the proportions of the divine image in His mind of God in mercy. But the foot was not something you would want to walk with. "God is thus," said the father. The father had given her crutches. To him, God had given seven fingers, which he displayed to the monk, a third useless eye, and four testicles with two healthy penes, all of which he exhibited. Pustria was Ululata's half-sister, according to their faithful mother's best memory of their conceptions under the weight of the same sire. Pustria was deformed only by blindness, and Mother Irene was scab of which Mother Irene was not proud. "God is thus, since the deluge of fire and ice," said the father. Barlo was in need of absolution, Tempus explained, in order to make him stop masturbating. Blacktooth explained that he could not absolve anybody, and that absolution would not have the effect that Tempus desired. Tempus was adamant. Blacktooth would not be allowed to leave until he performed. "Will you let me go then, immediately?" he demanded. Tempus nodded gravely and crossed his heart. Nimmy closed his eyes for a moment and tried to summon a little Latin. "Labores semper tecum," he said in the softest voice he could muster. "Igni etiam aqua interdictus tu. Semper super capitem tuum feces descendant avium." "Amen," Tempus said in echo to this malediction. Nimmy got up and left. At the moment, he was not particularly ashamed of wishing eternal suffering on the man, of pronouncing a dire sentence of exile, and calling down upon the head of Barlo a perpetual rain of birdshit; the glep who was still scratching his crotch followed him at a distance. Chur Hongan was already asleep. Not more than three of them could spend the night in Shard's house without forcing the old man to move out. Rank had determined that Brownpony would sleep in comfort, and for his age e'Laiden was favored. Blacktooth had drawn lots with Wooshin and lost the third place indoors. He was relieved things had turned out so, especially after his escape from the clutches of the hunchback's family. If he must sleep in the cold carriage, he preferred to sleep with the Nomad. Although, during his waking hours, he had lost his fear of the killer of hundreds, the Brother Axe still haunted his dreams. Sometimes he dreamed he himself was the executioner, chopping heads for Hannegan with a mighty sword, but that night in the carriage, he dreamed he was Pontius Pilate, and Wooshin the headsman stood beside him as Marcus the Centurion, confronted by a pretender to the Kingdom of God among the Nomads. Kings of the Nomads were common in those days. He crucified not one but four of them during his lucrative career in south Texas-Judea. The first case was the hardest for him, and sad; Blacktooth-Pilate was like a boy killing his first deer. Because the pretender was harmless, the case was jinxed by the scruples of his wife. He had wanted to set the first one free. It was easier to kill the ones that followed, and certainly necessary to show that kings were made by Texark and not by tribal gods. He always asked them the same question. The first one could not or would not answer, and merely stood looking at him. The second to be crucified was more talkative. "What is truth?" asked Blacktooth. "Truth is the essence of all true statements," said the second King of the Nomads. "Falsehood is the essence of all false statements. Without saying anything, there is neither true nor false. I offer Your Majesty my silence." "Crucify him," said Pilate, "with prejudice. And get it right this time. Wrap his arms and legs around the cross. That's the way it shows in the Texark Procurators' Handbook. Of course, that's not enough for you new recruits these days. You have to know why. Well, I'll tell you why, this time. It's sound engineering principle that suggests it, and sound engineering principle is the Texark way. We build well, we govern well. We're Texarkans. Do the troops read Vergil Marcus? No? Well. "Nailing the hands to the back of the cross is sound engineering principle and sound governmental policy because when you nail the hands in front the weight of the body hangs on the nails, they tear, unless you also nail the forearm; but when you wrap the arms across the top of the cross and nail them from behind, the weight of the body hangs from the arm on the crossbar, and the nail does nothing but keep the arm in place. That way, you can smash his bones better when it's time to go home from work. Do it the Texark way, men; the Texark way is the eternal way. Let's carry out the sentence with some snap this time." "Hail to the Hannegan!" said Marcus the Axe. "Hail Texark! Next case." Pontius felt better after that. Half awake by now, he knew he was dreaming, but let the dream go on. The fellow's silly explanation of truth probably had nothing to do with the silence of the first King of the Nomads, but it noisily invoked silence as policy and thus took some of the sting out of Pilate's remembrance of the first one's half smiling gaze, which had seemed to say to him at the time nothing philosophical at all but had expressed an utterly intimate, infinite regress of "I who look at you who look at me who look at you... " His wife AEdrea had been frightened by the same look. It was perhaps sexy, and for that very reason insulting to those whose duty it was to see such scum as loathsome. "What is truth?" said Pilate to the third King of the Nomads. "Root for pearls, Texark pig!" Blacktooth-Pilate had no qualms at all with that one. He woke up thinking about AEdrea instead -- and their coming assignation in a hayloft. A prank. Drowsily, he remembered hearing Brother Gimpus argue that a detachment from sexual passion was the essence of chastity, and that detachment was possible without abstinence. Brother Gimpus was caught naked with an ugly widow in the village who claimed she paid him every Wednesday for the eighth sacrament. "Rest in peace," Blacktooth whispered against the pillow. Chur Hongan was still asleep when Blacktooth started up, fully awakened by hoof beats, which stopped near the carriage. Then he heard voices speaking softly in Grasshopper. They were talking about Shard's cows in the pen next to the barn, until something excited them and there was another burst of hoof beats, followed by the screams of AEdrea. The monk pulled at the edge of the tarp and peered outside. A few flakes of snow were still falling in the faint morning light. There were three horsemen, obviously Nomads. Two of them held the kicking girl suspended by her arms between them. Shard began yelling protests from afar, and the hunchback ran out with his musket. Blacktooth turned to awaken Hongan, but he was already up and moving, putting on his wolfskins and the leather helmet with small horns and a metal ornament. He usually wore the hat only when mounted. Blacktooth thrust his hand deep into the upholstery and felt the Red Deacon's handgun. The girl had missed it. Chur Hongan climbed out the other door and came into their view from behind the coach, yelling at the renegades in the Wilddog of the High Plains. "In the name of the Wilddog Sharf and his mother, put her down! I command you, motherless ones! Dismount!" Blacktooth raised the Cardinal's weapon, but his hand was shaking badly. The Nomad not involved with the girl lifted his musket, looked closely at Holy Madness, then dropped the weapon to the ground. The others eased the girl onto her feet, and she promptly ran away. The riders slowly dismounted, and the apparent leader fell to his knees before the advancing Hongan. He spoke now in Hongan's dialect. "Oh Little Bear's kin, Sire of the Day Maiden, we meant her no harm. We saw those cows over there and thought they were ours. We were only teasing the girl." "Only a teasing little rape, perhaps? Apologize and leave here at once. You know those tame cows are not yours. You are motherless. You ride unbranded horses. I heard you speaking Grasshopper, so you don't belong anywhere near here. Never bother these people; they are children of the Pope, with whom the free Hordes have treaties." The visitors complied immediately and were gone. The incident had lasted not more than five minutes, but Blacktooth was astounded. He climbed out of the carriage. Chur Osle Hongan leaned against the coach and gazed absently after them as they rode away toward the main trail through a sprinkle of snow. "They're Grasshopper outlaws, but they knew you! Who are you?" Blacktooth asked in awe. The Nomad smiled at him. "You know my name." "What was that they called you?" "'Sire of the Day Maiden'? Have you never heard that before?" "Of course. It's what one calls one's sharf." "Or even one's own uncle on some occasions." "But motherless ones recognized you? Last night I dreamed of a king of the Nomads." Hongan laughed. "I'm no king, Nimmy. Not yet. It's not me they recognized. Just this." He touched the metal ornament on the front of his helmet. "The clan of my mother." He smiled at Blacktooth. "Nimmy, my name is 'Holy Madness,' of the Little Bear Motherline. Pronounce it in Jackrabbit." "Cheer Honnyugan. But in Jackrabbit, it means Magic Madman." "Just the last name. What does it sound like?" "Honnyugan? Hannegan?" "Just so. We're cousins," archly said the Nomad. "Don't tell anybody, and don't ever pronounce it in Jackrabbit again." Cardinal Brownpony was approaching from the direction of Shard's house, and Chur Hongan went to meet him with a report of the incident. Blacktooth wondered if the Nomad was entirely teasing him. He had heard claims of the dynasty's ultimate Nomadic origin, but since Boedullus made no mention of it, that origin must have been in recent centuries. At least he knew now that Hongan was of a powerful motherline. His own family, displaced to the farms, had no insignia, and he had never studied the heraldry of the Plains. Something else that piqued his curiosity about the Nomad was his apparent close friendship with Father e'Laiden, who called him Bear Cub. The priest had often ridden beside the Nomad when he was driving, and their talks were plainly personal but private. They had known each other well on the Plains. From fragments overheard, he decided that e'Laiden was formerly the Nomad's teacher, but no longer dared to play that role unasked, lest a grown-up and somewhat wicked student laugh in his face. Blacktooth went to look for his rosary and g'tara in the barn, which was half buried in the side of a hill. AEdrea was not visible, but he could hear the muffled sound of strings being plucked. The floor was swept stone, and a small stream of spring water ran in a channel from beneath a closed door in the rear and out to the cattle pen outside the wall. Above the door was a hayloft. He opened the door and found himself in a root cellar, with a number of nearly empty bins containing some withered turnips, a pumpkin, and a few sprouting potatoes: the remains of last year's crops. And there were jars of preserved fruits -- where could they have grown? -- on the shelves. There were three barrels, some farm implements, and a pile of straw for layering vegetables. There was no one here. He turned to go, but AEdrea slipped down from the hayloft and confronted him as he started to leave. Nimmy looked at her and backed away. In spite of the weather, she was wearing nothing but a short leather skirt, a bright grin, and his rosary as a necklace. He backed away. "Wh-where's the g'tara?" "In the loft. It's more comfortable up there. You can snuggle down in the hay. Come on." "The air's warmer in here than outside." "All right." She came in and closed the door behind her, leaving them in pitch darkness. "Haven't you a lamp or candle?" She laughed, and he felt her hands exploring him. "Can't you see in the dark? I can." "No. Please. How can you?" Her hands withdrew. "How can I what?" "See in the dark." "I'm a genny, you know. Some of us can do that. It's not really seeing, though. I just know where I am. But I can see the halo around you. You're one of us." "Us who?" "You're a genny with a halo." "I'm not --" He broke off, hearing her rustling skirt in the darkness, then the scratch of flint on steel and a spark. After several sparks, she managed to kindle a bit of tinder and used it to light a tallow taper. Nimmy relaxed slightly. She took down two clay cups from a shelf and turned the spigot on one of the barrels. "Let's drink a glass of berry wine." "I'm not really thirsty." "It's not for thirst, silly. It's for getting drunk." "I'm not supposed to do that." She handed him the cup and sat down in the straw. "My g'tara --" "Oh, all right. Wait here. I'll get it." He nervously gulped the wine while she was gone. It was strong, sweet, tasted of resin and was immediately relaxing. She came back in with his g'tara, but held it away when he reached for it. "You have to play it for me." He sighed. "All right. Just once. What shall I play?" "Pour Me Another Before We Do It Brother." Nimmy poured another cup of wine and handed it to her. "That's the name of the song, silly." "I don't know it." "Well, play anything." She flopped down in the straw. Her skirt came up. By candlelight he could see under it. She wasn't wearing anything there. But something was unusual. He hadn't seen a girl that way since he was a child, but it wasn't the way he remembered. He looked at her, the g'tara, the cup of wine in his hand, and the candle. He gulped the wine, and poured another. "Play a love song." He gulped again, set the cup aside, and began plucking the strings. He didn't know any love songs, so he began singing the opening lines of Vergil's fourth eclogue to music he had composed himself. When he got to the words jam redit et Virgo, she made a little puff of wind with her lips and blew out the candle from six feet away. He stopped in fright. "Pour another cup of wine and come here." Nimmy heard the liquid splashing into the cup, then realized he was doing it himself. "You drink it," she said. "How do I get out of here?" "Well, you have to find the keyhole. It's not very big." He fumbled in the area of the door. "It's over here." He felt her tugging at his sleeve, gulped the wine before he spilled it, and sprawled beside her in the darkness. "Where's the key?" "Right here." She grabbed what she had grabbed when first they met. He didn't feel like resisting. They came together, but after a lot of fumbling, he said, "It won't fit!" "I know. The surgeon fixed me so it won't, but it's fun anyway, isn't it?" "Not much." She sobbed. "You don't like me!" "Yes I do, but it won't fit." "That's all right," she sniffled, sliding lower in the straw. "Just come here." Drunkenly, he feared at any moment Cardinal Brownpony would burst out of the broom closet and yell, "Aha! Caught you!" But nothing like that happened. When he stumbled out of the barn with his virginity diminished, a smiling AEdrea (semper virgo) sat twirling his rosary, watched him from the hayloft until he crawled into the carriage and pulled down the tarp behind him. The term "against nature" insinuated itself into his tipsy consciousness. He had never been so drunk. "Damn that witch!" he whispered when he awoke, but recoiled from the words at once. I am my own witch! quickly replaced them. Help me, Saint Isaac Edward Leibowitz. My Patron, I looked forward to entering that barn -- pray for me. I was glad she stole my things. It gave me the excuse I needed to pursue her in pretended anger. The things she stole, I should have given her. I know this now. Why couldn't I have known it then? O Saint Leibowitz, intercede for me. BLACKTOOTH HAD FALLEN angrily in love. His sexuality had always been a mystery to him. His erotic dreams had more often involved enormous buttocks than enormous breasts, but now he was suddenly smitten by a girl, and there was no doubt at all in his mind that it was the most powerful love he had ever felt except his love for the heart of the Virgin, a blasphemous comparison, but true. Or was that lust too? In spite of their tryst in the root-cellar, during the days that followed AEdrea responded to his enamored gaze with a self-satisfied smirk and a shake of her pretty head. He knew what she meant. She, as a bearer of the curse, was forbidden to fornicate with anyone outside the Valley. The penalty was mutilation or death. She had taken an awful chance in seducing him. But what they had done in the barn was only passionate play, not against the basic folklaw. Against his fractured vows, surely. She knew that. At the end, she teased him about how easily she overcame his vows. He knew he was still bound by the vows, and straying once was no excuse for straying again. But without more surgery, AEdrea was physically incapable of normal coitus. Her father had it done to her when she was a child, probably afraid that someone like Cortus or Barlo would rape her. O Holy Mother, pity us. No one had seen them in the barn, but the pulsation of sexuality that happened whenever the girl and the monk came together did not escape the Cardinal's attention. The Red Deacon caught him alone while Blacktooth was behind the coach lashing bundles in preparation for departure. "It's time we talk, Nimmy. Excuse me, Blacktooth. I hear Hongan calling you Nimmy, and it seems to fit. How do you want to be called?" Blacktooth shrugged. "I'm leaving an old life behind. I might as well leave my name behind. I don't mind." "All right, Brother Nimmy. Just don't leave behind your promise of obedience. I remind you that AEdrea is a genny. Watch your step very closely here. I'll tell you, Shard's was not the first exodus here from the valley. It's been happening for years. This place is more than it seems, and AEdrea is more than she seems." "I had begun to suspect, m'Lord." "You are not to intentionally see her again. If you ever see her again in Valana, avoid her." He commanded Blacktooth with his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your vow of chastity, but let this help you keep it. They are hiding a large genny colony back there in the higher hills, but don't let them know that you know. They're frightened enough of us to be dangerous." "Yes." "And there's something else, Nimmy. Chur Osle Hongan is an important man among his people, as you found out from those outlaws, but you were not supposed to know, and it is not known in Valana. Now I have to ask for your silence. There is a need for secrecy. He is an envoy to me from the Plains, but you must not tell that to anyone. He is just a driver I hired." "I understand, m'Lord." "Father e'Laiden is another matter. I had no need to read your mind to see your curiosity about him. About him, you must also say nothing. He grew his beard for this trip, to avoid recognition. I picked him up forty miles south of Valana, and will let him off at the same place, which will make you even more curious. Not even my friend Dom Jarad knows who he is. I've told travelers he's just a passenger to whom I gave a ride. You know I introduced him to Dom Jarad as my temporary secretary. No more of that. You will not mention him to anyone. If you meet him in Valana later without his beard, do not allow yourself to recognize him. His name is not e'Laiden, anyway. About these two men, you will be absolutely silent." "I have had much practice at being silent, m'Lord." "Yes, well, I took a big chance with you, Blacktooth. Nimmy. For now, your job is just to keep your mouth shut. I may find other uses for you in Valana." "That would please me, m'Lord. I have felt useless for years." Brownpony turned to look at him closely. "I am surprised to hear it. Your Abbot told me you are quite religious, and seemed called to contemplation. Do you think that useless?" "Not at all, but it's my turn to be surprised the Abbot said I was called to it. He was very angry with me." "Well, of course he was angry, partly at himself. Nimmy, he's sorry he made you do that silly Duren translation. He thought it would be useful." "I told him otherwise." "I know. He thought you were ducking hard work. Now, he blames himself for your revolt. He's a good man, and he's really sorry the Order lost you. I know how humiliating it was for you at the end, but forgive him if you can." "I do, but he didn't forgive me. I wasn't even allowed to confess." "Not allowed by whom, Dom Jarad?" "The Prior said he would ask the Abbot. I suppose he did." "Nobody shrived you, eh? Well, Father e'Laiden can confess you if you can't wait until we get to Valana. I can imagine you need it by now." Blacktooth blushed, wondering if the remark implied a reference to AEdrea. Of course it did! He approached the old whitebeard priest later that day, but the cleric shook his head. "His Eminence forgets something. I'm not even supposed to say mass. You have seen me do it, but I don't give the Eucharist, and I don't do confessions. Saying a private mass is my own sin, if it is one -not involving others." A wild and sorrowful look came over the old man's face, as if he were at war within himself. Blacktooth had seen the look before and shivered. Father e'Laiden was just a little crazy. Strange traveling companions, he thought. A priest under interdict, a seaman-headsman-warrior, a wild but aristocratic Nomad, a disgraced monk, and a Cardinal who was not more than a deacon. Brownpony, Blacktooth, and Hongan were all of Nomadic extraction, and e'Laiden obviously had lived among Nomads. Holy Madness, whose mother's family was called Little Bear, and e'Laiden seemed old friends, and often talked of Nomad families known to both of them. Only the executioner was unrelated to the people of the Plains. Blacktooth was more puzzled than ever about the Red Deacon's intentions. The Cardinal, he had learned, was head of the Secretariat of Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Concerns, an obscure and minor office of the Curia which he had heard someone call "the bureau of trivial intrigues." After two days of light snow the skies cleared. There was bright sun and a breeze from the south. Three days later, the thaw was well underway. Chur Hongan was gone for half a day, then returned with an opinion that the highway was not impassable, although they might have to shovel slushy snow in a few places. Brownpony paid Shard a fair sum in coins from the papal mint, and the travelers took their leave of the village. Only the children, Shard, and Tempus watched them go. The monk's eyes searched in vain for AEdrea. He was sure she was angry because of his mixed feelings and his avoidance of her. He wanted to let her know he blamed only himself, but there was no way. She was gone for good. WALTER M. MILLER jr GOD IS THUS Blacktooth rode with the driver as they bumped along the north road toward the mountain passes. He never once looked back at the Abbey. The Axe was with them, sometimes driving when Holy Madness rode the Cardinal's horse, sometimes riding inside the coach while the Cardinal chose to be in the saddle. Both Wooshin and the Nomad treated the disgraced monk with courtesy, but he had as little intercourse as possible with Brownpony or his clerical companion. One morning when they had been three days on the road, Wooshin said to him, "You hide from Cardinal. Why you shun? You know he saved you neck back there. Abbot wring like a chicken, except Cardinal save you. Why you afraid him?" Blacktooth began to deny it, but heard an inner cock's crow. Wooshin was right. To him, Brownpony represented the authority of the Church, previously wielded by Dom Jarad, and he was tired of the obedience which he had been forced to swear again to save himself. But it was necessary to separate the office from the man. After Wooshin's remarks, he stopped shrinking from his rescuer, and exchanged polite greetings in the mornings. But the Cardinal, sensing his discomfort, for the most part ignored his presence during much of the journey. Sometimes Wooshin and the Nomad wrestled or fought for sport with staves. The Nomad called him Axe, which no one at the Abbey had dared to do, and Wooshin seemed not to object to the nickname, as long as it was not prefixed by "Brother." In spite of his age and apparent frailty the Axe was the inevitable winner of these bouts by firelight, and made the Nomad appear so clumsy that Blacktooth once accepted an offer to try fencing the driver with staves. The driver not-so-clumsily whacked him six times and left him sitting in hot ashes while Wooshin and the Cardinal laughed. "Let Wooshin teach you," said Brownpony. "In Valana, you may need to defend yourself. You've lived in a cloister, and you're soft. In turn, you help him work on his Rockymount accent." Blacktooth protested politely, but the Cardinal was insistent. So the fencing and language lessons began. "You ready die now?" the Brother Axe asked cheerfully at the beginning of each session, as if he had always asked it of his customers. Afterward, they talked a lot in Rockymount. But it was with Holy (Little Bear) Madness, the driver, that Blacktooth felt most comfortable, reckoning him to be a servant of no rank or status, and the two struck up an acquaintance. His name in Nomadic was Chur (Osle) Hongan, and he called Blacktooth "Nimmy," which in Nomadic approximated the word kid, meaning one who had not yet endured the rites of passage into manhood. Blacktooth was scarcely younger than Holy Madness, but he did not take offense. It's true, he thought; I am a thirty-five-year-old teenager. So the Abbot had reminded him. As far as experience in the world was concerned, he might as well have been in prison since childhood. But frightened of an unknowable future, he was already homesick for that prison. Life at the monastery had not really been equal parts prayer, hard labor, and groveling, as he had told himself. He had done things there he loved to do. He loved the formal prayer of the Church. He sang well, and while he tried to merge his voice in that of the choir, his was the clear tenor that defined itself by its absence when the choir divided into two groups singing the ancient psalms in a dialogue of verse and response. The group without Blacktooth missed him. And on three occasions when there were important guests at the Abbey, Blacktooth, at the Abbot's request, had sung alone for everyone -- once in the church and twice at supper. In the refectory, he had sung Nomad songs with his own embellishments affiliated to childhood memories. He refused to take pride in this, but his satan took it anyway. While at the Abbey, he had made a stringed instrument much like the one his father had given him. He hedged its Nomad origin by naming it after King David's chitara, but pronouncing it "g'tara." It was among the few belongings he had brought with him, and he strummed it a little during the trip, when Brownpony was away on his horse. He was averse to doing anything which might make him seem ridiculous to Brownpony, and he wondered about this aversion. Some of the territory claimed by right of conquest as part of the Texark Province was not well defined, and the ill-defined area between the sources of the Bay Ghost and Nady Ann Rivers and the mountains to the west was a kind of no-man's-land, where low intensity warfare persisted at times among poor fugitive tribes of the Grasshopper who had refused to take up farming, nomadic outlaws, also mostly Grasshopper refugees, and Texark cavalry sometimes joined by Wilddog war parties in pursuit of raiders. The Cardinal's party carefully skirted the western edge of this area, for Brownpony claimed without much explanation that the mountains, especially the moist and fertile Suckamint Range, were well defended by exiles from the east, of non-Nomadic origin. It was also true that Nomads were superstitious about mountains and stayed away from their heights. The trail led through the foothills, and the nights were cold. But there was much more life here than on the surrounding desert. From occasional horse apple trees and scrub oak, the flora began proliferating and growing taller. Devoid of foliage at present, cottonwood, willow, and catalpa bean trees flourished adjacent to creekbeds, while high upon the snowy mountainsides one could make out the trunks of mighty snow-clad conifers. There were a number of streams to ford, some flowing eastward, trickles of water edged by ice, and some were mere dry washes that would flow only during a flash flood in the foothills. The spring thaw had barely begun. All but the largest creeks would evaporate in the dry land to the east, where a small child could wade through a year's rainfall without wetting its knees. As they gained altitude on their northward journey, it began to snow lightly. The Nomad took the stallion and began exploring side trails. Before evening, he returned with news of some abandoned buildings less than an hour from the main road. So they turned off the Papal highway and drove a few miles along a rough trail until they came to a rickety village. Several spotted children and a dog with two tails fled to their homes. Brownpony looked questions at Chur Hongan, who said, "There was nobody here when I was here a while ago." "They were hiding from an obvious Nomad," the Red Deacon said smiling. But then a woman with one large blue eye and one small red eye came out of a hut to meet them with a pike and bared teeth. A hunchback with a musket limped rapidly after her. Blacktooth knew that the Cardinal had a pistol well hidden in the upholstery, but he let it alone. He looked around at half a dozen sickly looking people. "Gennies!" gasped Father e'Laiden, who had just awakened from a snooze in the carriage. There was no contempt in his voice, but it was the wrong word to utter at the moment. This was obviously a small colony of genetically handicapped, gennies, fugitives from the overpopulated Valley of the Misborn, which was now called the Watchitah Nation since its boundaries were fixed by treaty. There were pockets of such fugitives throughout the land, and they were usually at defensive war with all strangers. The hunchback lifted his musket and aimed first at Chur Hongan, who was driving, then at Blacktooth. "Both of you get down. And the others inside, get out!" The woman's voice dog-whined the Valley version of the Ol'zark dialect, confirming their origins. She was as dangerous as a whipped cur, Blacktooth sensed. He could smell the fear. Everyone obeyed except the Axe, who was freshly missing. The executioner had been riding Brownpony's horse only moments before. At the woman's call, a blond young girl came and searched them for weapons. She was lovely and golden, with no apparent defects, and Blacktooth blushed as her soft hands patted his body. She noticed his blush, grinned in his face, pushed close, seized and squeezed his member, then darted away with his rosary. The woman angrily called her back, but the girl was gone long enough to have hidden his beads. Blacktooth was almost certain the girl was a spook, that is, a Valley-born genny who passes for normal. He remembered stories he had heard of ogres, perverts, homicidal maniacs among the gennies. Some of the stories were filthy jokes, and most of them were told by bigots. But, having heard the stories, he could feel the shame from them, but not forget in the face of these menacing figures that one or another of these stories came true from time to time. Anything was possible. Brownpony stirred at last, stepped down from the carriage, and with some majesty put on his red cap. He said to them: "We are churchmen from Valana, my children. We have no weapons. We seek refuge from the weather, and we shall pay you well for shelter and a cooking fire." The old woman seemed not to hear him. "Get all their belongings, from inside and on top," the woman told the girl in the same tone. The Cardinal turned to the girl. "You know who I am, and I know who you are," he said to her. "I am Ella Brownpony of the Secretariat." She shook her head. "You never met me, but you do know of me." "I don't believe you," she said. "Move!" said the woman. The girl climbed inside and began throwing out clothing and other belongings, including Blacktooth's chitara, then thrust out her head and asked, "Books?" "those too." Brownpony's concealed pistol would be next, Blacktooth thought, as he wondered why Brownpony insisted that he was known to the girl. He was not self-important, not an egoist who expected to be recognized everywhere. For now the Cardinal shrugged and stopped protesting. Apparently, the girl never found the pistol. Suddenly a muffled cry came from the direction of the largest hut in the cluster. The deformed woman looked around. An old man with mottled skin and white hair appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Wooshin with his forearm against the old man's throat. The Axe could almost make himself invisible. Having circled the village and approached from the rear, he held up his short sword for their edification. Evidently this was the chief of the village, for the woman and the hunchback immediately dropped their weapons. "You must not rob them, Linura," old man scolded. "It's one thing to take their weapons, but -- " He broke off as Wooshin shook him and brandished the sword. The woman fell to her knees. The girl ran. She came back with a pitchfork, darted behind Brownpony, and pressed the tines against his back. "My father for your priest." she yelled to the headsman. "Put your knife away, Wooshin!" Brownpony called, and turned to face the girl. She jabbed him lightly in the stomach and bared her gritted teeth in warning. "Are you not the Pope's children?" asked the Cardinal, using the ancient euphemism for the misborn. He turned about, his arms spread wide, facing each of them. "Would you harm the servants of Christ and your Pope?" "For shame, Linura, for shame, AEdrea!" hooted the old man. "You will get us all killed or driven back to the Watchitah by acting this way." Then to the girl: "AEdrea, put that away. Also take care of their horses, then fetch us some beer. Now!" The older woman lowered her head. "I only meant to search their baggage for arms." "Put your knife away, 'Shin," the Cardinal said again. "I want my rosary and my g'tara back," said Blacktooth to the girl, who ignored him. The old man advanced to kiss the Red Deacon's ring, found none, and kissed his hand instead. "I am called Shard. That is our family's name. You will be welcome to stay in my house until the snow stops. We have not much to eat just now after the winter, but AEdrea can perhaps kill a deer." He turned to the old woman with his arm raised as if to cuff her. She gave the musket to the girl and hurried away. "We carry corn, beans, and monks' cheese," said Brownpony. "We'll share with you. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, so we'll need no meat. Two of us can sleep in the carriage. We have tarpaulins to protect it from the cold wind. We thank you, and pray the weather lets us leave soon." "Please forgive the rude welcome," said the mottled man. "We are often visited by small bands of Nomads, drunks, or outlaws. Most of them are superstitious, and fear the flag." He pointed to the yellow and green banner that flew from the gable of his home. It bore the papal keys, and a ring of seven hands. As a warning of papal protection, it had become the flag of the Watchitah Nation. "Even those who don't fear it soon see we have nothing of value, except a girl, and leave us in peace, but my sister trusts no one. But three days ago, we were visited by Texark agents posing as priests. We knew they were sent to spy on us, so we have been very suspicious." "What happened?" "They wanted to know how many of us lived in these hills. I told them just one other family a quarter hour walk up the trail. I advised them not to go back there, that the bear boy was dangerous, but they insisted. Only two of them came back an hour later, and they were in a hurry to leave." "Do you really think the Hannegan would chase Valley runaways this far outside the empire?" "We know it. Others have been killed closer to the province. Filpeo Harq exploits people's hatred for gennies, and calls us criminals because we fought our way out of the Valley. Some of his guards were killed." While they were unhitching the horses, Blacktooth noticed two cows with shaggy coats in a pen next to the barn. They were not ordinary farm animals, and appeared to be Nomad cattle. But Nomad cows would have kicked and butted their way out through the boards of the fence by now, so he decided they must be hybrids. Or genny animals, like their genny owners. For that matter, the Nomad cattle probably descended from a few successful freaks. Sometimes, rarely, an apparent monster, whether man or beast, proved to have superior survival value. The gennies' hospitality improved sharply after the bad beginning. Apparently not of Shard's family, the hunchback had disappeared. Soon AEdrea had killed a fawn, and upon entering the house, she brought a cup of its blood into the house and presented it to Chur Hongan, who looked at it in frozen silence. The Cardinal was turning red as he choked back laughter. When the Nomad looked at him, Brownpony hid his mouth. Hongan snorted at him and took the deer blood from the girl. Growling at her, he frowned mightily and downed it at a gulp. The girl stepped back as if in awe. The Red Deacon's laughter exploded, and after a moment they were all laughing except AEdrea. "Well, Nomads drink blood, don't they?" she demanded. Blushing at the laughter, she went to dress the fawn. "Some do," said Holy Madness. "On ceremonial occasions." After an evening meal of veal-tender venison, black bread, peas, and mugs of cloudy home brew, they talked again, crowding around the fire in Shard's house. Only the Nomad was missing; pretending to speak little Ol'zark, he had taken his blanket roll and gone to bed early in the carriage after losing a drawing of lots for a place in the house. The other loser was Blacktooth, who was glad to sleep away from a headsman, a Cardinal, a crazy priest, and several portents, including a pretty female tease. The common language among them was Ol'zark, but when Shard asked the oriental a question, Wooshin replied in broken Churchspeak. After this had happened three times, Brownpony turned to him and said, "Wooshin, speak the language of our hosts. That language is Ol'zark Valleyspeak of the Watchitah Nation." The Axe bristled and stared at Brownpony, who gazed at him evenly. "Valleyspeak is the language of our hosts," he repeated. Wooshin looked down at the floor. The room was dead silent. He looked up, then, and said in flawless Texark, "Good Simpleton, the answer to your question is that by profession I was a seaman and a warrior. But in my later years I cut off heads for the mayor of Texark." "And how did you sink to that, Ser?" asked a thin voice from AEdrea. Wooshin looked at her without anger. "Not sink, not rise," he said in bad Churchspeak, then returning to her tongue: "Death is the way of the warrior, girl. There is no honor in it, nor any dishonor, if one is just being oneself." "But to do it for the Hannegan?" Wooshin's normal expression was relaxed, alert, about-to-smile, wrinkled about the eyes, humorous, scrutinizing. But now it was as frozen as a corpse. Facing AEdrea, he arose slowly and bowed to her. Blacktooth felt his scalp crawl. Then the Axe looked at the Red Deacon as if to say, "See what you made me do!" and went to take a walk in the night. It was the last time the old manslayer ever resisted speaking Ol'zark, but Blacktooth noticed that when he did speak it, he always imitated Shard's accent, and he called it Valleyspeak. He treated AEdrea with extreme courtesy during their stay. There was no mistaking the bitterness of his regret, but regret for what? Blacktooth was unsure. After two days of intermittent light snow, they stayed at Arch Hollow, as the Shards called it, for six days, while Chur Hongan spent most of his time riding out to investigate the conditions along the trail. Wooshin too was gone most of the time, but made no account of his activities, unless to the Cardinal in secret. It seemed best to wait until other passing traffic began to shovel its way along in the near vicinity. On the second night, they sat around the fire in the center of Shard's lodge. Brownpony tried to elicit the family's story without asking too many questions. His skill in conversation soon led Shard into recounting his family's adventures since the famine and the exodus. There had been a mass escape attempt ten years ago. At least two hundred were hunted down and killed by Texark troops as they fled through forests and up stream beds across the crest of the ridge. At least twice as many escaped the troops that were there both to protect the Watchitah people against intruders and to prevent the escape of the gennies. The Valley was more than a valley; it was a small nation which had kept the name of its place of origin until the conquest. No one had counted the population, but Shard called it a quarter of a million, causing Brownpony to raise an eyebrow. Fifty thousand was closer to popular consensus. "The approaches to the Watchitah are well guarded by the Hannegan, but the patrols could not catch so many at one time," said Shard. "Probably half of the dead were killed by Texark troops and the others lynched by farmers. AEdrea, of course, could have escaped by passing for normal, becoming a 'spook.' My daughter is very brave to remain with us. The spooks among us are the ones most hated and feared. They can marry unsuspecting normals and pass on the curse, give birth to monsters." "How safe are you here from the natives?" Brownpony wondered. "I think of this as outlaw country.'" "It was, and is, to some extent. The nearest town is two days away. They know we're here. The priest visits us every month, except in winter. He and the baron govern the town. There has been no trouble. Only 'Drea goes to town. Of course she wears the green headband. We're south of the Denver Republic, but the Church is respected here more than in the Empire. The Papal Highway is patrolled, of course. Still, there are occasional outlaws, but they are looking for traveling merchants. We have nothing here to invite robbery." "Are there more of you living near here?" "You saw the hunchback, Cortus. His family lives next door. But the only family behind us is the one with the bear boy." "Shard, I am the Secretary for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Concerns." The old man looked at him with suspicion. "If you really are, then you don't need to ask such a question." The monk could feel a tension bordering on hostility in the room, but it passed in silence. It seemed clear Shard was lying about the presence of other gennies in the region. After the dishes had been washed outside in the snow, Linura entered and sat beside, but a little behind, her brother. Then AEdrea came in and dropped cross-legged on the floor beside Blacktooth, who stirred restlessly and almost stopped listening. He wanted his rosary back. Her girl-smell teased his nostrils. Her knees were shiny by firelight. When she noticed his gaze, she pulled a blanket over her lap, but smiled briefly into his eyes before attending the conversation again. Remembering that this coy creature had grabbed his penis at their first encounter, he nudged her. "Rosary back," he whispered fiercely. She giggled and nudged back, hard. "I've often wondered about life in the Valley," the Red Deacon was saying. "There is more death than life there, m'Lord Cardinal," Shard answered. "Few who live there want to risk giving birth. Normal birth is rare. Most die. Others are too feeble to want life. If it were not for the influx, the Watchitah would soon be empty." "Influx? From where?" "You must know, m'Lord." Brownpony nodded. Many people in families of registered pedigree nonetheless had accursed offspring. Lest they lose their registration with the keepers of such records, families without fear of the Church killed their malformed babies. But often there were children whose deformities could be concealed for a time, and these were sent to the Valley at a later age by the pious. Monks and nuns often brought them. People who lived near the Watchitah hated and feared the inhabitants, especially the near-normal among them. Blacktooth noticed that everyone was glancing at AEdrea. "Forgive me, daughter," Brownpony murmured when she met his eyes. "I don't like admitting it," Shard was saying, "but the patrols who guard the passes were as much our protectors as our jailers. But they did nothing to help us when famine came." "And the Church?" said the Red Deacon. "Too busy with its own schism to be of much help to anyone." "Well, of course we were cut off from papal protection, but the Archbishop of Texark did send in some supplies. I think he is not a cruel man, perhaps only powerless." "You cannot imagine how powerless is Cardinal Archbishop Benefez," Father e'Laiden sighed. Blacktooth glanced quickly at the priest, certain that he was being sardonic and meant the opposite of what he said. Benefez had behind him the power of the Hannegans. And e'Laiden spoke Texark like a native, which he probably was, although his command of Wilddog Nomadic meant he had lived long on the High Plains. "My rosary!" Blacktooth whispered angrily. She winked at him and grinned. "I hid it in the barn. You can have it tomorrow." The way she looked at him brought on a eruption of horniness and he felt his face turning red. Blacktooth feared her. Many deformities recurred, and many were genetically connected. Various writers had made lists. There was one mutation in which great physical beauty was coupled with a defect in the brain, the most notable symptom of which was the onset of criminal insanity a few years after puberty. He stole a glance at her, but she caught him at it, and clicked her tongue and smirked. She might not be crazy, but she was a she-devil. He wanted to go to the carriage and to bed, but he was ashamed to stand up at the moment. At last he prayed his erection away and mumbled good night to the others. AEdrea followed him outside, but he fled into the latrine, then climbed out the back window. He was immediately seized by the hunchback and another creature and dragged away toward another house with a lighted doorway. Nearly fainting with fright, he heard the hunchback whisper hoarsely that someone needed absolution. "But I am not a priest!" he protested. In vain. They dragged him into the house of Shard's neighbor. The hunchback and his companion released Blacktooth after pushing him inside, and they stood blocking the door. The monk could only sit down on a stool pointed out to him, and from there await developments. There was firelight and a lantern. There was a wrinkled old man with a scraggly beard in the room, who said his name was Tempus. He pointed out the others. There was his wife, Irene, whose face was a permanent scar. There were Ululata, and Pustria, females both of portentous mien. The hunchback was called Cortus, and his companion Barlo. They were all siblings or cousins or half-siblings. Barlo had a terrible itch, especially in the genital area. Tempus shouted at him to stop masturbating, but the words had no effect on the creature. God in his wisdom had given Ululata a deformed foot, although he had in all other ways given her the proportions of the divine image in His mind of God in mercy. But the foot was not something you would want to walk with. "God is thus," said the father. The father had given her crutches. To him, God had given seven fingers, which he displayed to the monk, a third useless eye, and four testicles with two healthy penes, all of which he exhibited. Pustria was Ululata's half-sister, according to their faithful mother's best memory of their conceptions under the weight of the same sire. Pustria was deformed only by blindness, and Mother Irene was partial to Pustria because Pustria could not see her mother's face, a mask of scab of which Mother Irene was not proud. "God is thus, since the deluge of fire and ice," said the father. Barlo was in need of absolution, Tempus explained, in order to make him stop masturbating. Blacktooth explained that he could not absolve anybody, and that absolution would not have the effect that Tempus desired. Tempus was adamant. Blacktooth would not be allowed to leave until he performed. "Will you let me go then, immediately?" he demanded. Tempus nodded gravely and crossed his heart. Nimmy closed his eyes for a moment and tried to summon a little Latin. "Labores semper tecum," he said in the softest voice he could muster. "Igni etiam aqua interdictus tu. Semper super capitem tuum feces descendant avium." "Amen," Tempus said in echo to this malediction. Nimmy got up and left. At the moment, he was not particularly ashamed of wishing eternal suffering on the man, of pronouncing a dire sentence of exile, and calling down upon the head of Barlo a perpetual rain of birdshit; the glep who was still scratching his crotch followed him at a distance. Chur Hongan was already asleep. Not more than three of them could spend the night in Shard's house without forcing the old man to move out. Rank had determined that Brownpony would sleep in comfort, and for his age e'Laiden was favored. Blacktooth had drawn lots with Wooshin and lost the third place indoors. He was relieved things had turned out so, especially after his escape from the clutches of the hunchback's family. If he must sleep in the cold carriage, he preferred to sleep with the Nomad. Although, during his waking hours, he had lost his fear of the killer of hundreds, the Brother Axe still haunted his dreams. Sometimes he dreamed he himself was the executioner, chopping heads for Hannegan with a mighty sword, but that night in the carriage, he dreamed he was Pontius Pilate, and Wooshin the headsman stood beside him as Marcus the Centurion, confronted by a pretender to the Kingdom of God among the Nomads. Kings of the Nomads were common in those days. He crucified not one but four of them during his lucrative career in south Texas-Judea. The first case was the hardest for him, and sad; Blacktooth-Pilate was like a boy killing his first deer. Because the pretender was harmless, the case was jinxed by the scruples of his wife. He had wanted to set the first one free. It was easier to kill the ones that followed, and certainly necessary to show that kings were made by Texark and not by tribal gods. He always asked them the same question. The first one could not or would not answer, and merely stood looking at him. The second to be crucified was more talkative. "What is truth?" asked Blacktooth. "Truth is the essence of all true statements," said the second King of the Nomads. "Falsehood is the essence of all false statements. Without saying anything, there is neither true nor false. I offer Your Majesty my silence." "Crucify him," said Pilate, "with prejudice. And get it right this time. Wrap his arms and legs around the cross. That's the way it shows in the Texark Procurators' Handbook. Of course, that's not enough for you new recruits these days. You have to know why. Well, I'll tell you why, this time. It's sound engineering principle that suggests it, and sound engineering principle is the Texark way. We build well, we govern well. We're Texarkans. Do the troops read Vergil Marcus? No? Well. "Nailing the hands to the back of the cross is sound engineering principle and sound governmental policy because when you nail the hands in front the weight of the body hangs on the nails, they tear, unless you also nail the forearm; but when you wrap the arms across the top of the cross and nail them from behind, the weight of the body hangs from the arm on the crossbar, and the nail does nothing but keep the arm in place. That way, you can smash his bones better when it's time to go home from work. Do it the Texark way, men; the Texark way is the eternal way. Let's carry out the sentence with some snap this time." "Hail to the Hannegan!" said Marcus the Axe. "Hail Texark! Next case." Pontius felt better after that. Half awake by now, he knew he was dreaming, but let the dream go on. The fellow's silly explanation of truth probably had nothing to do with the silence of the first King of the Nomads, but it noisily invoked silence as policy and thus took some of the sting out of Pilate's remembrance of the first one's half smiling gaze, which had seemed to say to him at the time nothing philosophical at all but had expressed an utterly intimate, infinite regress of "I who look at you who look at me who look at you... " His wife AEdrea had been frightened by the same look. It was perhaps sexy, and for that very reason insulting to those whose duty it was to see such scum as loathsome. "What is truth?" said Pilate to the third King of the Nomads. "Root for pearls, Texark pig!" Blacktooth-Pilate had no qualms at all with that one. He woke up thinking about AEdrea instead -- and their coming assignation in a hayloft. A prank. Drowsily, he remembered hearing Brother Gimpus argue that a detachment from sexual passion was the essence of chastity, and that detachment was possible without abstinence. Brother Gimpus was caught naked with an ugly widow in the village who claimed she paid him every Wednesday for the eighth sacrament. "Rest in peace," Blacktooth whispered against the pillow. Chur Hongan was still asleep when Blacktooth started up, fully awakened by hoof beats, which stopped near the carriage. Then he heard voices speaking softly in Grasshopper. They were talking about Shard's cows in the pen next to the barn, until something excited them and there was another burst of hoof beats, followed by the screams of AEdrea. The monk pulled at the edge of the tarp and peered outside. A few flakes of snow were still falling in the faint morning light. There were three horsemen, obviously Nomads. Two of them held the kicking girl suspended by her arms between them. Shard began yelling protests from afar, and the hunchback ran out with his musket. Blacktooth turned to awaken Hongan, but he was already up and moving, putting on his wolfskins and the leather helmet with small horns and a metal ornament. He usually wore the hat only when mounted. Blacktooth thrust his hand deep into the upholstery and felt the Red Deacon's handgun. The girl had missed it. Chur Hongan climbed out the other door and came into their view from behind the coach, yelling at the renegades in the Wilddog of the High Plains. "In the name of the Wilddog Sharf and his mother, put her down! I command you, motherless ones! Dismount!" Blacktooth raised the Cardinal's weapon, but his hand was shaking badly. The Nomad not involved with the girl lifted his musket, looked closely at Holy Madness, then dropped the weapon to the ground. The others eased the girl onto her feet, and she promptly ran away. The riders slowly dismounted, and the apparent leader fell to his knees before the advancing Hongan. He spoke now in Hongan's dialect. "Oh Little Bear's kin, Sire of the Day Maiden, we meant her no harm. We saw those cows over there and thought they were ours. We were only teasing the girl." "Only a teasing little rape, perhaps? Apologize and leave here at once. You know those tame cows are not yours. You are motherless. You ride unbranded horses. I heard you speaking Grasshopper, so you don't belong anywhere near here. Never bother these people; they are children of the Pope, with whom the free Hordes have treaties." The visitors complied immediately and were gone. The incident had lasted not more than five minutes, but Blacktooth was astounded. He climbed out of the carriage. Chur Osle Hongan leaned against the coach and gazed absently after them as they rode away toward the main trail through a sprinkle of snow. "They're Grasshopper outlaws, but they knew you! Who are you?" Blacktooth asked in awe. The Nomad smiled at him. "You know my name." "What was that they called you?" "'Sire of the Day Maiden'? Have you never heard that before?" "Of course. It's what one calls one's sharf." "Or even one's own uncle on some occasions." "But motherless ones recognized you? Last night I dreamed of a king of the Nomads." Hongan laughed. "I'm no king, Nimmy. Not yet. It's not me they recognized. Just this." He touched the metal ornament on the front of his helmet. "The clan of my mother." He smiled at Blacktooth. "Nimmy, my name is 'Holy Madness,' of the Little Bear Motherline. Pronounce it in Jackrabbit." "Cheer Honnyugan. But in Jackrabbit, it means Magic Madman." "Just the last name. What does it sound like?" "Honnyugan? Hannegan?" "Just so. We're cousins," archly said the Nomad. "Don't tell anybody, and don't ever pronounce it in Jackrabbit again." Cardinal Brownpony was approaching from the direction of Shard's house, and Chur Hongan went to meet him with a report of the incident. Blacktooth wondered if the Nomad was entirely teasing him. He had heard claims of the dynasty's ultimate Nomadic origin, but since Boedullus made no mention of it, that origin must have been in recent centuries. At least he knew now that Hongan was of a powerful motherline. His own family, displaced to the farms, had no insignia, and he had never studied the heraldry of the Plains. Something else that piqued his curiosity about the Nomad was his apparent close friendship with Father e'Laiden, who called him Bear Cub. The priest had often ridden beside the Nomad when he was driving, and their talks were plainly personal but private. They had known each other well on the Plains. From fragments overheard, he decided that e'Laiden was formerly the Nomad's teacher, but no longer dared to play that role unasked, lest a grown-up and somewhat wicked student laugh in his face. Blacktooth went to look for his rosary and g'tara in the barn, which was half buried in the side of a hill. AEdrea was not visible, but he could hear the muffled sound of strings being plucked. The floor was swept stone, and a small stream of spring water ran in a channel from beneath a closed door in the rear and out to the cattle pen outside the wall. Above the door was a hayloft. He opened the door and found himself in a root cellar, with a number of nearly empty bins containing some withered turnips, a pumpkin, and a few sprouting potatoes: the remains of last year's crops. And there were jars of preserved fruits -- where could they have grown? -- on the shelves. There were three barrels, some farm implements, and a pile of straw for layering vegetables. There was no one here. He turned to go, but AEdrea slipped down from the hayloft and confronted him as he started to leave. Nimmy looked at her and backed away. In spite of the weather, she was wearing nothing but a short leather skirt, a bright grin, and his rosary as a necklace. He backed away. "Wh-where's the g'tara?" "In the loft. It's more comfortable up there. You can snuggle down in the hay. Come on." "The air's warmer in here than outside." "All right." She came in and closed the door behind her, leaving them in pitch darkness. "Haven't you a lamp or candle?" She laughed, and he felt her hands exploring him. "Can't you see in the dark? I can." "No. Please. How can you?" Her hands withdrew. "How can I what?" "See in the dark." "I'm a genny, you know. Some of us can do that. It's not really seeing, though. I just know where I am. But I can see the halo around you. You're one of us." "Us who?" "You're a genny with a halo." "I'm not --" He broke off, hearing her rustling skirt in the darkness, then the scratch of flint on steel and a spark. After several sparks, she managed to kindle a bit of tinder and used it to light a tallow taper. Nimmy relaxed slightly. She took down two clay cups from a shelf and turned the spigot on one of the barrels. "Let's drink a glass of berry wine." "I'm not really thirsty." "It's not for thirst, silly. It's for getting drunk." "I'm not supposed to do that." She handed him the cup and sat down in the straw. "My g'tara --" "Oh, all right. Wait here. I'll get it." He nervously gulped the wine while she was gone. It was strong, sweet, tasted of resin and was immediately relaxing. She came back in with his g'tara, but held it away when he reached for it. "You have to play it for me." He sighed. "All right. Just once. What shall I play?" "Pour Me Another Before We Do It Brother." Nimmy poured another cup of wine and handed it to her. "That's the name of the song, silly." "I don't know it." "Well, play anything." She flopped down in the straw. Her skirt came up. By candlelight he could see under it. She wasn't wearing anything there. But something was unusual. He hadn't seen a girl that way since he was a child, but it wasn't the way he remembered. He looked at her, the g'tara, the cup of wine in his hand, and the candle. He gulped the wine, and poured another. "Play a love song." He gulped again, set the cup aside, and began plucking the strings. He didn't know any love songs, so he began singing the opening lines of Vergil's fourth eclogue to music he had composed himself. When he got to the words jam redit et Virgo, she made a little puff of wind with her lips and blew out the candle from six feet away. He stopped in fright. "Pour another cup of wine and come here." Nimmy heard the liquid splashing into the cup, then realized he was doing it himself. "You drink it," she said. "How do I get out of here?" "Well, you have to find the keyhole. It's not very big." He fumbled in the area of the door. "It's over here." He felt her tugging at his sleeve, gulped the wine before he spilled it, and sprawled beside her in the darkness. "Where's the key?" "Right here." She grabbed what she had grabbed when first they met. He didn't feel like resisting. They came together, but after a lot of fumbling, he said, "It won't fit!" "I know. The surgeon fixed me so it won't, but it's fun anyway, isn't it?" "Not much." She sobbed. "You don't like me!" "Yes I do, but it won't fit." "That's all right," she sniffled, sliding lower in the straw. "Just come here." Drunkenly, he feared at any moment Cardinal Brownpony would burst out of the broom closet and yell, "Aha! Caught you!" But nothing like that happened. When he stumbled out of the barn with his virginity diminished, a smiling AEdrea (semper virgo) sat twirling his rosary, watched him from the hayloft until he crawled into the carriage and pulled down the tarp behind him. The term "against nature" insinuated itself into his tipsy consciousness. He had never been so drunk. "Damn that witch!" he whispered when he awoke, but recoiled from the words at once. I am my own witch! quickly replaced them. Help me, Saint Isaac Edward Leibowitz. My Patron, I looked forward to entering that barn -- pray for me. I was glad she stole my things. It gave me the excuse I needed to pursue her in pretended anger. The things she stole, I should have given her. I know this now. Why couldn't I have known it then? O Saint Leibowitz, intercede for me. BLACKTOOTH HAD FALLEN angrily in love. His sexuality had always been a mystery to him. His erotic dreams had more often involved enormous buttocks than enormous breasts, but now he was suddenly smitten by a girl, and there was no doubt at all in his mind that it was the most powerful love he had ever felt except his love for the heart of the Virgin, a blasphemous comparison, but true. Or was that lust too? In spite of their tryst in the root-cellar, during the days that followed AEdrea responded to his enamored gaze with a self-satisfied smirk and a shake of her pretty head. He knew what she meant. She, as a bearer of the curse, was forbidden to fornicate with anyone outside the Valley. The penalty was mutilation or death. She had taken an awful chance in seducing him. But what they had done in the barn was only passionate play, not against the basic folklaw. Against his fractured vows, surely. She knew that. At the end, she teased him about how easily she overcame his vows. He knew he was still bound by the vows, and straying once was no excuse for straying again. But without more surgery, AEdrea was physically incapable of normal coitus. Her father had it done to her when she was a child, probably afraid that someone like Cortus or Barlo would rape her. O Holy Mother, pity us. No one had seen them in the barn, but the pulsation of sexuality that happened whenever the girl and the monk came together did not escape the Cardinal's attention. The Red Deacon caught him alone while Blacktooth was behind the coach lashing bundles in preparation for departure. "It's time we talk, Nimmy. Excuse me, Blacktooth. I hear Hongan calling you Nimmy, and it seems to fit. How do you want to be called?" Blacktooth shrugged. "I'm leaving an old life behind. I might as well leave my name behind. I don't mind." "All right, Brother Nimmy. Just don't leave behind your promise of obedience. I remind you that AEdrea is a genny. Watch your step very closely here. I'll tell you, Shard's was not the first exodus here from the valley. It's been happening for years. This place is more than it seems, and AEdrea is more than she seems." "I had begun to suspect, m'Lord." "You are not to intentionally see her again. If you ever see her again in Valana, avoid her." He commanded Blacktooth with his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your vow of chastity, but let this help you keep it. They are hiding a large genny colony back there in the higher hills, but don't let them know that you know. They're frightened enough of us to be dangerous." "Yes." "And there's something else, Nimmy. Chur Osle Hongan is an important man among his people, as you found out from those outlaws, but you were not supposed to know, and it is not known in Valana. Now I have to ask for your silence. There is a need for secrecy. He is an envoy to me from the Plains, but you must not tell that to anyone. He is just a driver I hired." "I understand, m'Lord." "Father e'Laiden is another matter. I had no need to read your mind to see your curiosity about him. About him, you must also say nothing. He grew his beard for this trip, to avoid recognition. I picked him up forty miles south of Valana, and will let him off at the same place, which will make you even more curious. Not even my friend Dom Jarad knows who he is. I've told travelers he's just a passenger to whom I gave a ride. You know I introduced him to Dom Jarad as my temporary secretary. No more of that. You will not mention him to anyone. If you meet him in Valana later without his beard, do not allow yourself to recognize him. His name is not e'Laiden, anyway. About these two men, you will be absolutely silent." "I have had much practice at being silent, m'Lord." "Yes, well, I took a big chance with you, Blacktooth. Nimmy. For now, your job is just to keep your mouth shut. I may find other uses for you in Valana." "That would please me, m'Lord. I have felt useless for years." Brownpony turned to look at him closely. "I am surprised to hear it. Your Abbot told me you are quite religious, and seemed called to contemplation. Do you think that useless?" "Not at all, but it's my turn to be surprised the Abbot said I was called to it. He was very angry with me." "Well, of course he was angry, partly at himself. Nimmy, he's sorry he made you do that silly Duren translation. He thought it would be useful." "I told him otherwise." "I know. He thought you were ducking hard work. Now, he blames himself for your revolt. He's a good man, and he's really sorry the Order lost you. I know how humiliating it was for you at the end, but forgive him if you can." "I do, but he didn't forgive me. I wasn't even allowed to confess." "Not allowed by whom, Dom Jarad?" "The Prior said he would ask the Abbot. I suppose he did." "Nobody shrived you, eh? Well, Father e'Laiden can confess you if you can't wait until we get to Valana. I can imagine you need it by now." Blacktooth blushed, wondering if the remark implied a reference to AEdrea. Of course it did! He approached the old whitebeard priest later that day, but the cleric shook his head. "His Eminence forgets something. I'm not even supposed to say mass. You have seen me do it, but I don't give the Eucharist, and I don't do confessions. Saying a private mass is my own sin, if it is one -not involving others." A wild and sorrowful look came over the old man's face, as if he were at war within himself. Blacktooth had seen the look before and shivered. Father e'Laiden was just a little crazy. Strange traveling companions, he thought. A priest under interdict, a seaman-headsman-warrior, a wild but aristocratic Nomad, a disgraced monk, and a Cardinal who was not more than a deacon. Brownpony, Blacktooth, and Hongan were all of Nomadic extraction, and e'Laiden obviously had lived among Nomads. Holy Madness, whose mother's family was called Little Bear, and e'Laiden seemed old friends, and often talked of Nomad families known to both of them. Only the executioner was unrelated to the people of the Plains. Blacktooth was more puzzled than ever about the Red Deacon's intentions. The Cardinal, he had learned, was head of the Secretariat of Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Concerns, an obscure and minor office of the Curia which he had heard someone call "the bureau of trivial intrigues." After two days of light snow the skies cleared. There was bright sun and a breeze from the south. Three days later, the thaw was well underway. Chur Hongan was gone for half a day, then returned with an opinion that the highway was not impassable, although they might have to shovel slushy snow in a few places. Brownpony paid Shard a fair sum in coins from the papal mint, and the travelers took their leave of the village. Only the children, Shard, and Tempus watched them go. The monk's eyes searched in vain for AEdrea. He was sure she was angry because of his mixed feelings and his avoidance of her. He wanted to let her know he blamed only himself, but there was no way. She was gone for good. |
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